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wonder-in-wings · 6 months

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TIMING: Before Parker gets a finger liberated LOCATION: The Pines PARTIES: Burrow (@faoighiche and Parker (@wonder-in-wings SUMMARY: During one of his excursions, Parker sets his sights on Burrow, a nymph unlike any other he’s seen before. He gives chase but ends up getting caught, where she forms other plans for him. CONTENT WARNINGS: teeth trauma

Snap - went a piece of bark, severed from the rest under the pressure of Burrow’s greed. Further underneath her arm slithered, separating into many tendrils that burrowed into the tree’s xylem. Even if they all were to reach the end, to fill the entirety of the roots outline, there would still be a gentle urge to go deeper. It’s why she enjoyed the trees — they never protested against her. No bites of alarm or shouts of disapproval, just a quiet she could take as acceptance. An acceptance she knew was unwise to let excite her. To do so would end her lovely tree. She did love it so much, to the point of wilting leaves. But not to the point of death. It would serve neither of them, host and parasite, for it to die. So, she stayed her hungry hand, but not yet her consumption. There was still much that could be taken without excessive harm.

That was until Burrow felt it. Amongst the chatter of her surroundings, she sensed a nearby tick securing its own meal. She shared in its satisfaction, before it was overshadowed by her realization. The blood it feasted on was human. She enjoyed the place not only for the robust and relenting hosts it provided, but because of its discretion. Humans simply shouldn’t be there. Suspicious. She quickly whipped around to the sensed direction, yet only more trees stared back. What a tricky thing. Even in her knowing, it took her far too long to finally see him: that man lurking out in the bush. Seeing him — seeing him seeing her — made those old promised words tighten around her neck. A mere threat, for a technicality saved her. She wasn’t intentionally showing him her true form, after all. He had stumbled upon it: unannounced but she doubted accidentally. She had no interest in discovering the reason for his intrusion.

The tendrils of Burrow’s head unfurled, stretching far and wide to reveal a darkness that was her face. A shadow crowned by worms. They slithered amongst themselves, twitching in agitation. A silent display of warning. One cut short as she suddenly darted away.

—

Ever since the minor (but still somewhat aggravating) incident with the eintykára and Ariadne a few months ago, Parker had been especially vigilant in not being caught unawares by any insects. Somehow, for some reason, his life had gone from relatively standard - ‘at least in terms of a hunter’s life, you mean’ - to… hectic seemed to be a good word for it. Thrown from unfortunate scenario to strange happenings, some of which were distressing and others more mildly annoying.

The Warden wasn’t a stranger to the woods anymore; he’d spent so much time scouring and carefully combing it, a serpent traveling through the brush and striking when it saw its prey, that he wasn’t sure if anything could surprise him anymore until it did. Parker paused in his excursion when he felt something small, but stinging on his calf. Instinctively, he could feel his blood moving, diffusing the iron in it as though whatever had caused the poking feeling (he assumed it was a bite) was fae in nature. Sharp eyes followed soon after, crouching in a lean against a tree so he could observe his leg to examine what it was after a cursory glance at his surroundings for unusual movement.

…Well, so much for ‘especially vigilant’, as he only allowed a tick that had found itself on his leg a few more moments of blissful feeding before deft fingers plucked the pest off and it crunched between them, his iron-rich blood smearing across the unique prints. That wasn’t the most interesting thing all of a sudden, however, as icy blue eyes definitely caught unnatural movement now and they snapped up to regard… was it a fae? Was it something that was decidedly more suited for a ranger? Parker stared, completely motionless as the mechanics in his brain started to turn, falling into place, recognizing that what he was staring at was something he’d never seen before.

It was an entomid. He knew it. One coated in unsavory decomposers, a slithery being with no wings, just dirt and worms and too many sets of legs to make any rational person comfortable.

But without waiting for an altercation to happen, it turned and fled. Instantly gripped with the dreadful thing in his head, Parker gave chase, moving faster, more agile than a regular human as his genes gifted him with those enhanced abilities to catch and exterminate his prey only for now, he was consumed with reaching it, wanting to touch it, take it apart.

—

The human was fast — frustratingly so. To think Burrow had a head start felt like a lie, for his presence quickly loomed behind her. Like a shadow threatening to overtake. But luckily, he was of flesh and bits that could snag and slip on the vegetation. She jumped across a collection of great dodders, who soon reached for the man under her command. The air buzzed with tachinid flies who usually lacked interest in humans, but made an exception that day. Easy obstacles to overcome; their stems were weak against the urgency of his stride and their proboscises had no hunger for human flesh. But they were just that: obstacles. Moments of much needed delay to lead them to the finish line. Of course, in the beginning she was not aware how sorely needed these delays would be. Her own stride quickened — those tendrils of her legs thumping against the dirt.

Burrow did not dare risk a glance behind her, but she could hear him. As if he breathed right against her neck. But more than that, she could feel them. They tore through the vegetation, uprooting all in their way. Her heart reached out to them, and they reached back. Reached for him. The strangle weed erupted into the air. That presence from behind was gone, leaving behind only sounds of thrashing and struggle.

Burrow turned to see the man ensnared in those hungry vines. A hunger that she tempered only enough to prevent them from trying to suffocate him. She smiled, one lost to the darkness of her face. Those worms that thrashed about her face casted a mighty shadow. Still, there was light in the dark. A pair of faint orbs that flickered on and off. It was her eyes, blinking. Staring at him silently. She took in all the details that had been lost in the chase. He was not old, but he was older. His skin told tales of past battles, with eyes that told an inkling for more. Eyes that chilled the same as their icy colors. She had imagined eyes like that before, in the darkest night when her parents told her tales of nightmares. “Ah,” she finally said. “You must be An T-iarnair.” The Ironmonger. A hunter of her kind. Her veins pumped with exhilaration. “Hello.”

—

The fae was fast, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem came in the form of what the fae was doing while it ran. It seemed to pull pieces from the earth, uproot veins from a tree, leaves on small stems that turned in just a way that his steel-toed boots could’ve been caught by them if they had nylon shoelaces. Obviously, they didn’t and obviously, Parker wasn’t going to be deterred as he raced after the entomid, moving lightly on his feet to keep from stumbling and potentially losing his prey. He was so focused on the entomid, his sharp gaze seeing and chasing one singular thing with one purpose on his mind that at first, he wasn’t aware that something had erupted from the ground and, in a motion even faster than him, twisted itself around one of his ankles. Parker paid it no mind until it had slithered up his leg, webbing out and catching his other one and he fell with his arms outstretched. The Warden, completely silent save for a gasp of surprise as he hit the earth, scrabbled at the dirt with tense fingers as the vine that had grappled him pulled him off of the ground and he finally tore his eyes from the entomid - was it even an entomid? Was he actually chasing an anthousa or a leshy without even knowing? In any case, his struggle was newfound, attempting to reach for the knife that rested on his thigh before the vines wrenched his arm away from where it was planning on going. Twisting, furling around him, around his neck, a sensation briefly punctured his robotic obsession: he could die right here, right now, strangled by some failsafe that the fae had arranged to protect it. His struggle grew more fervent, yet still much quieter than it had any right to be, with only the occasional grunt escaping from Parker’s squirming body. And then, it suspended him. His limbs were pulled apart, unable to touch each other or move. The vines had worked their way around his chest like a harness, his neck a collar but still giving him enough room to breathe. Parker stilled somewhat, his quiet thrashing becoming more of a jitter as he found the textures of the vines unpleasant on his exposed arms; he didn’t like being restrained as it was, and this wasn’t helping. But… he was immobile, left to forcibly stand and stare at the fae that had successfully captured him with icy blue eyes, breathing heavily from exertion through an arrow-straight nose. Then the fae spoke, as he absorbed its details as he was sure it studied him. Was that gaelic? Parker understood just enough for the purposes of his job but the word was unfamiliar to him. He could only assume that it had to do with iron, which would mean that the fae knew that he was a Warden. A spike of adrenaline pulsed through him at the acknowledgement and he pulled against the vines that constrained his wrists in immediate retaliation, though the gesture was more idle than anything. “You know what I am.” He finally spoke, quiet, dull even considering the position he was in as his eyes danced over the mass of insects that covered the fae. He could feel his heart racing, though not with the fear of being killed; rather, he felt close to being overstimulated, confronted with so many insects at once, being so close to a nymph that he could smell its soap, feel his blood turning over in his veins, but being completely unable to touch it or move in a meaningful way.

—

“Yes.” Burrow confirmed, the same as he had confirmed to her. Of course, her statement had been speculation. One made in confidence, but she was not fool enough to hold onto first impressions. The way he made no attempt to deny, just continued to stare with those hungry eyes, he may as well have uttered the words: I am the one of iron. She did appreciate his forthrightness. “I assume you had nothing pleasant planned for me, aye?” There were flashes in her mind of those dark nights with tales of dread. Men with blood of iron lurking beyond the safety of the féth fíada. Stories to keep children from wandering too far. The mere thought had fae sent into a frenzy. There was something so terrible and tantalizing about being so close to one. Her heart raced, but it was not alone. Against the tension of the vines, she could feel his heart as well. A fluttering like that of butterfly wings. She had no intention of ending it. He could prove… useful, couldn’t he? Possessed skills that aligned with her endeavors. They were both monsters to the fae, after all.

All easier said than done. He knew the fae very well — well enough to live to see gray hairs. He would not blindly fall into a bind. Still, Burrow would try. Once more, she went silent, this time not only studying the man but her coming words. “We could make a deal.” The tendrils lacing her neck squirmed with anticipation, raising her head higher. “You will help me locate a suitable Aos Sí and not be involved in any harm done to me.” She let the statement linger, let him absorb the words before she continued. “In exchange, I will spare you from my vines…” They tightened around him in protest. She urged them to relax. A silent argument that ended with her victorious. But there was something else that stalled her next words. “And you may satisfy your… bloodlust. At the chosen Aos Sí.” Her throat constricted, as if it protested too. Death rarely served her, and this instance was no exception. But she knew he was of death. She would need to please the monster in him in order to please the one in her. “Only to an extent. I need a certain amount of the fae alive and well.”

—

Nostrils flared as the Warden struggled to regulate his breathing enough to keep his vision from hazing over. Parker was so often likened to a machine that it was almost hard to believe that at that moment, as the fae kept her intricately unique semblance of a face on him, every aspect of control in her hands, there was little difference between him and a trapped animal struggling against its restraints. She was so close. He felt his mind starting to burn despite how powerless he felt deep inside his core, hidden beneath decades of walls and experiences, lessons and skills carefully honed throughout those decades. He was looking into a mirror and some part of him might’ve been… afraid of what he saw.

The Warden did well hiding it behind his desire to simultaneously tear into her with mechanical abandon and keep himself from having what his mother still referred to as a ‘meltdown’; he was uncomfortable, both with the proximity of the fae and with how his limbs were stretched apart. How the texture of the vines felt on his neck, how they were rough and dirty and how their imperfections caught on his. How the sharpness of her irish soap mixed with the dirt and water scents; it wasn’t a bad combination, just overwhelming in conjunction with everything else. When she asked about his plans for her, no reliable answer came to his mind, nothing for him to reply with other than it was neither positive nor negative; it just was. She was sure to perceive his actions of carefully taking enough of her apart so he could add her to his collection as negative but Parker was also relatively certain that she assumed he was wanting to kill her. He didn’t reply, at least not before she continued. And then she mentioned a deal, which obviously made the Warden attempt to recoil in protest. If she wanted to make a deal, then she’d have to kill him for the disappointment. He’d already made one deal with another fae that he could feel himself regretting; the whole falling out of Metzli with their master showed him that whatever he did, whatever he tried to do to make and maintain friends was worthless. The closest thing he had was Rhett and even then, it felt like a balancing act sometimes; something for him to find a semblance of solace in before the Warden would either get himself killed due to a lack of common sense or Parker would do something to inevitably disappoint him.

The Warden didn’t like anything she’d said so far at all, nothing about making a deal or helping her find an aos sí and especially the part where she wanted to be unharmed. That directly contradicted his methods modus operandi; he had spent enough time by now to know that he could be as gentle as a lamb when he harvested but they would still find something to scream about. Parker started to struggle against his restraints again, only slowing not when she said that she’d spare him but rather when he felt the vines constricting his neck once more before she willed them to stop.

‘And you may satisfy your bloodlust at the chosen aos sí.’

That seemed to still the Warden, at least for a moment and he kept his steely stare on her, on her twisting, flowing mass of beauty and monstrous existence. In Parker’s experience, deals were things that purely sated one party, serving to be nothing but a detriment to whoever was unfortunate enough to fall into the deal without possessing the knowledge to think about it. So when this fae essentially said ‘if you show me an aos sí and don’t kill me, you can kill some of the other fae in it’, he was admittedly caught off-guard. “...Why?” He asked after everything she offered, everything she said. Because ultimately, though he still felt a strong desire to peel her apart, add her to his esteemed collection, he was curious. Legitimately curious.

—

“That is a vague question.” Burrow huffed. “I prefer specifics.” There had been a lot said in their brief encounter, and a lot done the very same. Perhaps why was she there, or why did she want him, or why did she want the Aos Sí, or why, why, why. The why could be attached to a plethora of means — too much that she cared to explain to him. Still, she would like to make use of him. At least she could try to be a bit hospitable to sweeten his interest. She mused further on the possibilities of his question. Focusing on the terms of the deal seemed the most logical choice. He held no obvious curiosity until that very point. So, she would cover both sides.

“I want to establish a sanctuary in the Aos Sí.” Of course, there was much more that Burrow could say on that particular matter. Not anything she trusted to indulge him in, though. He did not deserve to know the interests of her kin. He would surely go spreading it about town so that death may chase them once more. “I wish to do this unharmed.” A silence followed, where she found herself watching him. This explanation did not seem to satisfy him. She tried again — the other side of the coin. “I offer sated bloodlust because I assume you are not stupid, since you have lived this long. You will want something worthwhile, yes?” There was a tremble in her tendrils, echoed by the vines. Specifically, the ones wrapped around his throat. They eased, allowing for easy breath, but not straying so far as to relinquish him. The others around his body did not follow suit, continuing their tight hold on him. Eager and ready. Remaining so until his decision was final. “Does that answer your question?”

—

Perhaps Parker had been more vague in his single-syllable question than he had originally intended; it had seemed to prompt thought in the entomid and she fell silent after expressing her annoyance at the lack of specificity of his inquiry. Fortunately, regardless of which part he was asking about, the fae bothered giving him a slightly more elaborated explanation. Unfortunately, while she did explain more sufficiently, the reason for his question wasn’t answered. “No.” He replied, bluntly at first as he felt the rhetorical noose around his neck loosening just a little more. He wished the ones around the rest of him would follow suit, undecided on whether or not he preferred to have a collar with a lead or an accessible circulatory system, just unable to move to make himself less uncomfortable. Keeping his eyes on her carefully though he couldn’t do anything if she decided to gut him, he exhaled through his nose. “What are your motives?” Parker asked more specifically this time, furrowing his brow that was slick with sweat from his useless pulling against the vines. She knew he wasn’t stupid, but he wouldn’t admit that he was puzzled by her stipulations; every aspect of his training up until he found himself constrained by her trap at that moment told him that there was some piece of this that he was missing, there had to have been.

—

While the question was more enlightening, the man did not know how elaborate was that truth. From the day Burrow was born, this Fate had its eye on her. She would need to detail all of it, the entirety of her life, to establish any sort of understanding. She did not have the care for such a long tale — especially for a stranger and especially one so soaked in ironless blood. “As I said, I want a sanctuary. For us.” Though she looked to him, it was not to him she spoke. The vines quivered in anticipation, indulging in that burst of pleasure at the thought. A home, a true and welcoming home, for those who no one wished to invite. “As for you, I find your skills… useful.” Who better to help hunt after the fae than that who lived and died for the very thing? In hindsight, it seemed an obvious course for her greater plans. One she would have cast aside as too risky and chaotic. It very much was, but Fate had other ideas. She would not throw away a fly caught on her web, even if it was a robber fly.

Burrow should have left her explanation to that; it was not wise to be fully transparent. Despite her calm composure, she was well aware of the dangers of men like him. It had been drilled into her head since her first breath: beware. But the very same reason is why she felt compelled to say more. “We are both monsters to the fae.” It was exhilarating, admitting that truth. Words of ire that she now wore as a badge. Words that the child within her hoped spark a bit of kinship between them. “If you want to know more, make the deal.”

—

If she wanted to kill him, truly wanted to kill him, she would’ve already. Parker came to that conclusion rather naturally despite knowing full well that fae tended to play with their prey before either forcing their captive into a promise, a bind, giving knowledge, or killing them. Or, one of the most glorious of achievements, having them promise they’d kill themselves. Parker wondered if that could’ve been what this was as he was given the ultimatum of “make this deal or I’ll kill you”. And what was the deal? The entomid had explained further, being rather patient (if blunt, which he understood), leaving the Warden to consider what had been said. The ‘us” she was referring to, as Parker was sure that she wasn’t talking about a safe place for fae and Wardens to co-exist, must’ve been the collection of decomposers and parasites that danced on and embraced her shape. By itself, that wasn’t anything new; fae all wanted a safe place for them, which was why aos sí existed. ‘We are both monsters to the fae.’

That was the part that separated her request from the rest. It was why she had included such accommodations like ‘you may sate your bloodlust’. She wasn’t looking for an aos sí to assimilate to. She was looking for an aos sí to… what, exactly? If she was also a monster to the fae, Parker ran through the short list of ideas that could’ve explained why she was willing to not only team up with a Warden (if trapping and ‘heavily encouraging’ an alliance counted as a ‘team up’) but let a Warden kill her kin. Cousins, family, the titles were numerous but ‘betrayer’ wasn’t one of them. She either had some sleight against other fae, she was a defector to their ideologies and ways of existing in communities or she was being coerced herself by someone behind the scenes. The hunter, heart still pounding against his ribcage, keeping a studious stare on the entomid… weighed his options. She could still kill him. He had acknowledged that there wasn’t anything he could do; even his enhanced strength, endurance and agility wasn’t suited for lengths and lengths of living rope if he didn’t already come with the benefit of a weapon in his hand to dispatch them. He had told Rhett that he’d help find an aos sí even aside from this fae. She had bothered mentioning that his skills, presumably as a Warden, would be useful to whatever plan she had. And yet… Parker was still reeling from his previous deal with Cass. How he’d been so foolish to make a promise over something so malleable. “...If… I were to accept this deal.” He finally spoke after a lengthy pause. “I would need you to make a couple of promises as well.” It was risky, Parker fully knew that as he still subconsciously found himself pulling against the restraints, though not necessarily to get his hands on her curious form. She wasn’t under any obligation so he supposed the main question would be whether or not this deal was worth dying instead of.

—

Promises? Multiple? Burrow couldn’t help but scoff. She had been quite gracious in her offer: spare his life and allow him to take that from others. Kindnesses — things he seemed to think she possessed in excess. A mistake. She only extended a hand so that she may guide his later. Or preferably not have a need, his own want for death compelling him forward. But he was much more thoughtful for that, wasn’t he? Right. Despite a want for dripping blood, the ironmongers were far away from mindless brutes. It was what made them so dangerous. Her tendrils twitched in agitation... but it did not turn into words. Curiosity kept it at bay. She could imagine his wants from her clearly: stay away from the human town, stay away from the humans entirely, stay away from life and die already. All things she had no interest in fulfilling. But, precisely, which was more important to him? Was there another that could cause future conflict? She preferred to keep the partnership agreeable. Not via the ways of the binds, but through her own actions. In times of need, they were much more flexible.

“State your ideas.” Burrow finally replied. “That is not me agreeing to them,” she was quick to follow. She would rather avoid getting him too excited, for his disappointment could prove deadly. The vines were tight and greedy, but there were reasons such things lived in the nightmares of all fae. How she wished for such a nightmare at her side, as long he proved to not be a headache as well.

—

She was receptive. Parker never did ‘delicate’ well, which was just another thing that worked against him at the moment but for his benefit, he had to attempt. “The deal is called off if I learn that… you’re working with or under someone else.” He started, making sure he kept his narrowed, icy eyes on her. That was the biggest hurdle for him; he had a strict code he adhered to on a regular basis, but it was that of his family. He served no master, prayed to no god and took no orders from a shadow behind anyone, whether they be ally or enemy. In the case of this entomid, it was the rare case of ‘both’.

Which was all the more reason why Parker had no patience for puppet masters. He wasn’t going to elaborate unless she asked him to; perhaps she could assure him that that wasn’t the case as she didn’t seem like the type to take orders, either. He inhaled sharply as he recalled the mirror again. “And I won’t kill another Warden.” He added, obviously recalling Rhett, how he’d react if he were in this situation. How his father would react in this situation. ‘You best be glad I’m not around, boy, or I’d disown you for the first deal. Let alone a second one.’ “Those are… my only two counterpoints.” He sighed after another lengthy pause. The blood that frothed in his veins seemed to settle ever-so-slightly as Parker willed himself to calm down. He was still understandably tense for several reasons and there was that ever-present drive, as soon as he was released, to relinquish himself to the machine in his head and take her apart, but he recalled something his brother had said a while back. ‘The longer you stay in a perilous situation, the easier it is to disconnect from it. Y’know?’ Walker, the elder Wright who was known for multiple reasons, up to and including his penchant for finding himself in life-endangering predicaments. The Warden regarded the nymph; they both knew he had many more things he could’ve said such as ‘don’t feed on anyone I know’, ‘if I catch you doing harm to a human, I’ll kill you’ and ‘this ends as soon as the aos sí is reclaimed’ but he simply opted for those two. Parker knew he should’ve been more careful, more thoughtful but he was at such a disadvantage at the moment (as much as he wouldn’t admit it); he was being torn in three different directions, making a conscious effort to keep thinking in general, keep himself from shutting down entirely.

—

“Oh.” Burrow chirped with surprise. “Hm…” She had only expected to offer an ear, not her acceptance, yet his suggestion wasn’t entirely disagreeable. It was her turn to go silent as his words tumbled in her brain. “Warden.” She finally spoke with hesitance. Not for the idea, but the word itself. Sure, she had heard it once before, but it still felt strange. It did not hold the importance, the might, of the Iarnairean she had grown up fearing. She never had to hear her mother say warden as if the very thing would sting her tongue. As if just saying it outloud would have them knocking down their door. “Alright. If you accept the deal, I will not have you kill a… ‘Warden.’ An T-iarnair. If you do not send any to harm me.” Terms that were already banned, as such a thing would count as involvement. But it was best to state it clearly, for others were so flippant with words, especially humans… if the man could still be considered such. They all hardly ever appreciated the true power of it. No, to many, words were mere playthings.

It was not the lack of Warden blood that had Burrow reconsidering. Death rarely served her, but she never served any. “And we do not work ‘under’ another. This is for us and only us. Do not forget that.” She was the anger of every parasite scorned and killed; she was the words that silent mouths wished to scream. Not some puppet to be used — she was the one who used. “Though, I want elaboration on your use of the word ‘with.’ Do you wish to be my only assistance? That would be a problem.” The town may be small compared to others she had lurked, but with the amount of fae she was promised, she knew it was not short on secrets. They were all tricky things, weren’t they? She would need all the eyes she could claim. “Are you enough?” A question both to herself and the man. Yes, he would be a mighty asset, but her parasites show that minuteness does not equal weakness. With enough numbers, her worms could devastate the likes of a bear.

—

“I won’t.” Parker said first. “...Send any after you.” She said the word again; T-iarnair. Warden in another tongue, specifically said so there wouldn’t be any miscommunication or misunderstanding in the terms of a potential agreement.

Something he couldn’t say for himself. He had been vague again. When she asked him to elaborate on what he meant by ‘with’, Parker couldn’t find an immediate answer. What did he mean? “I…” For the first time since becoming ensnared by the entomid, the Warden faltered, as he had spoken sooner than he thought. That was uncharacteristic, but then again, this scenario was uncharacteristic. He was admittedly having difficulty keeping his mind solidly on track, wildly fluctuating between resisting the urge to continuously struggle against the vines in futility, maintaining a coherent conversation with the fae who gave him an ultimatum, trying to make sure he ran through the entire list of options that would ensure that he would escape from this deal with minimal alteration from his “normal” life and, of course, the persistent craving to dismantle her the second he was freed from his restraints. The Warden blinked, flaring his nostrils again as he fell silent for a moment, thinking more about the appropriate response. Was he enough? He liked to consider he was. Then again, until he had spent more time with Rhett, he couldn’t even go into the Grit Pit without experiencing some expression of overload. It took someone else’s presence and more time than it should’ve for him to adjust to being in the Mushroom Circle, something Parker still wasn’t proud of in any capacity. He gulped quietly, feeling the vine against his throat. “I’m not.” He admitted, his voice still blunt despite the uncertainty at being confronted with his shortcomings tugging on his mind, a fifth thing he didn’t have the energy for. “You aren’t, either, or else you wouldn’t be asking.” A pause. “I’m not… sure what I meant.” He said, partially a lie. He wasn’t gifted with eloquently explaining some of the things in his head sometimes; that was always a strength Walker had over him. ‘Well, what do you need to say?’ His brother asked. I will not kill another hunter to keep you alive. I’m not your bodyguard. I’m not your dog. Working with someone implies that I’m expendable. I’m not expendable. It was a rare thing for Parker to engage in internal dialogue, so rare that one would think that he wasn’t capable of it at all.

“If I refuse, you’ll kill me?” He asked her to reiterate, a tactic to give him just a little more time to think of anything he possibly could’ve that would’ve implicated him, turned him into something that he wasn’t, trapped him in a scenario that he couldn’t escape from without harm coming to himself or those immediate few that he’d grown… tolerant of.

—

“You will also not entice one or any to harm me.” Burrow further clarified, urged by the thumping in her chest, but continued no further. Specifics only had one target, one thing to claim. Ambiguity was as flexible as her tendrils, burrowing into cracks sometimes she did not know of until the advantageous moment. Of course, a deal was not made alone, and the man had the same power. To hunt those with tricks, one had to not only be equal but superior in them. Was there something she needed to specify with him? It seemed she was not alone in her racing thoughts. She watched as his words became trapped in his throat. A wise choice, for it was clear his previous had been thrown out with a carelessness. Playthings. Maybe the man was more human than the tales would have her believe. It did not ease the tightness in her eyes, not a touch at all, but it did cast a curious glint in them. It shone bright against the shadow on her face.

“Of course I am not enough.” Burrow did not share in his shame. It was not due to a lack of confidence, for she possessed a healthy dose of that. Why else would she be trying to claim an entire community under her thumb? But she was not foolish to think her will alone would triumph over the reality of the matter. “We understand the power that comes with numbers.” If only one of her vines had tried to claim him, its success would have lasted mere moments. A temporary bliss ripped away by a tearing of its stem. When one became many, the many overpowered the one. “Well, if you cannot elaborate, it will not be part of the deal. If it eases you, I may… tell you about the others who will assist me.” She would not specify what or how much she would tell. That would be determined by how well this man served her and her mood of the day. “And I will still add the part about me not working under another. It is a thing that I am not and will not do.” Her tendrils billowed again, though with a fragment of their former vigor.

The tendrils settled back in their spots at his question. “No, not me specifically. I will allow them to kill you and be… fulfilled.” Burrow shared in her vines yearning. It writhed in her chest, carving its way to her heart and becoming her own. She would ease it in the coming moment, as she always did. Either from the man or from another, whoever Fate deemed to satisfy their want. “What do you say? We will not wait much longer.”

—

The separation of the entomid and the vines that curled themselves tightly around his limbs was acknowledged, as was the reconfirmation that she wasn’t acting under orders or instruction from anyone else. She was choosing her words carefully, still, doing as Parker himself would’ve done, would be doing as he was given a precious few more moments to attempt to scrape together what he could reply with that left him alive yet still suggested that he truly wasn’t expendable. There was something… enticing about her offer. Something that pulled on the thing inside him that she could see, if only from a cursory realization that he was a Warden. While the thought of going into an aos sí still made his mind reel due to his own shortcomings and he really would rather not have made a deal with any other fae ever, there was this inclination, the inspiration of something new: working with a fae to dismantle an aos sí. Then again, as Parker thought about that simple selection of words, immediately after came the obvious risk: dismantle an aos sí for what, an entomid who was content to take it over, burrowing her way into the infrastructure of the place and… start a new one with a reinforced spine, a deeper connection. There were too many variables, too many things that kept coming up that Parker needed to think through carefully - while he could make spontaneous decisions in a fight and adapt quickly to situations that needed an agile mind and body, things like deals were dangerous, wordy; one failure to mention something could’ve stood between reason and impending madness that hid just beneath the surface, like a sliver of glass that could cause an infection. His heartbeat was growing louder in his half-deaf ears, finally expressing itself in the briefest of shivers in an exhale. He was running out of time but he still had too many things he needed to consider.

“I’d feel… more comfortable if we arranged a set of individual deals.” He finally admitted. It was partially a lie - he didn’t feel comfortable making deals with fae in any capacity - but this was the only solution he could think of at present that would solve the most immediate problem: how can he get out of his alive and without inadvertently signing too much of his life and freedom away.

—

The tendrils upon Burrow’s cheek swirled amongst themselves — those of opposing cheeks curving to meet in the middle. A smile in the absence of lips. The irony amused her, but perhaps she shouldn’t be so surprised. He was a man of iron. Had he not been listening to her words? She knew the power of numbers. If he wanted to make one deal into several, she would gladly accommodate! An infection that grew tighter on his neck. Her bind on him propagating until he would never be free of her. “Ok. We may do that.” But then the question came to how. Her mind pondered all the combinations, finding which pieces clicked. What would turn a pile of chaos into a complete puzzle?

After a long pause, Burrow clicked the last pair into place. A tendril slithered into the air before the man’s face. “One, I will spare you. In exchange, you will assist in locating a suitable Aos Sí for my sanctuary.” Another tendril joined the first. “Two, I will not have you kill any of the… Wardens. In exchange, you will not be involved in any harm done to me.” The latter had been particularly tricky. Survival had urged her to link it to the man’s own. A life for a life. But what was the point of hers if she did not benefit her kin? It was no longer clear if bloodlust alone was all that needed to encourage him. He could easily disappear, his absence absolving him of furthering the trade. A risk she could not take. Hopefully, they were the same in their commitments to their kins, and his own was stronger than the want to kill her.

A final tendril rose to the air. “Three, you will not tell or inform one or others of the location of the chosen Aos Sí, unless I give permission.” Unlike the others, Burrow paused, allowing the new addition to settle in his mind. “In exchange, you may satisfy your bloodlust at the chosen Aos Sí, to an extent that does not harm my further goal.” Another pause, but born from other reasons. Her ambiguity could be mistaken for a trick. In any other fae’s lips, it undoubtedly would have been. Who was to say that her further goal would not allow any to be slain? Revealing her full intentions would be easier, but that was information he did not deserve to know. It would only be granted once he was claimed. “I assure you, in full truth, there will still be many and much blood to spill there.” She ignored the numbness that crept up her back; she ignored the flashes of dripping red in her mind. The three tendrils in the air entwined, turning into one. That one turned to point at the man. “Do you agree to these three? This is our final arrangement. Accept or do not.”

—

She was willing to separate them. And she might’ve thought that this was to her advantage, but Parker had other plans; indeed, while it seemed that the more deals there were, the easier it was to fall into one of their traps but that wasn’t how the Warden compartmentalized - one wordy deal left plenty of space for potential mistakes. He could think on each one, study them, think of contingencies and ways that their words could be misconstrued. She’d been careful about being specific so far but she was still a fae; ultimately, it was in her nature to get the most she could out of him, despite offering him a chance to ‘sate his bloodlust’ in exchange. At this point, the Warden wasn’t sure if mentioning that he wasn’t strictly an exterminator would work in his favor so he had long since decided to keep that information to himself. She wasn’t the only one who had secrets.

Lifting tendrils one by one as the nymph listed off her offers, sharp blue eyes darted to them. This really did work better and Parker was ready to try to negotiate specifics when she… “Don’t ask if I agree if the answer is irrelevant.” He replied bluntly first; he knew he wasn’t in a position to reply the way that he did, but if his brother were here watching this exchange, he’d have been able to explain it simply - the filter was disintegrating. Too many sensations, too many conflicting inputs, stuttering the framerate in his mind. The fae couldn’t have known that, though, and instead he was sure that she just thought he wasn’t someone who thought carefully, or listened to what was being said. “One: You will spare me. In exchange, I will assist you in finding a suitable aos sí with the caveat that this will not become a superfluous ordeal. There are only so many aos sí and I’m not going to help you until the end of my natural life if you can’t seem to find one that works for you. I will help you locate up to five aos sí and if none of those are suitable, this and any subsequent deals pertaining to this transaction are considered null.” He explained first, managing to keep his tone even and clear despite feeling the proverbial noose tightening again, just as it had when he was going over his terms with Cass.

“Two: I will not…” Parker paused, his breath catching in his throat. Effectively, what this was, was him making the deal that he wouldn’t dismantle her, take her apart, add some of her beautiful bugs to his collection. He exhaled softly, tightening his jaw briefly before he continued. “I will not… directly, physically harm you, nor will I allow any other Wardens to physically harm you in exchange for my refusal to kill other Wardens.” He had to make sure he left it as physical harm or damage, once again thinking about how ‘harm’ in general was so vague, he could’ve easily been locked out of a condescending remark or even an absent-minded insult, something that he didn’t perceive as such but things like that were subjective at best. He also made sure to specify that they were talking about Wardens; he wasn’t about to throw himself in front of a faun to make sure she wasn’t harmed.

The third and final deal, the one she let him consider for a moment before finishing it, was interesting but Parker could see the blood in that particular vein, the ambiguity of that particularly-worded sentence. “Three: I will not tell or inform anyone about the aos sí unless… you give me permission.” He hated that part. “In exchange, I will still be able to perform my duties and… engage in my passion.” A pause. “But not to your detriment pertaining to your acquisition of an aos sí.”

Feeling like he’d talked more that day than the past couple of weeks combined, Parker finally fell silent and regarded the writhing mass of insects and tendrils, a shadow in perpetual motion. Beautiful, haunting, with invisible chains wrapping themselves around the Warden’s body if he should try to go against the deal and hurt her.

—

What an odd statement. Of course the answer was relevant. It determined whether Burrow would allow him to live or die. A passing thought, for his following words became much more distracting. They seemed agreeable… in the beginning. Just as the stories foretold, his quiet demeanor had been hiding a tricky mind. Did he think she was an idiot? Oh, she could see his mind now, planning to learn what made a suitable Aos Si and reveal only those that would not fit. Until it equaled five, and then he could destroy them all himself, along with her. Despicable. But what followed truly made her blood boil. He really thought she was some dumbass. Or perhaps he did not think she was capable of murder. She knew he knew death well, and likely knew many who did too. Others who, while perhaps not a ‘Warden’' as he would say, could kill her just the same. Could kill her under his command, under this new deal he proposed. The final deal was the only one to survive his nitpicking, but it was not enough to satisfy her. What was the use of one good deal, when the others would lead to her demise. She refused to bind any of them, but she still claimed him.

Her vines gripped his throat, digging into his skin. They wanted to tear him apart and Burrow wanted to let them. To revel in seeing him be torn, limb by limb, like a naughty spider that had been caught. She wanted to see what it would look like when worms wiggled out of every orifice. Writhing against his last, choking breath. “Two, you will not be involved in any harm done to me or my parasites. You will not send any to harm me or my parasites, nor entice any to harm me or my parasites. Accept this deal as I say it or never speak again. Thalla gu Taigh na Galla.” She should kill him. This was too risky. This was too risky. But how was she expected to find success if she could not take any risk? Her parasites deserved at least that. Every one of her tendrils went into haywire, squirming against the cataclysm of her mind. Erupting into one great spasm, and then… nothing. In the silence that followed, she found peace. With a sigh, she willed the vines to release their hold on his throat. “Fine. We will specify that it is only physical harm. And no, Iarnair, the other deals will not be severed after the location of five Aos Sí. Do not mistake me for a fool.”

Burrow would be gracious once more, for the sake of her parasites. She would allow some of his suggestions to survive, but only some. “So, I will repeat. One, I will spare you. In exchange, you will assist in locating a suitable Aos Sí for my sanctuary. You will locate up to five and if none are to my liking, only this first trade will be severed. Two, you will not be involved in any physical harm done to me or my parasites. In exchange, I will not have you kill any Wardens. Three, you will not tell or inform one or others of the location of the chosen Aos Sí, unless I give permission. In exchange, you may satisfy your bloodlust at the chosen Aos Sí, to an extent that does not harm my further goal. These are my deals. You will not change them. Do you accept them?”

—

The restraints tightened before any emotions showed on her, a flash of anger displayed by the fibers in the vines. Around his neck, quickening his breath subconsciously for a moment as his system, in turn, reacted before the logic in his mind could attempt to explain that it was a tactic. She slithered her second deal, adding more specificity to it, through a voice coated in venom as Parker’s muscles rippled beneath his skin, wanting, needing to move his arms in a primal desire to get the thing that was strangling him off of his neck. Another grunt that tapered into what could almost have been considered the ghost of a whimper as his struggle to move his hands to relieve his throat were in vain. Air was expelled through his nose as his teeth gritted to tolerate the pain, tolerate his passages constricting with such ferocity that even though the writhing, the squirming, his heart pounding in his head with the blood that was being cut off through circulation, a small crack could be heard in the sound occlusion from his mouth up to his ears.

She wasn’t stupid. Neither was he, though the situation he found himself in certainly wasn’t doing him any favors as he struggled against the vines, against his sudden inability to breathe, feeling throbs of pain coming from his mouth and through openings in the skin where the rough plantlife was cutting into it. If he gasped for breath, he was going to choke, whether it was from the lack of oxygen or the blood that was starting to gather on his tongue. But somehow, even as she lashed out with her vitriol, Parker still didn’t think that she was going to kill him. All things considering, as his vision started to become spotty, she was going through considerable effort to make sure he took these deals.

Then… relief. The noose loosened and before he did anything else, Parker hung his head forward and spit out a mouthful of saliva and blood as fragments of one of his molars were ejected, landing on the dark ground between them. He breathed deeply, lips glistening crimson, his head hanging low with his face pointing downward for a long few moments before lifting it to look at the nymph once more. He wasn’t sure if it was anger, or irritation, or resignation or… fear, or a strained, unhealthy combination of two or more of those things as he looked into the enveloping swarm of insects. Broad chest heaving, blood oozing in strands from his mouth, his piercing blue eyes with their pinprick pupils gave the fae nothing short of an inhuman glare.

“I… accept.”

It was a new stain in his throat. It was a plethora of thoughts unaddressed that he dreaded in the future. It was a razor blade that lacerated his brain, inserting a foreign node as it waited for one of those deals to be inadvertently betrayed due to how vague most of it was. A weight much greater than the one he’d made to Cass with its harsh specificity. The Warden breathed through teeth coated in red, a pulse in his jaw, the blood frothing beneath his skin in protest at still being so close to her. The psychosomatic sensation of a collar made from the words that linked together wrapping itself around his neck and tattooing itself on the inside of his skull as he accepted her deal under the duress she’d created for him… though not entirely. Even as he gave shaky exhales, now quietly and subtly forcing himself to understand the gravity of what he’d just accepted, he still couldn’t place all the blame on her. He had been foolish and ambitious. Parker didn’t consider nearly enough options before giving chase. He was strung up at the complete mercy of an entomid, forcibly, carefully controlled into doing what she wanted and what would benefit her because of his passion. His drive. The reason why he was considered defective to the Wright Legacy. His… obsession. ‘Oh, you have a word for it, now?’ His brother hummed in one ear, with that familiar tone of having told him so. ‘We toldja it’d get you into trouble someday, boy.’ His father sneered into the other, condescension dripping from his voice. ‘Shoulda just killed her from a distance.’ ‘Now look what you got yourself into.’ His father scoffed, looking down at him. Managing to make him feel small, like the child he once was. ‘Now you know what you are.’

#wickedswriting #writing // more than words can bind #writing with // Burrow #teeth trauma tw

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poll-ventures · 1 year

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Perdition 1.9

< ≡ >

The golden woman struggled for breath beneath me, my hands tight around her throat. I glanced up at the wooden door that led to the final resting place of the massive upside down spire.

My mind raged against itself in its indecision. With my left hand, I tightened my grip, while my right loosened, then suddenly rocketed across the gap and ripped my left hand from the demon’s neck. She bucked me off, and I landed painfully on a thick pile of roots.

She shot up, shaking and naked, golden hair matted with my blood. My right hand seized my chin, forcing me to stare up at her.

I watched as she realized she had already won. My vocal cords worked against my own will, tearing my name out from my soul, until I couldn’t do anything but scream it.

“Parker!”

The demon stilled, then smiled.

I swore, tearing my hand off of my chin, finally able to move it myself again. I looked down at the bites and slices in my flesh, gritting my teeth as they bled into the fabric of my cloak. “You bitch!”

“Watch your tongue, Parker.” Her whole face was curled into a toothy smile, her voice wrung ragged, somehow sounding older than she looked.

Compared to the honeysuckle voice that had come from within my mother, this voice sounded like spoiled milk.

“I should’ve killed you, demon.” I growled.

She smiled, four front teeth glimmering goldenly. “I have a name. Use it.”

I looked past her, towards the large wooden door that led to the stalactite’s point. I pointed at it, speaking her name.

“(Solidago.)” The speaking of the word made my tongue feel like a melting icicle. I hadn’t said the exact word, but something deeper, something forbidden.

She chirped happily through her thick set of teeth. “Yes?”

“O-Open that door,” I ordered.

She bowed swiftly, swiping at the small runnels of my blood in the dirt as she did. Skipping, she drew close to the door.

Then, almost reverently she slowed before it, carefully wiping my blood on the doorknob. It stained the bright brown into a deep, angry red.

Drawing her other hand to her teeth, she nipped quickly at her wrist. A thick, golden liquid beaded at the center of the gash, then wept out of the edges.

She collected it, then turned the wrist to her mouth as she spread the golden blood onto the doorknob.

The motion so closely mirrored the one I’d seen Mr. Montgomery make in Noel’s video that I wondered for a moment if they might be the same person.

The golden blood faded quickly, mixing with mine and bubbling into a vapor for a moment before cooling. Something inside the wall shifted loudly, and when she turned the knob, the door opened toward her.

Mist blew out of the darkness and into the forest in guttering waves.

Solidago stared into the misty darkness, grip tightening on the doorknob. Her ears perked up, eyes widening as she stared into the void of light.

Did she expect something to come out of it? I stood, preparing myself to walk into that darkness alone.

Behind me, the crack of a branch announced Bella making her way back to me. Her reins were loose around her neck, bit still between her teeth. She brayed as she saw me, and I turned to pat her. Grabbing her reins, I turned back to the door.

The woman was gone.

I peered into the empty alleys of the surrounding forest, but her golden trail had disappeared. Grimacing at the pain in my forearm, I led Bella to the gap in the wooden wall.

The thick mist cascaded out over us, stinging my eyes with some sort of gritty sand that the wind carried.

I stepped into the darkness carefully, tapping my foot to make sure there was a floor. I felt my boot connect with something soft and shifting.

I put my weight on it, and it held me, although shifting slightly. Fully entering the darkness, I blindly walked forward into the sand, pulling Bella through the doorway.

As soon as we were both on the shifting sand, the door slammed shut, and we were consumed by total darkness.

****

I could feel the mist turning about me, feel it brush past us in gritty gusts of wind as we walked forward into the void. Its strength was the only sign that we were moving at all.

I held Bella’s reins, walking forward blindly with my hand outstretched, hoping against hope for any sign of where I was meant to go.

The sand ate the sound of our footsteps, quickly filling the gaps in the leather of my boots. I made very sure not to turn around, not to even shift in the direction of my course.

In the claustrophobic vastness of the void, I tried to imagine the vastness of this room, the abyss that swallowed us. There was no way it fit into the forest that had sat atop the walled castle city I’d seen from outside.

We’d been walking up the city’s streets to the center of the castle, to the tip of the upside down spire. I’d seen where it must end, just behind the door that led into this room.

It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

Bella slowed for a moment, and I paused to give her a break, still staring sightlessly into the void, blasted with gusts of stinging sand.

What had that demon been afraid of? Why had she disappeared?

Demon? Can you fucking listen to yourself, for half a second? You’re crazy! You have officially gone insane.

Maybe. But… I could remember everything that led up to this point. There were questions, too many god damn questions, but if this wasn’t real, then what was really going on?

Am I having a seizure back at the police station?

That woman… What was her name? Horne. She’d rung my head pretty badly, then left me to sleep right after.

Isn’t that the one thing you’re not supposed to do after getting a head injury? After I wake up, Isaiah breaks me out. Then, all this crazy shit starts happening.

A wave of nausea came over me, the feeling that I was dying on the cot of a dirty cell rather than walking in a lightless void filling me with unparalleled dread. I honestly couldn't tell which reality I prefered.

I began walking again. Bella brayed in tuneless protest, but followed.

Could I just be imagining all of this?

“Could you not be?”

The voice sounded from within my head, but it felt like it was all around me, a quiet voice bleeding from the mists.

I wasn’t even surprised to hear it. That’s how bad this had gotten. Feeling curious, if a little on edge, I directed a thought at the voice.

Who are you?

It was silent for a moment, then responded with the same, quiet voice. It was the voice of my mind, only I wasn't the one controlling it.

“You,” you said.

I sighed, speeding up as I bit my lip. Speaking without talking, listening without hearing.

The least you can do is not mess with me.

You smiled. “When it is a horse.”

Fuck you. What does that even mean? Fuck you!

“Save your curses, and save your questions for the pool.”

What pool?

Silence.

“What POOL! Are we going swimming!?” I shouted, exasperated. Bella pulled against her reins in shock, my outcry dying in the void as quickly as it had left my lips.

The gritty wind continued to unceremoniously assault my face. I stopped. I’d been walking with my eyes closed. Now, staring forward, I saw light ahead.

“Birthing pool. Groundwater. The last star in a long dead sky.” You feel like crying for the first time in billions of years.

I walked toward the light.

****

The light was high in the sky, seeming to hover above the dunes of the desert.

Slowly, the light allowed shape returned to the landscape. We were walking in coarse, colorless sand, the mist mixing with the thick gusts of wind making it impossible to see even a few feet in front of me.

Bella had her head ducked against the wind, and I used the edge of my cloak to protect my eyes.

Next, color returned. My dark green robe glimmered in the weak sky-light. It never faltered, only growing stronger as we made our way through the relentless gray desert.

Above us, I could still see the rounded edge of the stalactite. Having come this close, I could see that the face of the pale stone was engraved with thin lines. The spire loomed in the sky above the light until it disappeared into the sand filled wind.

It couldn’t be more than a few minutes away. I pressed on, having to wrap Bella’s reins twice around my hand as she whinnied.

The sand chafed painfully against my wounds, catching in my eyelashes and nostrils, only seeming to buffet us stronger as we walked to the source of sky-light.

I tripped, catching myself at the bottom of a dune. Bella nosed at me, then turned away from the wind after I moved.

My foot had caught on something deep in the sand, and I could feel more things like it under my hands and knees. I gripped one, and pulled it out to reveal a dagger.

Or what had once been a dagger. Sand poured off of it in waves, disappearing into the pull of the wind. The blade was dull, and the handle had fallen off ages ago.

It looked like there’d been a carving on it once, but it too had been worn away. The others were much the same, some larger, some smaller, but all metallic blades that seemed to have been here for a long time.

The largest blade I found looked as if it had once been much larger. It was about two inches wide, three feet long, and still had its wooden handle and hilt in place.

It was heavy as hell, and still had its engravings on the side that had been buried deeper in the sand.

They were simple, thin lines that reminded me of a map of the human circulatory system. They were just like those etched into the spire.

Where did these come from? Who had once owned them?

“The pool,” you said.

The voice caught me off guard, but I shook my head staring down at the large sword resting atop the sand.

Do I bring it with me?

“No. She has earned her rest.”

She? You knew the owner of this blade?

“Yes. The Mothervein. I was her, and she will be me.” You stared at the sword, and coulf recall it as it once was. Woodswillow. Will the Mother remember you as such?

I slid the sword back into the sand, covering it carefully before I stood. It shifted slightly as I stepped past it. Bella turned back to me, facing the sandy winds to follow me, paying no attention to the blades hidden in the dunes. Ahead, the light glowed ever stronger.

Cautiously, I walked on the metal remains hiding beneath the thin coat of sand. On the leeward side of a dune, we were protected momentarily from the whipping winds. Staring up at the light, I nearly tripped again on a resting blade.

As we crossed the dunes, the valleys grew deeper, and the peaks higher. In the darkened depths of one misty dune, we stepped noisily across a pile of blades unearthed by the wind.

I watched Bella carefully here, escorting her across the shifting pile of dull, gleaming metal that peaked out of the blanket of mist.

As I stepped out of the valley, I finally saw the stalactite’s end. Its point was hidden inside a tower, made of the same pale stone as the spire itself. Having seen the structure at its full size from outside the castle walls, its end seemed impossibly small.

Looking up, it was the only thing I could see. The taper was gradual, but even a few miles above me, it encompassed the entire sky.

Light spilled out from the top of the crenelated tower, radiating across the nearby dunes and illuminating the mist in the air.

The mist itself poured out from the first floor of the tower, which was built without walls. Bare, pale stone pillars circled a metal platform, holding up the rest of the walled tower.

I sped up the hill towards the tower, towards the point of the spire, trailing Bella behind me.

The mist grew thickest as I rose to the top of the sandy hill. It was cold, but contained no sand. It seemed pure, smelling somehow more fresh and full than ever. I breathed deeply, feeling the cold, pure vapor in my lungs, and finally crested the hill.

Standing in the flickering lamp light of the pale stone tower was my Professor, speaking to a woman I’d never seen before.

I stared in shock at Professor Mecardi, feeling my stomach turn in confusion and disgust.

He was in front of the room’s centerpiece: a stone pool, where the pure white mist poured in heavy waves. A lectern sat in front of him with a large book spread on it.

The circular room was littered with tables full of books and beakers, the outskirts stocked with large wooden racks of weapons and tools. The woman knelt beside the pool, staring up at my Professor respectfully.

Both of them wore swords on their belts. My professor was dressed in robes just like mine.

With my mouth agape, I felt a great pain twinge in the back of my brain, once, twice, left eye twitching in sympathy before I fell on my knees.

I stared up at the two of them, the woman, tall and muscular in her thick leather garb, staring back at me, annoyed. My professor looked on in confused amusement.

I vomited onto the pale floor, and then collapsed.

****

“Hey. Drink up.” A woman’s rough tone.

There was a metal taste on my tongue, and something heavy resting on my teeth, pouring liquid into my mouth. Someone shook me firmly, then patted my shoulder.

The liquid was thick, and instantly coated the inside of my mouth. It was a bitter, acidic bile.

I swallowed quickly, not being able to breathe. My head ached in rhythm with my heart, waves of pain radiating out and down my body. I was shivering, thrust suddenly into consciousness, and wishing I hadn’t been.

I kept my eyes closed, feeling my pulse in the stem of my brain as I swallowed more glugs of the liquid.

“Welcome back.”

She pulled the metal spout out of my mouth, and I finally swallowed all of the bile. I tried to speak, but my mouth felt like it was full of sludge.

“Be quiet. And unclench your jaw.”

I did, not realizing that I had been. I could breathe again, but even that was painful. Although…

The pain was dulling as I lay on the ground. Waves of pain slowly melted into pleasurable bursts of comfort and warmth, like I’d just taken a shot.

Even the pain from the cut and bite Solidago had dealt me had eased. I breathed slowly now, and rested my head against the cold stone.

After a moment's breather, I finally opened my eyes.

The meager lamp light almost blinded me at first. It lit the circular room with its fluttering flame, revealing the woman who’d been standing in front of my professor holding a white and gold spouted jug she had made me drink from.

She was chubby, wearing a large leather jerkin and a large, heavy looking sword on her belt, just above her leggings.

I was on the floor of the tower. This close, the stone felt more like a sheet of thin, cold metal, engraved with spidery lines, all parallel to one another. This close, they looked like a never ending system of veins and nerves.

“Fffnmg,” I groaned wetly.

“Yeah,” she agreed, placing a warm towel over my eyes. She pushed me slowly onto my side, and I felt something wet trickle out of my mouth. I coughed, spitting out a pool of collected blood, phlegm and mysterious bile onto the pale metal floor.

She eased me onto my back again, wiping away the mess, and finally, I saw the spire in its entirety.

The point of the spire was directly above the pool of perfect white mist, hovering a few feet above it. It ended in a sharp, miniscule point, all of the parallel engravings running together to meet at the end of the stalactite.

The tower itself was designed to encompass the very end of the spire, only a few stories tall and hollow, the tapering stalactite fitting directly into the middle of it, and ending just above the pool of ever drifting mist.

Above the tower itself, I could see the glass box that held the sky-light from the desert. It seemed dimmer, now that I was right below it.

“Quite the view.” The woman stood after speaking, lifting a wooden bucket and rag from the metal floor.

“Where am I?” My voice sounded old, cracked, and tired.

“Home,” you said, smiling softly.

“You were almost dead. You’re alive for a little longer, thanks to him.” The woman nodded to my professor, who stood looking over the wooden lectern at the two of us.

She carried the jug and bucket across the circular room, pouring its brackish contents out into the sand beyond. Then, she placed the white and gold jug into the center of the misty pool, just below the point of the stalactite. Turning to my professor, she asked, “It’s settled then?”

My professor turned to her, hands on the wooden lectern like they were when he was presenting in front of a classroom. “Yes, roadmaster. Thank you.”

She turned to go, then looked back. “Do you see me, Alex Mecardi?” She bowed slightly, putting her three center fingers onto her chin, stubby fingernails facing him.

He nodded, bowing slightly with his index and middle finger to his chin. “I see you, Maxine Anderson.”

She put the bucket and rag down against a large round pillar, then stepped off of the metal platform of the tower’s first floor.

And disappeared.

There was no other way to explain what I’d just seen. She should have stepped down off of the pale metal and into the misted sand, but she didn’t. She just stepped through the gap, and then was gone.

As soon as she left, the room shifted. The wooden racks of weapons that had filled the background disappeared with her, leaving a puff of mist as they quickly took another shape.

More bookcases, and more tables littered with chemistry equipment and books took form from the mist, seemingly as solid as the racks they had been moments ago.

I turned to my professor, and stood slowly. Somehow, I managed not to fall down, still shaking as I righted myself.

He was still standing behind his lectern, looking down at the large book laid out on it. He looked up at me as I stood, blinked, then spoke.

“Parker. Are you feeling okay?”

I stared at him, somewhere between amazement and hatred. “No. Absolutely not.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.

I spoke quickly, almost interrupting him. “What the hell are you doing down here? What the hell is this place, and why am I here? What do you have to do with all of this?”

He smiled, and it was one I was familiar with. I’d seen it come across his face while he discussed historical essays or particularly cogent philosophical ideas.

It was somewhat guarded, a tiny smirk that showed he was thinking, but still listening. He turned to a table behind him, littered with old leather bound books and flasks.

“One question at a time,” he said slowly.

I slowly rounded the pool of mist, watching his back as he looked down at an open book, adjusting one of the glass vials, which was filled with a clear liquid.

"I deserve as many answers as I want. The last few hours have been hell, and at the end of it, I find you." He turned from his equipment to me, and I jabbed a finger at him.

“I know, Parker.” His smile had been replaced with a grave, serious expression. “I have to explain this to you carefully, and quickly. You’re in danger, and we’ve-.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “I’ve put you there.”

“Sure,” I said, speaking animatedly, “Let’s start there. What the hell are you doing with these people? Maxine, Isaiah, Stash. What did you all do to me, and why?”

“We poisoned you.” He didn’t seem the smallest bit ashamed, standing there, perfectly still. “With thallium.”

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Your employer,” he said seriously. “Mr. Montgomery.”

His face flashed in my mind. I saw him at the front door, welcoming me into his home, showing me his study, the false memories, the knife he had handed me, and his daughter holding his rifle, meaning to fire it into my chest.

“I see you already have an idea of his capabilities. Memories falling into place, replacing old constructions? That would be the ichor.” He said it all so matter-of-factly, I could barely stop to think.

Ichor. Blood of the Gods?

“Goddess.”

“Blood of the Goddess?” I asked, my voice sounding strange to my own ears.

He was taken aback. “It must be further along than I thought. Perhaps the dosage… No matter, the amount of thallium in the mixture should’ve killed you on the spot. We gave you the ichor to slow the-”

“Hold on, you’re who kidnapped Mr. Montgomery?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “You were instrumental in our plan, and I do apologize that we used you.”

“Don't--Don't even go there. Not unless you mean it.” I took a breath, and looked around the bizarre circular room, then blew it out slowly. “There's no going back from this, is there? My life will never be normal again.”

“Parker. All we need you to do is cast a vote. After that, we can help you, and make you forget all of this. I give you my word.” He bowed his head, placing a hand to his chest.

“Aw, thanks, teach. Now tell me, can you make an FBI agent forget about the pizza delivery boy who broke me out of prison? How about the fifteen cops that saw me get arrested? How about my family, who probably think I'm a criminal on the run now?”

For the first time in my life, I saw real shock on Professor Mecardi's face. Then, he closed his eyes and pinched his nose, raising his eyebrows in as much annoyance as shock.

“Yeah," I said. “Didn't think so.”

He paused, tapping a finger against his pursed lips. “We can't do that,” he said slowly, “but we can fix this. We know this is our fault, and we're ready to-”

“Okay, sure, just-. Why did you have to pick me?” I stammered, putting my own hand to my chest. “Why poison me?”

He paused, breathing deeply, then exhaled through his nose slowly. Then, almost a whisper: “Do you remember your final essay?”

“What does this have to do with a stupid essay competition? I can’t even believe I’m looking at the same person I turned that essay into.”

“You are, Parker. I’ll explain it all, just, let me, yes?” He was pleading with me.

“Fine.” I nodded, crossing my arms.

“Okay. Your history covers the nature of Old Hill. How the town has gone through several booms and busts. And, your theory was…?”

He smiled expectantly, and I couldn’t keep it from disgusting me. The worst part was that it felt normal. This is how we would talk in class, and here we were, beneath a metal stalactite larger than God, buried underneath a mountain.

I sighed. “My theory was that Old Hill is heading for another boom. In the past, it was coal, gold, arsenic, tungsten, and now it’s real estate, via the gentrification of Old Hill’s mainstreet and available high end cabin locations.” I was essentially quoting my essay’s thesis back at him, and he was eating it up.

He smiled, and nodded. “Yes, well, you're more right than you know. There were people behind these booms and busts, yes? These people got rich here, then left to change the world?” He quirked his eyebrow, waiting for me to agree.

I nodded, feeling my anger boil underneath the surface. “That’s the American dream. Make it big and escape the nowhere town, change the world, and get rich doing it.”

“Yes. Sure. But can that happen to anyone?” He smirked, waiting for my retort.

“Sure. Niel Armstrong was a kid from Ohio, and he ended up on the Moon. Every small town has its heroes.” I played dumb, hoping it would help him get to his point.

“Yes. But Old Hill has more than most. Cycles of vast riches, then great poverty.”

“...And?”

“First it's gold, coal, wood, then arsenic, then tungsten, now real estate. They all profit off the labor and the land of those beneath them, but when the land's bled dry?” He motioned as he spoke, posing his final question dramatically.

I paused. “I… Nothing, if work dries up, the workers will leave.”

“Not these workers,” he tutted in a sing song voice, looking half mad. “Sure, some will leave, but Old Hill? These people, their history… These people will stick to their legacy. They'll suck these people dry, Parker.”

“How?”

“They already have, have been for a while. Think about it. They've chained the people to the mountain, and it’s given Old Hill all that it can. Now that all we’ve got is empty hills, they've gone looking to profit off the land. And when that drys up, all that's left is-”

“What are you saying? What does this have to do with Kyle Montgomery?”

“Everything. He owns those real estate companies, he’s been building those condos. He’s poisoning the town, and profiting off of it.” He put his fist down on his lectern, then stepped out from behind it, walking slowly closer to me as I spoke.

“So you kidnap him? You poison me? To what end?” I slowly backed up as he approached, and he put his hands out, as if not to spook a horse.

“He is a vampire, Parker. He drank from you. He drank from the whole city. It was the only way to stop him.”

He stopped, putting his hands together as if in prayer. “Please, just think about it. All of the ichor inside you has to help you realize that he’s been pulling the wool over your eyes. He’s been feeding on you, ever since you stepped foot into his house. You were the only way to get to him.”

I had backed up into a pillar of the tower. I felt the cool metal line my spine, then closed my eyes to think.

Without even trying hard to remember, I found more dual memories, melting as simply as a child's lie in the light of the sun. Over and over, I remembered him knocking on my door before bed, looking me in the eyes, and telling me to let him in.

Then, I would do it. He would hand me the same knife as before, and I would slice into my wrist, letting him drink from the thick red blood that welled there. It hurt, but I wanted to help him. It felt good. Then, after he had drank from me, he would put his wrist against my mouth, his own lips red like wine-

I grimaced in disgust at the memories, forcing them out of my mind with sheer will.

“I hate this,” I said, fury making my voice shake. “I wanted no fucking part in any of this.”

He stepped forward again, shaking his head slowly. “As much as I wish it wasn’t the case, Parker, he was using you. He would’ve killed you, within time.”

“Maybe that’s better than-.” I stopped, tears welling at my eyes as I looked around the room. I groaned, just wanting to scream. “All of this. All of this fucking sucks.”

“I agree,” he said softly. “We needed to do something to help you.”

“So you poisoned me? And then erased my memory of it?” My voice was rising in pitch now, my chest tight.

“Nothing that nefarious,” he said, “Just in your water. I had to do it, to save you, Parker.”

“I wish you hadn’t,” I spat. “For once, I had something approaching normalcy. What did you do with him, anyway? Is he dead?”

“No,” he shook his head, jaw firm. “I voted against killing him.”

“So, just keep him alive indefinitely? I mean, what’s the plan here?” My voice was frayed, on the edge of delirium, a moment away from breaking into disturbed laughter. “Where is he?”

My professor took a breath, and straightened his back. “He’s here. I had him bound.”

“Oh, ‘cause he’s such a threat?”

He nodded gravely. “He is. You’ve only seen a fraction of what he can do.”

“Show me. Prove to me that he’s a-.” I paused, shaking my head. “A vampire.”

He nodded, serious as ever as he turned and crossed the room, leading me to a heavy looking wooden crate. He put his arms and hip against the crate, pushing it off of a raised circle in the pale metal, a handle poking out of the floor.

He bent, grabbed the handle, and raised the trap door. It was pitch black inside, mist spilling tendrils down into the darkness. My professor grabbed the lantern from a table, shining oily firelight down into the pit.

Inside, was Kyle Montgomery. He stared up at us, ten feet down, blinking at the light that gleamed off of the blood slick chains that bound him.

He was in a ruined suit, his short blond hair slick with sweat, blood and worse. The walls of the pit were too tight for him to stand, so he crouched in a pool of brackish water.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing resembling speech came out. Trying again, he managed, “Water.”

“Jesus Christ,” I whispered hoarsely.

“Spare your sympathy,” he said, and spit down the pit at Kyle, who flinched as the spittle landed on his cheek. “It’s a monster.” I glanced down at the sword on Professor Mecardi’s belt.

“Parker?” The man’s ruined voice called up to me. “Help me. You need-” He broke into a coughing fit, then adjusted himself, the chains clinking against each other like airless windchimes. “Don’t listen to him. Just, please. Help me.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it, turning to Mecardi, stomach churning at the sight, let alone the smell that wafted up from the pit. “Why are you doing this to him? What did he do to deserve this?”

Slowly, he closed the trap door. Kyle’s whispered cries grew to a crescendo as the door slammed shut, silencing him. My professor looked at me, stepping close as he spoke.

“When I open this, I need you to focus on the words he’s saying. Really focus. Close your eyes and listen, and once you hear it for what it truly is, open your eyes. You will see your proof.”

I lowered my eyebrows, staring back at the professor. I nodded, but held up a finger. “Is this what the vote is on? To kill or keep this man alive?”

Mecardi nodded back, saying, “Yes. He may be a valuable asset alive, as much as he deserves death.”

“No. If the vote falls on not killing him, he’s set free. Nobody deserves this." I paused, then added, "No thing."

He bit his lip, then nodded. “The others draw near. We will vote on it when the time comes.”

Then, checking I was ready, he nodded one last time. He raised the trap door once more.

I closed my eyes, listening to the cries of a helpless man. “Water,” he said again, then apparently seeing me again, he cleared his throat. “Parker. I need you to get me out of here, Parker.”

Thinking of his lips on my wrist, mine on his, sucking blood out of free flowing veins, I screwed my eyes shut further, willing the ichor inside me to spread.

“See true, hear true, my host…” You croon in pleasure, stretching unused muscles for the first time in untold eons.

The voice of Kyle Montgomery slowly melted from a raspy, tired man, to that of a wounded animal. He screamed. It was a full, blood curdling cry of a creature, something non-human beating at the inside of its cage, hurt, scared, hungry and furious.

“Do you hear it?” My professor asked, voice mellow over the vicious screams. After I nodded, he said, “Open your eyes. Look upon its true form.”

Blood slick chains writhed in tortured tension, keeping the beast pinned to the bottom of the pit. It was still Kyle Montgomery, clothed in his expensive suit and tie, but the way his body moved…

It was impossible. He wasn’t human. His body bent at fatal angles, faster than I could properly see. He was a blur of arms and legs, screaming with no language or goal behind it, just pure anguish.

Not once did the chains slacken, they were always pulled tight around his form. At his belt, there was a sword. I could make it out in the fleeting moments between his crazed writhing.

It was a thin, needlelike saber. His screams never took the shape of communication in my mind, continuing as a never ending stream of pain and fear.

“Close it,” I whispered.

Mecardi did, watching me carefully. The screams were finally silenced.

I crouched silently, thick cloak gently billowing in the mist on the floor. I shook my head, then stood.

He did too, placing a foot over the trap door and staring at me like I might injure myself. After I had spent a full minute staring at the metal plate, he spoke quietly. “Are you okay?”

I moved my eyes to meet his, then laughed genuinely, heartily, until I ran out of breath. Heaving fresh lungfuls of the sour smelling air, I had to make an effort to stop laughing as I stepped back.

“What’s so funny?”

The young boy's voice took me a moment to recognize, and I realized it belonged to Isaiah a second before I turned to see him entering the mist coated tower.

He was smiling, poncho fluttering in the misty wind as he rounded the pool in the center of the room, stopping to do a hanging spin from one of the circular pillars holding the tower up.

Stash blinked into existence behind him, stepping into the tower from nothing. The folds in her draping red dress held no dusting of gray sand. She frowned, surveying the scene warrily from the back of the room, hands on her hips.

Cheerily, Isaiah turned to her. “Hi-low,” he drawled.

"Hinny-minny," Stash echoed.

After a moment, the woman who had given me the ‘ichor’ appeared to Stash’s left, stopping for a moment to pat Bella's mane and give her a treat.

She stood, contemplative as she took in the others. She looked as if she was waiting for something.

All three of them had swords on their belts.

Stash nodded to the taller, larger woman. “Max.”

She just grunted, then turned to the professor and I, expectantly. Then, the room shifted again.

Just as it had when Max disappeared, the room's decor puffed into mist before slowly regathering into different furniture. The racks of weapons had been replaced, and now joined sets of armor.

Where the room had been disarrayed, it was now perfectly in order, books slid back into their place on bookshelves, tables lined themselves up in a perfect circle around the pool, even the lectern puffed into mist momentarily to shift itself slightly to fit in front of the largest of the wooden tables.

This table was round, while all the others were curved rectangles. It held a large map of Old Hill, with pins keeping it from fluttering off of the tabletop.

Little figures were arrayed on the map, varying in size, shape, and color. On the western edge of the map, the mountain range sat like a massive natural wall. The map was one I recognized, I had seen it in the historical society's museum, not too long ago.

“I love it when that happens,” Isaiah said, jumping onto one of the benches of the outer tables just to vault the table itself. He landed with turned down untied boots up on the metal edge of the pool of mist, leaning back on the table behind him. “We ready to do this?” He grinned up at me, smiling like it was his last.

Max grumbled, then stepped forward into the center of the tables, standing opposite Isaiah. “There was no vote called for your actions tonight. You were reckless, and endangered all of us.” She stood with her arms crossed over her leather jerkin, staring down at Isaiah with a scowl.

“If I didn’t save him, they would’ve killed him,” Isaiah said, shrugging as he looked up at her. “Either that or the poison. The fed they stuck him with already gave him a concussion, then let him sleep. I played hockey, man. That shit kills people.”

I touched my forehead, feeling the dull ache through the softer waves of pleasure the ichor provided. Mecardi sighed, stepping up to the lectern, looking down and across the small gathering.

Stash joined the other two in the center circle, sitting with her back straight on the bench next to Isaiah’s. Her long braid rested perfectly on her back, and had been threaded with a long red ribbon.

Without thinking, she had adjusted her scabbard to fit in the gap between bench and table. The other two had as well, I realized.

“Please, gentlemen. We must vote on the matter at hand, not bicker at how we got here.” Mecardi frowned, looking at Isaiah, who still was locked in a glaring contest with Max. “I did not approve of Isaiah’s actions. He acted rashly.”

Stash leaned toward Isaiah. “I told you so,” she stage-whispered. Isaiah finally broke the stare, looking up at me with a sly ‘well, what-are-you-gonna-do?’ look.

“However,” Mecardi said, pausing to let them refocus. “Parker is now safe, which is only right, as he was fundamental to our plan.” He turned back, looking at me expectantly. I shifted awkwardly, until he spoke. “Please, have a seat.” He motioned to the last remaining bench sitting before the mist filled well.

I rounded the room, staring out at the lit dunes of sand beyond the tower, thinking of the swords that lay hidden beneath them. Then, carefully slipping between the tables, I sat in between Stash and Max, staring up at my professor.

“Now. I call the council to order,“ he intoned. Isaiah’s back straightened, getting up off the edge of the table as he stared into the mist coming out of the large pool. “Parker has asked for a vote. He says a vote in favor of letting the Montgomery beast live should be a vote for setting him free. We shall vote for this first.”

Max looked at me, face unreadable. The others remained silent.

Mecardi cleared his throat, then looked at all of us in turn as he spoke. “All in favor of setting the beast free, raise your hand. All in favor of keeping the beast in the oubliette, stay your hands.”

I hesitated, but raised my hand. I was only joined by Isaiah. My heart sank, but then roiled with a thin slick of anger.

“Horseshit,” Isaiah said, mirroring my emotions. “Why the hell would we keep him? Man’s got a wife and child.”

Max smirked at him, voting hand firmly below her waist. “Of course he does. It makes him less evil. Those things will take any opportunity to seem like one of us.”

“But they are not,” my professor said, grimacing. “The only good it serves the world is dead, or helping us study the ichor more closely.”

“So you admit it!” Isaiah stood up, slamming a fist against Mecardi’s lectern. “All you want to do is keep him and experiment on him. That’s fucked.”

“Sit down,” Max said, standing and towering over the boy.

“Admission implies guilt,” Mecardi said, steadying himself on the wooden lectern above us. “Anything I do to that thing has no moral weight on my soul, for it is a beast of destruction and death. You know this well, Isaiah. You apprehended the beast, and still bear the scars-”

“Shut up,” I said, “Just stop talking. Isaiah has done the exact same thing that the man you have in the pit did to me. He didn’t drink from me, but he acts the same as Kyle Montgomery. Tell me the difference.”

Isaiah turned to me, affronted. “I am not a monster. He was set to kill you, and has killed many times before. I saved you. Do not compare me with that man,” he said, voice cracking with emotion.

“Quiet,” Mecardi spoke loudly, and Isaiah and Max returned to silence, then sat. “Now. We vote on the beast’s death.”

I breathed in deeply, feeling the ichor ache happily inside me. I’ve used that same power on Solidago. Am I any better than Isaiah? Than Montgomery? I had turned to it before for my decisions, and it made me fear how long it had been inside me.

If this shit had been here for months, had it been steering the course of my life? Will this choice be taken from me as well?

“All in favor of killing the beast, raise your hand. Those in favor of keeping it alive, stay your hand.”

Max raised her hand. Isaiah raised his hand.

Stash and Professor Mecardi didn’t move.

The decision was left to me.

What do you do?

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