Yay for update-y goodness... So Willow met Princess River... I hope the Prince doesn't give Willow trouble...

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We few, we happy few. We band of buggered.

Posting While Nude Improves Your Mood.

Oh, oh, Prince Tinari's interest in Willow doesn't bode well. Misogynistic bastard, hope Will turns him into a toad, or something else suitably slimey that fits his personality.

I think this a bit of a transitional chapter in that it's preparing us for the next phase of Willow's story, but it was interesting though - the prince, Willow's claustrophobia, the brief, but very pertinent, mentions of being lost, references to watchers and listeners, the princess' statement that her quarters are the safest in the palace.

It appears that Willow is already close to the edge, I wonder if life in the palace, and her role in it, will take her closer than she would like to be.

It may have been short (by your standards), but it was beautifully formed.

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People grow through experience if they meet life honestly and courageously. This is how character is built. Eleanor Roosevelt

Sorry I haven't answered your email yet, I'm getting there, there was just a lot that you had to tell me.

I really loved this chapter, honestly, but I told you that already.

Lookin' forward to the rest,
M.

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"This is not my life, or maybe it is..." -TEB

There's some more of my stuff over here: http://bonmot507.livejournal.com/

viewtopic.php?t=4929

Thanks to everyone who's sticking around through all this plot building!

Paint the Sky:

I do agree that this one was short for my liking, but nothing else fit into the rhythm of the chapter. I'll make up for it later. And yes, Willow is going through some major transitions again. After finally getting her story onto paper, I've realized that she's had a pretty rough time of it since Tara strolled into her life. I'll have to make it a point to give her something rewarding for all this hard work. Did they have cheesecake in medieval times?



You know, you might be onto something there! I was hoping you'd find him suitably slimy. I'm sure Willow will get her moment in due course. But, as you'll see soon enough, it's really River he should watch out for. *conspiratorial wink*

chance:



You ain't kiddin'! Still, it was good to get all those thoughts out of my head and written down. It's helped me focus in on where I'm going next. No hurry. You know where to find me.

_________________
There, but for the grace of her, go I.


http://citychickenfarm.blogspot.com/

Apparently it was mentioned as being served to athletes in ancient greece at the first olympics, and that the romans introduced it throughout their empire, so I say go go ahead and give the girl some cheesecake!

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People grow through experience if they meet life honestly and courageously. This is how character is built. Eleanor Roosevelt

Chapter 15



Sweat foamed on the coat of the black horse as it was driven harder and faster from the rolling hills out into the open canyonlands. Light danced over the fields, orange and yellow casting their hue over the green wheat. Flames tore through the tiny thatched cottages and wooden barns faster than the horse could gallop. His rider, balanced perfectly on the hand-crafted black leather saddle, leaned forward as they leapt over a low hedge, never breaking his gaze from the fire ripping through what remained of Red Springs. A hot wind poured over the valley and down toward the canyonlands, followed by a dark-winged beast, its screeching call chilling the hearts of any who had survived the blaze. The black rider pulled his horse to a stop and stared at the immense creature, a steady hand reaching for the double edged sword at his back.

Giving his mount the slightest of signals, they took off at breakneck speed to where the wyvern turned and now flew. It raged and cried into the hot air, spying movement at the border of light provided by the fire which now began to consume the driest parts of the fields. At its edge, a woman crawled and dragged another body away from the crumbling buildings. Nothing could be heard over the deafening howl of the flames. Hooves pounded into the hard soil, echoing up into the rider’s large frame, but the sound was strangely absent. Wings beat into the scorching air, but no warning could reach the survivors who lay out in the open, grassy plain just beyond the remnants of their home.

The black rider swung his sword deftly in his right hand, his left at the saddle horn. His left foot was in the saddle next, bracing him in a crouch. Timing would be the dividing line between salvation and utter decimation. His breath held steady in his lungs, the rider watched the powerful wyvern lower his head and talons to strike. Their hunting method was simple. No prey could evade their grasp, and once caught, escape was impossible. The wyvern would climb high into the air, an inverted dive of sorts, until freezing, thin air would deprive its prey of strength. Turning, the tiny dragon would free-fall with its meal, devouring its helpless catch in a few ragged gulps. Floating on heat drafts and stealing the ocean currents, wyverns rarely touched the earth after they reached adulthood.

This was the only exception, and the black rider intended to use it to his benefit. As the four lower talons of the wyvern’s feet brushed the dry grass in its low swoop to pick up the two injured bodies at the edge of the burning field, horse and rider jumped. Narrowly missing the muscular wings which beat low and hard, the powerful warhorse leapt over the creature’s long neck as though it were a training hurdle. His rider pushed off sideways and tumbled over the slippery back of the beast, scrabbling to grab hold of a wing. Smooth, gray-green scales rolled the struggling man onto his own back as he slid. Hard earth rushed up at him, threatening to undo his expertly timed maneuver, though no amount of timing or planning could account for his current predicament.

Confused and thrown off balance, the wyvern whipped its head around to face its attacker, unwittingly angling its body and throwing the rider to the other side of its spiny back. A single gloved hand caught the last spine before the beast’s tail. The animal screeched wildly and attempted to buck the rider off. With his free hand, the man shifted his grip on the sword and drove its tip straight through the thin film of skin which stretched over the bones of the wyvern’s immense wing. It ripped like canvas, splitting down to the tail. Man and beast tumbled in the dirt, parting and then meeting face to face. Intelligent eyes blinked and turned, taking in the black figure of a man who crouched before it, the only such being to challenge the wyvern's appetite in memories dating back before mankind walked the hills and fed the bellies of its kin. Since the demise of true dragons, there had been few natural enemies to its kind, and no predator above it in all of nature.

Turning the flat of his sword to face the fires behind the creature, the man dressed in black blinded the raging animal with a trick of light, then lunged. His sword danced and turned, its tip lightly grazing the bare earth before it swung upwards, the thrust from behind sending its bulk up through the chin of the scaly monster until it cracked and burst through the top of the wyvern’s skull. The animal tumbled forward over where its foe knelt, crushing him with its limp weight. Dust cascaded out from under them, covering the field with an unnatural cloud of orange and yellow.

Crying and rocking the dead body in her arms, Calla watched in horror as her savior was buried beneath the winged serpent. She gazed into the lifeless face of her mother and gently laid her in the grass, whispering small comforts as she would to a sleeping child. Wary of her surroundings, the burnt, injured woman made her way on hands and knees to the last stand of the black rider, where she saw a boot peeking from under a leathery wing. Her charred fingers felt over the foot, pulling lightly. He moved. Alive! her mind raced. The horse behind her nickered, a sound she found oddly encouraging. Kneeling at the side of the green creature, she placed her trembling hands on its scales and began to push with all her might. Tears coursed through the soot on her cheeks, her muscles strained and shook, but she pushed on. After her breath ran ragged and the shaking of her body grew nearly violent, a surge from below joined her effort and rolled the dead body just enough for the man to drag himself from beneath it.

Panting and still laying on his side, the black rider tested his limbs. Bruised but not broken, he surveyed his quarry and reached for the sword still lodged in the animal’s head. A quick jerk freed it, and greenish blood oozed over its hilt and onto his gloved hand.

“Are you injured?” the woman behind him asked with a shaking voice. The reality of events had yet to sink into her mind, so she relied on her innate ability to care for others until she could cope with the pain and loss that would subdue her.

Reluctant to face her, the black rider lifted himself to his feet and rested against the body of his kill, his back still to the woman. He pulled a cloth from within his cloak and cleaned the sword, deftly slipping it back into its shoulder harness without need of visual guidance.

“Please,” she tried again, “let me help you, or at least repay you for saving me.” Calla’s face fell as she realized everything had burnt to the ground around them. She could offer the stranger nothing more than her gratitude now.

Standing awkwardly, she limped over to him, resting a hand on his wide shoulder. Fatigue stole her footing as soon as she touched him, and she began to fall. The world spun and her eyes closed, and her mind braced for the impact her body could not compensate for. It never came, however, as the stranger caught her in his arms and lowered her gently to the ground. She blinked and tried to focus her eyes, but all she saw was blackness. Thinking her eyes unfit, she rubbed them and looked again. The face of the black rider was no face at all. Where eyes and nose and mouth should have been, only blackness could be seen. She stifled a scream, but its muffled sound still echoed in the silence that the flames had left, a strangled cry that wavered and trembled in her throat.

He looked away, the black hood around his head shifting slightly with the movement. Calla suddenly felt remorse for her reaction. Perhaps she could sense his pain at her cry, or perhaps it was imagined. Either way, the damage was done. He released his hold as delicately as he was able, backing away from the terrified woman. His full cape billowed as he bowed and turned, prepared to leave as quickly as he had come. Calla’s eyes followed him as he motioned to the horse. Beneath the cloak she saw thick riding trousers secured in place with two leather belts that held various weapons and tools. His chest and arms were donned in heavily reinforced leather as well, every seam stitched and covered in heavy laces. Cape, cowl, boots, and armored clothing were all black as pitch. Nary a color could be seen, apart from that which reflected off the silver of his sword and the buckles of his horse’s tack. The hollow light of dawn trickled through the smoke and haze. He mounted the broad-chested steed in one swift movement, allowing his arms to rest in his lap before he parted company with what remained of Red Springs.

Calla felt as though she should stand, but the strength was not in her. She sat and faced the black knight, suddenly recognizing him as the warrior he must be. She regarded him silently, and he returned her gaze, though his eyes were obscured. In a gesture she could only assume was out of respect for all that had been lost in the flames of the night before, the knight bowed his head to her. He left without ever saying a word.


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“Tell me again,” Merl whispered in the frail candlelight. He heard a heavy sigh on the other side of the room. “Can you not remember more detail?” He heard pacing. The floorboards creaked under the boots that wandered back to the window where they had rested a moment before.

“I have told you countless times, Merl. There is nothing more.”

He cupped his chin in his hand, noting that he had not shaved in well over a day. “There must be more, Calla. There must.”

She crossed the room and sat opposite him at the small wooden table. “Why do you seek answers to this puzzle?” Her skin was clean and healthy now. Years of healing had seen to that. Scars from the fires still covered her arms and parts of her legs, though she kept them well hidden from all eyes these days. Age aside, Calla had worn thin from her experiences. The beginnings of wrinkles graced her fine features, teasing at her eyes and mouth. Had they been from laughter and joy, she would have worn them proudly, but joy was a rare commodity in the Known Lands now. “Whoever he was, he never spoke.” Her voice was firm and on the edge of angry. “You’re looking for a hero, just like everyone else. I can’t blame you. We need a hero. But that man...” her voice trailed off into the darkness of the room which the candle could not penetrate. “What hero hides behind a mask?” Merl could not answer. That very thought had plagued him as well. Calla shifted in her chair and leaned closer toward her friend. "The meeting starts in half an hour. Come with me?"

Silently, they walked back behind the bar Merl had polished for over twenty years of his life. The aging man bent down low and felt along the floorboards for the one which was loose. Under it rested a key. Holding it up to the faint light from the candle Calla held close to her chest, Merl grinned. His secrets had been kept under lock and key for so many years that he had forgotten how to live openly. Hiding things in his own home and business seemed perfectly normal to him now, though you could never have convinced him as a child that his life would turn out to be so full of mystery and adventure. Behind the bar was a storeroom lined with hand carved shelves. Each held perfectly organized collections of rum, whiskey, and well-aged sweet, a liquor pulled from the sap of trees along the north border of the kingdom. The barkeep's collection was second to none in the city, though the bottles now collected little but dust for him. A tall stack of wine casks obscured a second door built into the wall. To the untrained eye, the door would be impossible to locate. Merl slipped the key into the well-oiled lock and led Calla through.

They shuffled in the dark, the blond woman's candle barely sufficient in the cavernous corridor. It stretched before them well beyond their vision. Had they lit the ancient torches along its walls, a history unknown in the city would have been revealed. Decades of refugees and political insurgents had carved their stories and painted their exploits along its length, leaving their mark upon the world. Sadly for the sake of history, but to the benefit of Merl and Calla, only a handful of people in the Known Lands knew of the tunnels' existence. After a good twenty minutes of slow walking, they stopped at a wooden door.

Merl inserted the key once more and opened the door onto a new hall. Torches burned low along its length, leading them to a final room where the group of rebel insurgents met regularly. Thirteen others sat around a makeshift table of crates and boards, greeting one another warmly. "Good to see you, Merl," a young man approached, extending his hand. "Calla said you were bent on sulking, but I knew you'd come to bring us news of the Knight."

Merl held the boy's hand long after the moment to let go had passed. Silence brought his attention up to the eyes which faced him. "Oh, sorry, Cam," he muttered, still caught up in how young Caff's grandchildren were. Had he not warned her to keep them away from such illegal gatherings as this? The boy couldn't be a day past sixteen by the barkeep's measure. He'd be lucky to get a drink in my pub, the older man thought as he greeted the others one by one. Cam was the youngest by a year or two, but there were many others Merl thought far too young to risk their lives for a cause with little to no support.

"May the Ancients walk among us," a short man with a long beard stood and announced, starting the meeting. All fell silent and turned their attention his way. "Who brings news?"

Calla stood first, brushing her long hair from her face. "Vail and Red Springs will not rebuild." A sad sigh escaped the lips of several people at the table. "Those who returned said nothing was left to build on. The fields are damaged beyond repair, especially with the drought and heat, and the Queen's military have raided and pillaged what supplies and lumber remained. Our homes are lost." Her face was set in resolve, not in sorrow. After so many years of being without her mother, her friends, her true home, Calla no longer craved restoration. She wanted revenge. Her sentiment did not stand alone. "Our brethren will travel north and collect whomever they come across. Surely there are more who would support our cause," she finished.

A grey-haired woman at the far end of the table stood, her eyes warm and gentle as she stared at Calla. "They will find many. Even as we speak, others will find the path to us," she turned to address the crowd which continued to grow. Over thirty bodies now gathered around the scrap table, eager to hear any news, but all praying for good words and hope of victory. "Still, we must remain quiet and wait. Our time has not yet come."

"We cannot wait forever," Cam rose, youthful anger firing his cheeks red. "Our people are starving, Ulhetha. There is talk that the guard will shut down the bread lines soon." An angry murmur worked its way through the crowd.

She extended her arms to the boy. "Cam, you know as well as everyone here that we cannot fight the Royal Guard without weapons and armor. Our numbers are few. How do you propose we act?"

"I…" he sputtered, "We should…" The young woman beside him took his hand in hers and pleaded silently with him to sit and listen.

"Merl," the bearded man spoke up, "can you give us any news of the Black Knight? We must know if he is friend or foe to our cause."

Merl met his elder's eyes, internally wishing that he had more to offer. Staying in his chair, he answered, "He has been sighted heading north. Like always he appears to strike after the wyverns have burnt a village to the ground." Many pairs of eyes fell in despair. If ever they were to rise up against the Queen, they needed a strong leader, a champion, one in whom their trust could be placed with certainty that the freedom of the Drylands people would be the only true victory. "No one can confirm that they travel together. But," he breathed deeply, "none can deny that his deeds are outwardly suspicious."

"Then," the elder leveled with the barkeep, "you believe him to be in company with the guard?"

Merl shifted in his seat. "I did not say any such thing."

Several in the crowd muttered their relief. Merl was believed to be the foremost authority on the Black Knight, and they looked to him for final word as to whether or not this man could be the savior they had long awaited. An old story spoke of a champion from the south of the kingdom who would come to the people in disguise. Little else was known of the Legend of the Ancients. Any written copies of the story had long since been lost, but its legacy lived on in all who felt despair at the hands of the Queen and her followers.

"I don't have the information you want, Hale. None of us will until that black devil comes into the city and shows us his loyalties in person." Merl stood and paced the room between men and women who gathered in defiance of the royal orders declaring any such assembly treason. "I want to know just as badly as you all do, but I will not hazard a guess on something so important."

"Then we send an envoy," Cam sprang from his seat, a wild look in his eye. A hush grabbed the crowd and held it aloft in the stream of time while every mind considered his words. "Let us seek him out."


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"And you are certain he will be there?" the Queen plucked lightly at the potted plant on her private balcony.

Admiral Tens nodded. "Yes, Majesty. We have no reason to believe he will break from his pattern now."

"And you are also certain that this… Black Knight," the words felt ridiculous in her mouth. Who would call themselves by such a ghastly name? "…has demonstrated the ability to kill a wyvern?"

The Admiral cleared his throat and looked out over the fine orchards. No water had been spared on the castle's crops this season, despite the lack of it in every other field within the kingdom. "My best captain saw him with his very own eyes. This Black Knight handled his sword with the practice of a true warrior, felling the mighty beast in barely two strokes. He apparently went on to kill four more in that village." The Queen turned her eyes to him, unable to believe his words. "I think, Majesty, it is fair to assume he poses a threat to your…. plan."

She turned her eyes back to the prized flowering miniature rose at her fingertips. "Then we simply must have him over for dinner."


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Willow spent the following weeks learning everything about the castle from the Princess, who insisted she never be referred to with her formal title unless in court or near her mother. The former was rare, the latter even more so. "She wanted a son," River mused idly one lazy afternoon. "I was a tremendous disappointment," she grinned and beamed at her new friend. A bond had formed between them within days of their first meeting. River recognized immediately that Willow was not truly a lady of the court, nor was she accustomed to living amongst royalty. Although cryptic about her origins, Willow had slowly begun to open up and relax in the Princess' presence. They spent long hours talking and reading to one another. River had taken it upon herself to educate her new companion in the duties and rights of royal life, though her own irreverent ways were infamous.

Willow smiled back, but something in her warned not to push for fear that the Princess did feel pain at the rejection her mother showed. "Who would want a boy?" She stole a strawberry from the plate between them. Their backs were warm in the late morning sun as they lay on thick blankets out in the Princess' private garden. "You can dress a girl in pretty things and teach her all the finery of court. Boys are nothing but trouble."

River stared blankly at the hand-maiden for a moment, and then both broke into riotous laughter. "Did you," she gasped between fits of giggles, "Did you actually mean to suggest I would be capable of learning the… What was it you said?" The grin on her face was scrunched into a mock serious pose as she imitated Willow, "… all the finery of court.'" Rolling onto her back to hold her aching stomach, the princess gazed adoringly at her companion. "I'm so glad you don't take me seriously, Willow."

The red-haired maiden rolled over as well, willing her eyes to adjust to the bright blue of the late summer sky. For once, she felt content. Reveling in the moment, she missed the Princess' next question entirely.

"Willow?"

"Oh," the young woman turned her head, "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"I asked if you've ever been in love?" River inquired casually. Willow was silent. "You're not like Mara or the other hand-maidens I've had before. None of them were pretty. Surely you don't lack for suitors?"

Willow turned her head and felt the soft skin of a protective arm gently cradling her head as she lay in the warm sun. Soft, blonde hair brushed and tickled her forehead, but her eyes were satisfied to rest behind heavy lids. Tara's body was curled around her, skin pressed against skin fighting the clothing which prevented their heartbeats and breath from becoming one. Soft lips deposited tiny kisses on her forehead. The Southlander's warm breath feathering the redhead's eyebrows. Willow shifted onto her hip just slightly, causing the girl entwined with her to gather her in again in those same strong arms Willow craved day and night, but a feeling altogether out of place forced her eyes open. Tara's chest rose and sank slowly where the gypsy's gaze first fell, and the sun glinted off a simple metal coin resting in the hollow of the warrior woman's throat. Willow closed her eyes tightly, trying with all her might to chase away the pain that throbbed in her head, but it ran down her neck and into her chest and shoulder, where it reached such a horrible climax it stole the air from her lungs and kept her from crying out into the peaceful courtyard. She drew back suddenly and looked down at the bodice of her dress. The fabric over her chest was drenched in blood and stuck to the broken arrow piercing her shoulder. Willow fought to inhale, then looked up into the innocent eyes of the one she had taken comfort in only moments before. Tara returned the gaze without a trace of concern on her face.

"No," her voice came low and calm. "Love is a fairytale, River. But it makes a delightful story." She smiled at the girl as they lay in the grass together, alone in the private garden.

Good update-y goodness... Good that Willow dreams about Tara...

_________________
We few, we happy few. We band of buggered.

Posting While Nude Improves Your Mood.

Intriguing story you are weaving here Taylorgirl, really well made! You characters are many, diverse and all exciting, will we hear more from our "old" friends from the Cirque like we just did with Calla? And what about the gypsy boy, I would like to hear more from him too! Certainly I'd also like to hear from Tara but I trust you to bring her back in at the right moment Imagine how much pain Willow could have saved herself for had she taken time to listen to Tara's explanation... So many years after and still it torments her (ofcourse, no Willow without a Tara!!!). How many years have actually passed since Willow fled from the Circle? Did the dragon attack the village of Calla just after Willow left?

You have a really good writing style, my only point would be that sometimes the story line twists at angles which can be a little hard to follow, time for instance.

Thanks for a wonderful story though, I'm looking forward to see how the story further evolves!

Fly forever free,
Nenyath

_________________
My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies
Fairytales of yesterday will grow but never die
I can fly - my friends
~The Show Must Go On by Queen

Hey Nenyath-

Thanks for piping up! I can assure you that most everyone you've met this far is there for a reason. I don't tend to create "fluff" characters. I know things tend to jump around a bit, but sadly that must continue. The bulk of this story is written from Willow's perspective. If you go back to the early chapters, the world seems like a much smaller place. By now it's growing out of control, and every turn seems to present something new, terrible, and foreign to our favorite wiccan.

To help bring you up to speed (hopefully it'll become more obvious as we continue), Tara left the Circle eight years ago. And yes, Calla and her village were attacked two years later, to be very specific.

It's always energizing to read such well-thought feedback. Thank you!

_________________
There, but for the grace of her, go I.


http://citychickenfarm.blogspot.com/

Now this has to be Tara, not in the guise of the black knight, but perhaps taking on her male persona again?

Ok, that's just me thinking ahead, I tend to do that a lot.

It would seem that the Knight is a bit of an ambigiuous character, like the people in you tale I can't quite pin him just yet. Given the state of the country they live in you can't blame them for being suspicious of his motives. I would imagine that trust is a rare thing, which makes the group in the pub all the more interesting.

It really is a case of desperate times call for desperate measures if they do make contact with the knight without knowing his true purpose.

I wonder who will get to him first, the 'resistance' or the Queen?

Poor Willow, all her memories cause her pain and anguish. Like nenyath, I can't help but think if only she hadn't have let Tara go like that.

I also agree that the cast of characters can be confusing, but the more we become familair with them that should pass. It's a little bit like in The Stand, by Stephen King, for example, there are so many different and seemingly separate storylines but they all coalesce eventually and branch out in the same direction.

Whatever's going on, I continue to read and enjoy!

_________________
People grow through experience if they meet life honestly and courageously. This is how character is built. Eleanor Roosevelt

I'm very happy to hear there will be no "fluff" characters, it would have been such a shame! So, I'm looking forward to hear more from our Cirque people (loving you used that word by the way, it reminds me so of Cirque du Soleil which actually corresponds well with the characters in this refugee tribe, being so adverse and colourful.. It brings them so mich more alive to my minds eye ) And thanks for bringing me up to date! (Oh yeah, pun intended!) I see now I have been extra confused over the whole time issue because I imagined it read "8 years" not "several years" that Calla had lived without her mother... Anyway.... I see what you mean with seeing it from Willow's perspective, the world really is getting bigger! And as for using names of characters from other shows, I'm not disturbed by it at all!

_________________
My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies
Fairytales of yesterday will grow but never die
I can fly - my friends
~The Show Must Go On by Queen

Paint the Sky-

I can tell you're the problem-solving type. Rest assured I'll answer all those burning questions soon. The missing pieces will start to come together quickly now.

By the way, are you sure Tara is the champion? Can you even be sure the Black Knight could fill that role either? There are a few brave souls lurking about the Known Lands these days, and their latest deeds might surprise you. As for the Black Knight himself, it may be a while before anyone knows which side of this battle he's on. I like his ambiguity.

I think Willow truly regrets how things ended eight years ago. Since then, her life has been one big roller coaster ride of doom and gloom. Good thing she's tough.

Thanks for the feedback and the desire to know more.


Nenyath-

Oddly enough, I took my girlfirend to see Cirque du Soleil just the other week! The idea came about before that, though I've seen them many times and I love the colorful, unique show they produce. My mental image was somewhat different at the outset. I'm a huge fan of juvenille fiction, and one of my favorite series is Lemony Snicket's Unfortunate Events epic. One of the books, the Carnivorous Carnival, gave me such a gut-wrenchingly sad image of freak show life, I was haunted by it for months. Stay tuned and you'll definitely see some Cirque favorites returning just when we need them.

_________________
There, but for the grace of her, go I.


http://citychickenfarm.blogspot.com/

Chapter 16


The black rider had tasted smoke for so long that the absence of it left a sweetness in his mouth as he gulped the fresh sea air in hungry breaths. Waves crashed against the abrupt shoreline far below where he stood, but the cool spray never made it past the layers of fabric and armor to find his flesh. Moments came to him more frequently with each passing year, moments of a desperate desire to tear and claw at the mask which bound his secret shame to his skin, but the risk was too great. Already they questioned his intentions, his loyalties. Loyalties, he laughed internally. Save one life and you are branded a hero. Sacrifice another and you are a devil. But a man with no face cannot be looked in the eye, and therefore cannot be trusted.

A horse and rider stopped behind him. He turned and faced his companion. Aelish, he considered. He has never seen my eyes, and yet… The thought went unfinished. The two men had traveled together for the past three years. Aelish had never asked why his companion hid behind a mask. Broken and devastated at the loss of his home, he had followed the black rider for weeks until it was clear he would not part company with him. The Royal Guard had marched into Longmire, acting under the authority of the Queen. They killed anyone suspected of witchcraft, burned barns and trading posts to the ground, then summoned the scaly beasts to finish what they had begun.

"Why are we here?" the tall man asked as he approached. Together they stood and took in the fog and mist of a late summer morning at the edge of the world. Blue, grey and green faded into one on the horizon, concealing what secrets the depth of pure water contained. Aelish stood half a head taller than the black rider. He enjoyed the cool spray on his unshaven, unmasked face. Long, brown hair brushed his shoulders as he turned his attention back to the other man.

"An ill wind blows through Hillmarch," the rider's voice spoke in Aelish's mind. It bore a deep, resonating sound which hinted at his strength and power. His shrouded face was never disturbed by the movement of ordinary speech. "We have been watched, and they intend to trace our steps."

"The Royal Guard?"

"Their Captain's name is Vrint. He sent word of our deeds to the Queen. I think her actions would be obvious."

Aelish took in his friend with wonder. "That is where you spent the last two nights," he surmised. The Royal Guard's encampment was enormous and well protected. The black rider had a tendency to wander from his company on occasion, so Aelish never questioned his intentions. Spying under those circumstances, however, was an awe-inspiring feat. "Then you know they will strike Hillmarch next."

"Yes. It cannot be stopped. And our plans must change."

Aelish sighed deeply, his leather vest creaking with the effort of containing his broad chest. "How many will die tonight?"

"Fewer than will perish if we do not meet our foe head-on," the quiet man countered. "We ride to the castle."

Both men turned to the horses and left the ocean behind. "You know," Aelish smiled grimly, "I may find myself riding right up to the gates of the underworld with you someday, Raven."


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"… and then he sliced off its ugly head," Jinna mimicked the daring move with the serving spoon in her hand. Her audience applauded wildly, cheering when the proud actor bowed.

"Bravo!" the Princess shouted and clapped. Her cheeks were rosy from the laughter and excitement of the serving maid's presentation.

"Do you truly believe he's as brave and strong as all that?" Willow smiled at her little friend.

"Of course he is!" Jinna snapped back. She adored stories of the Black Knight and would tolerate no ill word of him. "Think of all the people he's saved."

"Perhaps," River stood to walk to her balcony, "he is entirely misunderstood." She closed the doors at the sudden onslaught of windy autumn weather. "After all, how does one become a hero if not by chance?"

"It's fate, is what," the serving maid answered with confidence. "It's him the legend is written about." She replaced the wooden spoon and went about her work quickly. The cook would notice her absence if she remained much longer.

Willow moved to the sideboard to help clear the plates and saucers from lunch. "What legend, Jinna?"

The little girl nearly dropped the bowl she held as her eyes stared wildly at the redhead. "Don't you know the Legend of the Ancients?" Willow's stomach spun in response, but her trained complexion remained pale and calm. She shook her head no. Jinna breathed deeply, expanding her tiny chest with the effort. "Were you born in a dungeon? Everyone hears that story. It's the one about how the Ancients made the Known Lands and everything in it. But," her hands ran absently over the serving tray, temporarily leaving her cleaning duties by the wayside, "they lost their magic and died."

"They didn't die, they only sleep," River interjected. "They're waiting to be awoken by the True Champion." Willow and Jinna watched in awe as the Princess regaled them with the tale. "He will ride from the South, a prince named in the snow. Broken and lost, his family cannot lead him, but through him they will live once more. The Ancients will rise up at his call, returning to claim the Known Lands and all that dwell within."

Willow's head spun and buzzed with the memories which surged through her. Jesse's story lived in her mind, sharp and true as they day he first spoke it to her. With it came other memories, times and places lost, people forgotten, and things the young woman could not place or account for in her own history.

A loud crack sounded, ripping through the redhead's mind and ringing in her ears. The earth shifted below Willow's legs, pulling her across immeasurable time and distance. Up and out of the castle she ascended, breath and balance left behind. Before her eyes, rivers and streams flooded their banks, and armies carved their way through the landscape and scarred the dirt with the blood of their enemies. She blinked at the bright image of Torrent, unbroken and shining by the sea. Firm hands gripped her wrists, dragging the young woman back to the ground, and Willow found herself face to face with Hepsebah. The connection between her mouth and her brain was lost, leaving her speechless and dumbfounded in the arms of the only mother she had ever known. "Tell me," the old woman mouthed, but the words fell short of Willow's ears. Her touch was real and yet not, a tingling, hollow imitation of the old woman's grip.

"How…" Willow tried to speak, but her voice sounded distant, disconnected from her throat.

"This won't last long. You haven't practiced traveling like this, little one," Hepsebah soothed. "Focus. Tell me what has happened."

"Sippa?" Willow wanted to cry, but her elder's words were clear. Whether this was a vision or a genuine event, time was short. "They killed you. Mercenaries…. the Queen's Men…. They came, almost everyone died."

Hepsebah glanced around the wagon in which they sat. Willow suddenly realized it was dark. More than just the old home she knew as a child rang familiar in her eyes and ears. She had been in this moment before. "Listen to me, Willow. There was never enough time to tell you everything. Rowan wouldn't allow it. But you must know. Go to Torrent. No matter what happens, do not let Tara go with you."

"Tara?" The name sounded foreign on her tongue. It had been so long since she'd spoken it aloud. "What's happening, Sippa?"

The old healer breathed deeply, obviously taking in the incorporeal visit better than the young woman at her side. "You're waking up."


"Willow," River spoke softly, abruptly bringing the gypsy back to the Princess' chambers. She struggled to remain standing, dizzied by the vision she had just endured. A tingling pressure in her feet told her she was back to where her journey had begun, standing between a princess and a serving maid. Hepsebah had only been a memory. The journey could not have been real. She chased away the odd visions and looked up into the Princess' face. River's eyes were wide with fright. "You're… there's…" The red-haired girl looked down at herself, fearing the unknown reason for the Princess' inability to speak. Between the fabric and lace of her gown, a warm glow emanated. The light was brighter still on her bare arms and hands, which she turned over in front of her eyes in wonder and amazement. Had she cast a spell without realizing it? What is happening to me? Her mind raced through the possible explanations, hoping to find something she could tell River, but no reason could wipe away the powerful light her skin exuded.

Willow turned to find Jinna, and shock grabbed her when she spied the girl lying on the floor, her left hand cut and bleeding copiously onto the thick rugs. "Jinna!" she shouted, diving to her knees. River was beside her immediately, rushing to take the little girl into her arms. Dark red blood poured from the open wound and over the Princess' knee. The carving knife she had used for lunch sat in its own bloody pool.

"She must have cut herself when you-" River stopped abruptly and looked up at her friend. Willow desperately wished she could gauge the Princess' reaction, but her face was unreadable. "Go find a guard." The handmaiden froze, terrified that her fate was sealed. Without planning the move, she reached out and took Jinna's thin hand in her own, clutching it to her chest. Blood smeared over her bodice and ran down her own arms. "I said-" River tried to shout, but she stopped when the glowing from Willow's flesh intensified.

The golden light flowed from the gypsy's hands and body onto Jinna, whose eyes fluttered and opened slowly. She gazed up at Willow, dazed and warm from the magic that flowed into her body from the witch. The cut on her hand stitched itself together, bound by the mysterious spell which enveloped them. Willow parted their eyes just long enough to see River staring at her in amazement.

"Run." Willow blinked. Had the Princess spoken? "I said run." There it was again. Her mouth opened, words flowed, but Willow's mind was blank. The instruction was meaningless. "Willow!" the girl shouted. "Run, damn you!"

Her feet answered the royal order, moving slowly at first until she felt her full weight upon them, and then Willow dashed through the chamber to the back door which led to a private hall. The walls knocked her from one side to another as she ran, tossing her violently and making her stumble. A sinister laugh boiled beneath her feet, twisting the wine-red carpets and grabbing at her shoes. A vision of teeth flashed through her mind as she pushed on. "Don't stop," she whispered with dry lips. "Don't stop." The vertigo intensified. Her legs ached and pounded the stone floor, but the end of the hall never came nearer. Something was dragging her down, pulling her in on herself. The sensation washed over her like nausea. Rough carpets slammed into her knees, bruising her skin and knocking the breath from her chest. Willow reached for the floor with both hands to stay in the kneeling position where she had landed. Her eyes rolled back as a force more powerful than anything she had ever encountered drained the energy and magic from her body through her arms and legs and down into the floor. "Stop," she whined, the pain overwhelming her senses.

"I hunger," the teeth parted and spoke.

Willow forced her eyes open and stared down at the rug. In its patterns, a swirling, twisting face morphed into being, teeth and lips gnashing and biting at her limbs. "No," she wailed, her voice thin and weak. "You cannot."

"I hunger," it spoke again.

Her lungs filled with air, driving the searing pain in her shoulder and arm into a new fury. Willow's brow knitted itself into a fearsome frown, and an unnatural strength surged into her forearms. "You will not," she commanded. The face before her twisted and licked its lips. "Endantea," she spoke quietly at first. The fanged beast howled at her words, its ghastly sound vibrating her bones as she reclaimed her magic. "Endantea," she said louder, clenching her teeth and making her hands into fists.

The monster wailed and writhed. Its teeth flashed as it spoke words unheard by mankind since the fires of the sun were lit. The sounds drifted over Willow's skin, tingling in her pores and standing the fine hairs of her arms on end. Furious with her enemy's relentless attack, she raised her hands above her head and shouted into the warped corridor in a voice that was thick with power and rage. "End it now!" She plunged her fists through the swirling air and rising wind to land with a resounding thud on the stone floor. Her strike echoed through the keep, rattling glass windows and shaking ancient mortar.

Immediate silence enveloped her as she knelt in a river of sweat on the motionless carpet. The beast had retreated, whence she knew not. Her eyes searched for any trace of the fangs in the patterned rug, but the only thing to catch her attention were numerous brown tree trunks springing from the very foundation of the floor all around her. Willow tilted her head back, feeling her damp hair on the nape of her neck. A tiny forest of fir trees surrounded her. She stretched out the fingers of her right hand, making contact with the rough bark. Her touch began lightly, but soon became a desperate grasping and clutching of the summoned companions. They were firmly rooted in the stone, their trunks heavy and solid, just as they would have been in a natural forest. "My magic did this," she whispered. Her voice was absorbed by the quiet branches. They sighed and waved as if in greeting to the young woman. The tops of the firs pushed at the ceiling, bending and reaching into the squared cornices and carved sconces along both walls.


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The early autumn winds chased flower petals and leaves around Prince Tinari's supplicant form as he knelt in a low bow in the royal courtyard. His lips moved with the trained words of prayer he had learned from his earliest days. All within the kingdom knew to leave him to his worship when he felt the call of the gods. His religious perversions were honored with trepidation and respect by the staff and royalty of the keep. In truth, though they did not understand his ways, they feared him so greatly very few ever went near him.

As fortune would have it, no one attended him at the very moment a surge of energy coursed through his body, leaving him with a sweet, smoky taste in his mouth. Tinari stood and spat on the perfectly interlocking flagstones. Anger flashed in his black eyes. "Magic," he muttered. He whistled sharply, calling forth his own private guard. Four enormous wolves leapt from the shadows of trees and shrubs, baying and drooling at their master's feet. Their brindle coats were shaggy and long, bristling down their spines and twisting around their long tails. Yellow eyes and bloodstained fangs flashed in the waning afternoon light. The Prince made a simple gesture with his hand, releasing them to hunt down the source of the spell recently cast. Their sensitive noses would trace it over any distance within the castle walls, up to the very gates of the city. Tinari smiled with his own fangs. "It has been a long time since I had such pleasure."

Howling and running at a hunger-induced pace, the wolves charged up flights of stairs and down narrow passageways, throwing unsuspecting serving maids and messengers aside in their haste. Those who saw them coming fled in panic. Their reputation was as well known as Tinari's. They were brutal killers, their only master a madman brought into the castle by the Queen. Once wild hunters and scavengers of the forests to the east of the Drylands, the giant wolves had terrified and slaughtered countless livestock and shepherds until the people of Avinash captured and tamed them. Tame, however, was hardly the word most would use to describe the oversized dogs now. Standing nearly as tall as a full-grown man at their shoulders, they were capable of bringing down horses and cattle with deadly precision. As pack hunters, they were nearly unstoppable.

Serving carts, oil paintings, and pedestals exalting royal artifacts dating back to the great floods flew by in the wolves' pursuit of the scent of magic. Tinari followed at a modest pace, though he, too, felt the excitement of the hunt. Rare was the use of magic in the kingdom these days. His delicate senses were highly attuned to the frequency of spells, making him the perfect hunter for such illegal acts. A problem arose, however, when he realized the direction in which they headed. The Princess' private wing was nearing. Prince Tinari broke into a run.


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"Listen to me," River shook Jinna by her shoulders. "Stop arguing. Now is not the time. Take the back passage and run down to the kitchens. Leave the tray." Jinna tried to speak, but was shaken harshly. "No! Just do what I say." She pushed the tiny maid toward the back rooms and stared after her with a ferocity that made Jinna's heart pound. She knew better than to disobey royalty, so she ran. River had instructed her not to speak to anyone of the events in the Princess' chambers. "Find Willow and hide her if you must," she had told the girl. Jinna knew exactly where to take the handmaiden. "Tell her to return at sunset."

Behind her, the Princess spun in place, looking for something. Blood was drying on her gown. Ideas and conflicts raged in her mind, but one thought stood out amidst the clutter. Tinari is coming. She knew the penalty for casting spells in the castle, and there was only one way to obscure the events which had transpired only moments before. River leapt to her bedchamber and dove under the immense bed centered in the room. Underneath laid a terror-stricken cat. White and grey striped fur bristled as his owner approached. He tried to grip onto the thick rug with his claws, but the Princess won out and snatched him from his hiding place with a practiced arm. "I'm sorry," she whispered to him, tears beginning to run down her perfect face. "I'm so sorry, but there is no other way." She carried him harshly back into the sitting room and collapsed onto the floor where Jinna had bled. The knife still rested in the heavy pile of the carpet. Steadying her hand with deep breathing, River took the knife and held her cat in the other hand. Before she could stop herself from the awful deed she was about to commit, she stabbed the feline in the chest. It struggled and howled in pain for a moment, and she was certain she felt the floor of the castle tremble as life slipped from the small body she had loved and petted and held since it was a tiny kitten. Unbounded tears gushed from her eyes, blinding her to the agony of death in her hands.


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"Open the door!" the Prince bellowed as he bore down on the guardsman at Princess River's chamber entrance. His white cape flowed majestically behind him as he stepped between the drooling hounds. The largest of them held the guard against a nearby wall with a giant paw pinned to the man's heaving chest. Tinari snapped his fingers and the wolf sat back on its haunches, releasing its prey. "Open it now."

The guardsman fumbled to find the key with nervous, gloved fingers. Protocol stated that no man was allowed into the Princess' private chambers without the explicit permission of the Queen. Protocol, however, did not account for the Prince and his wolves. Either way, the guard knew he would not fare well. He slipped the rarely used key into the lock and twisted. The wide door swung open to reveal a frightening scene. River sat on the blood-stained carpet, gently cradling and rocking her pet. The cat lay limp in her arms, its head rolling unnaturally as she moved. The steady outpour of her tears had soaked what little of his fur that was not heavy with blood.

"My Lady," Tinari stepped forward protectively, his feet crossing the threshold.

River turned sharply and screamed at the men, "Out! Both of you, out!"

"But, Princess," Tinari recoiled at her command, "surely-"

"Give me a reason," she fumed, fire dancing behind her puffy, swollen eyes. Neither man dared challenge her. They both retreated, bowing low to her. The dogs at their backs whined and crept backwards, still licking their lips at the taste of magic in the air.

"My apologies, Highness," the Prince nearly touched his head to the floor. "We only wish to protect you."

"Then call for a maid to clean my chamber. I will remain here."

"If I may be so bold as to inquire," Tinari glanced up at the bloody setting, taking in the spilt serving tray and the knife at River's feet.

"You may not," she seethed, hatred boiling over in her words. "Leave me." Eager to respect her wishes and escape her presence, the guardsman quickly closed and locked her chamber door. Prince Tinari drew himself up to his full height, anger flitting over his calm face. He had much to discuss with the Queen.

Yay for update-y goodness... I hope River's sacrifice is enough to keep the creapy prince from capturing Willow...

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We few, we happy few. We band of buggered.

Posting While Nude Improves Your Mood.

I'm finding myself with a lot of sympathy for the Black Knight. Maybe he really is the champion from the south. He is quite the pragmatist, I like that.

Will we get some of his back story? Why is he faceless? Is he under a curse? Was he always this way? I get the impression that he is somewhat of a reluctant hero, trying to stave off the evil in the land the best way he can and knowing that it will never be enough.

You said it will be a while before we know who's side he is on, at the moment I think he is on his own side, willing to do what is necessary within his own agenda, and at this point it seems to be going to the Queen.

That being the case it will put him in close proximity to Willow, if she stays at the castle, and given the events in this chapter that is looking unlikely. But, if she is there, maybe it's the beginning of our heroes coming together?

Now, the scene in the castle fascinated me. When Willow had her claustrophobia attack in the castle corridor the first time I thought the images and the voices were just emmanations of her panic, but here it was a surprise (to me) that it was all very real. Hmm, is the castle itself an embodiment of evil, like the hellmouth, feeding and growing, exerting influence on the Queen and those deeds looping back to make it even stronger.

It would seem that River is a true friend to Willow, but even now I'm wondering what her agenda is. You have me so paranoid I find it hard to take things on face value. That's a good thing, btw!

I'm not sure what to make of Hepsebah's warning to Willow about taking Tara to Torrent, but that again is part of the fun of reading.

Tinari and his wolves are definately a worry, and if Willow is getting this powerful surely the castle is no place to be with someone like him there. Particularly if her magic is unbidden at moments of high emotion.

Excellent update, thank you!

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People grow through experience if they meet life honestly and courageously. This is how character is built. Eleanor Roosevelt

I try to imagine what it must be like to live one's life in a mask. I think he was mostly okay with it until Calla screeched her fool head off at him. That'll teach him to rescue fair maidens. Right now, I'm dealing with the concept of how terrifying it must be for him to waltz into a city loaded full of gawking people. That kind of twisted attention would drive a normal person over the edge, though Raven isn't terribly normal.



Somewhere along the way, he got caught up in something way bigger than he bargained for. Now everyone wants him to be more than he is. Not everybody wants to be a superstar. Wouldn't you consider a mask, too? So, yeah, there's a larger reason behind it, but it'll take an important event to reveal that fact.



Ah ha!! Oh, you're so close. That is exactly how I wanted those sections to come across. I'm glad the effect worked.

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There, but for the grace of her, go I.


http://citychickenfarm.blogspot.com/

I've only just read several updates just now .. I'm really liking your introduction of River into the storyline. And the mysterious Black Knight is also an interesting character. Keep up the great work!

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Patience is a virtue I have yet to acquire
-- me

I am my beloved and my beloved is mine
-- King Solomon's Song of Songs

Only reality can escape the limits of our imagination
-- Rivka Galchen, Atmospheric Disturbances

Man is nothing else but that which he makes of himself
-- Jean-Paul Sartre

LittleBit-

Some of my updates were a bit rapid for a while there... I write when I can, so a slow week at work means more chapters! I'm glad to see you like having River involved. She's always been an intriguing character for me, though this interpretation isn't the same one you may be accustomed to. In fact, I visualize her as someone entirely different. I couldn't pass up the name, though. I hope you'll see her as you wish. Everything is up for interpretation.


Thanks again to everyone who keeps reading.






Chapter 17

“Once upon a time, a beautiful woman walked the forests of a valley far to the south of this awful city. Her skin cast a warm light onto everything that surrounded her, and she was loved by the trees and animals which dwelt there. She was kind and gentle.”

“What did she look like?” one of the girls listening asked.

“Her hair was red, the color of autumn leaves which have turned, and her skin was so delicate and fair that the first light of morning looked dark against her face. She danced over the hills and streams, free and wild. Her people were gypsies. Real gypsies.”

“But they’ve all been wiped out,” the same girl interrupted.

Reza smiled at her, knowing the truth in his heart. “Alas, it is true that there are few travelers left in this country, but when freedom comes once more, you’ll see them emerge from hiding. And our fair maiden is one of them. She was brought to her clan as a tiny baby. Her mother died in the arms of their elder, begging for her child to be kept safe and hidden. They did as she wished, but a fate bigger than her new family would come to seek the girl, for she would grow to become the most powerful witch in the Known Lands.”

“The Red Sorceress,” a small girl in the corner whispered, pulling the tattered blanket further up to her chin.

“It was she,” Reza went on, captivating his audience with his resonant voice. “And from the most humble of births she came forth to claim the magic of the Ancients, for she is one of them.”

“An Ancient?” the first girl nearly shouted, instantly hushed by the girls around her. Sanjer slept peacefully below them in the decrepit brothel, a long night’s work resting heavily in his snores. They all listened as he dreamt on, catching the occasional clink of coins as he turned in the bed. He slept with his profits on good nights. On bad nights, Reza would not return to indulge the girls in tales of his travels.

“An Ancient,” he whispered back. “The last of her kind.” The young girls exchanged looks of wonder and fascination with one another, then pulled themselves closer together, closer to Reza, desperate to hear more. His stories had kept some of them alive. Most were too young even to work on farms, and it brought tears to his eyes every time Sanjer sent them into the arms of a customer. The older girls pretended to sleep on the far side of the room they all shared in the late mornings after the brothel had closed for business, but Reza sometimes caught the glint of an open eye watching as he spoke. Though he could not wipe away the bruises and cuts, he could whisk them away into the landscape of legends and myths, and every girl looked forward to the nights he joined them. “I have told you the Legend of the Ancients, but her part in it is not written in that tale.”

“Tell us, Reza,” the tiny girl in the corner spoke.

“First, I must tell you about the ancient city of Torrent. City Lost is where our story begins and ends, and to understand why and how, I must first tell you about its creation and destruction.”


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Cam and Birch ran down the dusty road, sparing few glances at the surrounding devastation mere miles from the gates of the city. The farms were long since abandoned, its people clawing and fighting with one another in the bread lines now. The Royal Guard announced that today was the last day it would allow such generosity from the monks of the city temple. How else were they to stop the flood of people entering the city each day? Cam had wanted to break the nose of the captain who made the declaration in the market square early in the morning. Birch, his friend and companion on their new journey, had restrained him. “We leave today, Cam. We will bring back hope. We will return to fight.” His legs carried him, straight and true, down the old east road to Hillmarch. Cam struggled to keep pace. They traveled light; no packs to weigh them down, no provisions which would draw the attention of the guard, just two young men, running and smiling.

Birch had been the first to rise to Cam’s call at the meeting underground. The Queen’s Men and Royal Guard had been responsible for the death and scattering of his gypsy clan eight years before. No longer a boy, he yearned to bring justice to his family. He understood the importance of their mission. Though some elders disagreed, it was indeed time to act. Before long, no one would remain to hold the fight. His lungs burned with the effort of running, but his legs would not slow. Hillmarch drew nearer with each stride, quickening the pulse of both men.


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Jinna leapt over the last three steps as she descended into the kitchens below the great halls of the castle. Pots and pans crashed, the mighty oven roared with heat, and Cook screamed at anyone within earshot. Jinna sighed. The kitchen had been her home since she was caught scavenging in the rubbish piles outside the keep walls. Cook kept her and used her as punishment for the theft, though Jinna suspected the fat woman only wanted a punching bag. Still, it was an improvement from life on the streets. Word traveled fast, even within the castle walls. Supplies dwindled, the guard grew angrier, and now the bread lines were being cut off. The little serving maid knew a good thing when she saw it, and facing Cook was better than facing starvation. The Princess was kind, as well, ensuring Jinna never went hungry anymore.

Willow, however... Jinna stopped to breathe by the storeroom door. She glanced at her left hand and saw that her fingers were trembling. What had happened in the Princess’ chambers?

“Where have you been?” Cook bellowed, snatching the girl from her resting place by the back of her apron. She turned Jinna in her grasp, widening her eyes at the sight of blood all down the front of the maid’s clothing. Her hand struck Jinna before the little girl saw it coming, hurtling her to the dirty floor in a heap. She rolled into a ball to protect herself, feeling the growing welt on her cheekbone with her recently healed hand. “You good-for-nothing scrap!” Cook kicked her roughly in the ribs. “You’ve missed cleaning up after lunch, and now you come into my clean kitchen with blood all over yourself! Get out before I slit your throat myself!”

Taking the cue without hesitation, Jinna jumped to her feet and fled down the corridor to the far north end of the castle. She twisted and turned with each new passage that presented itself, deftly navigating the underground maze from months of practice just such as this. The Princess was not her only safe haven.

With a crash and a thud, Jinna found herself piled onto the pale body of the red-headed witch who had healed her just four flights up and several moments past. Alone in the cold stone hall, they regarded one another in silence, neither certain of what to say. Finally, deciding her fear of Cook won out over her fear of magic, Jinna rolled to the side and helped her friend find her feet. She dusted the young woman off, inspecting her for injuries. “Alright to walk?” she looked up into Willow’s green eyes. The hand-maiden nodded. Jinna took her hand, “Come on, then.”


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Ulhetha and Calla crushed the herbs they were handed and dropped them in the steaming pot over the blazing fire set into the stone wall of the ancient tunnel room. The sounds of the training camp above them were silent, incapable of penetrating the earth and rock which separated them. Hidden far below the surface, they conducted the business of their coven in utter secrecy. "We need blood," Ulhetha called to the other two women at the far end of the cold, damp room.

"Blood?" Calla cringed. "I thought you said this was a harmless vision spell?"

The old woman regarded her with piercing blue eyes. "It is. But even the most harmless incantation requires power." She stirred the bubbling mixture. "You have felt the magic when you butcher an animal. It's blood what casts that spell, and nothing can substitute it." Her wisdom won out. "Now go and find me blood. Better yet, get a knife."

As if on cue, the door to their chamber burst open, and a blood-stained serving maid tumbled into the room. "Jinna!" Calla rushed to the girl. "What in the Known Lands happened to you?"

Before any answer could be offered, Ulhetha grabbed the apron from Jinna's tiny body and pitched it whole into the pot. Calla frowned at her, but pressed on for details with a firm look. "You won't believe me," Jinna replied.

"Did Cook hurt you again?"

"No…" the little girl let her eyes wander around the room, frequently checking the doorway behind her. "Well, yes, but that's not how I cut myself." Calla, ever protective of the maid, began to check her, head to toe, as any mother would a wounded child. "Calla, stop it. I'm fine." She batted at the woman's hands in frustration. "There's something more important going on. I need help." All eyes in the room were already upon her, but now even Ulhetha listened. Instead of speaking of the amazing events which had transpired, Jinna turned and called over her shoulder. "Willow?"

Every heart in the underground room hesitated at the sound of that name, and they each saw a different young woman enter the chamber. Her steps were slow and uncertain, but they were one and the same as the movements of the Willow they had each once known. Calla ran forward first, seizing her lost friend in a powerful embrace. "Is it truly you?"

Willow gasped for air in the tight arms which held her, and joy overwhelmed her. Had Calla been here all along? "Calla," she whispered into the wavy hair brushing over her face. "How did you come to be here?"

"We could ask the same of you," a familiar voice spoke up from the corner. Willow opened her teary eyes to find the faces of Forsythia and Ivy staring back at her. They rushed forward as well, piling onto the hugging women, each trying to grasp their long-lost friend. "Gods above, Willow," Forsythia shouted, "we all thought you were dead!"

"Ivy? Forsythia?" Willow could hardly believe what her hands told her was real. "You're all real?"

"Of course we're real," Ivy stroked the hand-maiden's hair. Willow beamed at her friends, noting how each was older, how the years had worn on them all.

"If you're all done," Jinna interrupted, "we have a bigger problem to deal with." The women parted reluctantly. "The Princess said to hide you until sunset. She wants you back then."

"Hiding?" Calla stepped forward. "What's this about?"

Willow didn't know how to explain anything that had happened. None of it made any sense. "I… Something happened in the Princess' chambers during lunch."

"Something happened, alright," Jinna sat with a thud in one of the worn chairs at the side of the fire. Ulhetha sat beside her and took the girl's left hand in her own, as if she knew the details already. "Willow's a witch."

The old woman sighed. "Of course she is, little one." Something about the grey-haired woman was familiar to Willow, though she could not place the face or the voice. "I think I understand, though. She must have cast a spell to heal you."

"It wasn't no ordinary spell," Jinna objected. "She was glowing, and she went all shiny… River sent us both away. That prince is sure to be looking for us this very minute."

"Prince?" Willow interjected. How much was there that she still did not know? When Ulhetha looked up into her eyes, Willow knew. Somehow, she knew in her belly that she was meant to find this woman. They beheld one another in silence for a long time before Willow's brain gave her the answer. "Hepsebah."

The old woman closed her eyes in pain. "She was my sister." Forsythia drew close to her and placed a comforting hand on Ulhetha's shoulder. "They told me of her death. I've been waiting for you to come here for so many years."

Willow fell to her knees on the hard floor, reaching out with her hands to the woman who had Hepsebah's eyes. A familiar smile welcomed her in, taking the offered hands gently. Choking back the tears once more, Willow told her about the vision she'd had. The details she recalled were incredible and very real to all who listened. Jinna, for her part, stayed quieter than any could remember in recent times. Willow hesitated at the final words the motherly figure had given her, deciding to keep the information about Tara to herself. Surely, she thought, it will not matter to them. Tara's gone. Hepsebah just didn't know. How could she know what would happen?

Silence followed her tale, and Ivy broke up the time of thought by stirring the concoction on the fire. "You must go to Torrent," Ulhetha finally announced.

"I've already been there," Willow answered. "Nothing remains. I left with more questions than I entered with."

"No," the old woman said impatiently, "that's not what Hepsebah meant. You must go back. It's the only way you'll wake the Ancients." Jinna gasped. All eyes turned to her, but she couldn't take back the loud sound. In shame, she covered her mouth.

"Wake the Ancients? Are you serious?" Calla asked.

"Why does everyone question me?" she dropped her hands in her lap and stood suddenly. "Did you think those stories came from someone's overactive imagination?" No one dared reply. "The Ancients live and breathe all around us. Even now, in this very room, they grace us with their presence." She looked directly at Willow. "I know this isn't how Hepsebah or Rowan wanted you to find out, Willow, but you are an Ancient." Her voice was firm and unforgiving. "And it's up to you to wake the others."


__________________________________________________________________


Raven and Aelish rode hard. The dirt road sped by under the hooves of their steeds, coughing up a thick cloud of dust in their wake. Hillmarch had been easy to bypass. The Drylands City now grew nearer with every rise and fall of their bodies, the rhythmic gait governing their breath and sight. Tree and grass changed to fields lying fallow. Barns and cottages blinked quiet, dark eyes at the passing warriors, speaking tales of their abandonment. This story was no different than any other they had seen in their joint travels. What the drought had not claimed, the Royal Guard had taken, leaving the people with no reason to stay in the homes and villages their forebears had built. The City had called to them all, one by one, offering hope and salvation. Unlike previous travelers, Raven knew he would not find such miracles behind the city gates. His shrouded eyes saw what others could not. The road to the Drylands City was a vortex that pulled its victims in without forgiveness. He and Aelish were but the last in a long line of servants to the City's cause.

In the distance, two figures ran toward the riders. Aelish turned to his companion in wonder, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. Surely no one was foolish enough to run toward the Queen's army. Raven shook his head, and Aelish released the blade. Remaining astride their horses, both men took in the dusty, lanky boys who skidded to a halt before them. To the left, a spindly young man with sweaty hair matted to his brow stared agape, his eyes large with amazement. To the right, a shorter but stockier boy smiled widely, apparently pleased with himself. His pleasure disappeared when he looked into the face of the black rider.

"You're in a hurry," Aelish called down to them.

"We," the younger boy tried to answer, but his throat was dry from running and the sudden realization that looking for the Black Knight and finding him were two terribly different things indeed. "You're… you're the…"

"You seek me," Raven answered, speaking directly into the minds of the two young men. It shook them down to their bowels. "Speak your intent"

The boy on the right stepped forward boldly, trying to push his fear of the faceless rider to the back of his mind. "My name is Cam. My people need your help."

Aelish exchanged a glance with his partner. "We are not mercenaries for hire, boy. Tell the Royal Guard of your need."

They made to ride on, but Cam stepped into their path. "The Royal Guard is the cause of our need. No one can aid us but you." His eyes pleaded with the men, despite his obvious fear. "Will you not hear us?"

Raven dismounted and paced around the boys, taking in their clothing and lack of supplies. "You ran all this way to find us?"

"To find you, Black Knight."

"So that is what I am called," Raven mused. "And what is it you believe I will do for you and your people?"

Birch eyed his friend with admiration. Though still shaking, the younger boy did not hesitate to answer the rider's question. "The Queen's Royal Guard is responsible for all that you see. This country once flourished. Now they steal our food and water, they destroy our homes and imprison our people, and they blame everything on the wyverns you kill. We are at war, but we cannot fight." Cam turned to face the black rider, staring him boldly in the black depths of his nonexistent face. "You have killed dragons. You are powerful. The Queen will fear you." His chest heaved with the passion which boiled in his blood.

Raven considered his words. "You realize your sentiment is heresy." The boys watched him circle them once more and mount his horse. "This is not my war." Before they could respond, the black rider urged his horse forward and galloped on to the Drylands castle.


__________________________________________________________________


"You’re accusations are surprising," the Queen paced the secret hall behind her court. Torch light flickered over the old stone walls and played shadows over her fine face. Outside, far beyond the many walls of stone which separated them from fresh air, the afternoon sunlight was making long shadows stretch over the parched land that led up to the gates of the kingdom's gardens. "Surely you know I will not allow any further intrusion into my daughter's private life until after the ceremony."

"Yes, Highness," the Prince bowed slightly, choking back his desire to order her actions to his liking.

"Her new handmaiden, however," the elegant woman suggested, leaving the comment to hang in the air.

"The Lady Willow? Surely you do not suspect her of having power."

The Queen smiled wryly. "You fancy the young woman. I will caution you, Tinari," the Queen raised a gloved hand, "beauty and power are rarely separate entities. Spend your free time as you choose, but do not make a fool of my daughter with your actions. It took far too long to arrange the marriage of our countries with your joined hands."

The Prince bowed to her again, stung by the accuracy of her perception.

Yay for update-y goodness... So Willow is a Ancient... I hope she soon is able to go to Torrent and wake the Ancients and kick Queens ass... and most importantly, find her Tara

_________________
We few, we happy few. We band of buggered.

Posting While Nude Improves Your Mood.

Fabulous update .... I'm enjoying the intricate story you are weaving. However you must tell us more of these Ancients ... you've left me hanging on that particular aspect!

_________________
Patience is a virtue I have yet to acquire
-- me

I am my beloved and my beloved is mine
-- King Solomon's Song of Songs

Only reality can escape the limits of our imagination
-- Rivka Galchen, Atmospheric Disturbances

Man is nothing else but that which he makes of himself
-- Jean-Paul Sartre

Yay! This was a really informative and thus good update! I am really intrigued of the stories both behind the black knight and of Willow! I will happily look farward to the next update and to the comeback of the cirque people! What show did you take your girlfriend to see though?

Fly forever free..
-Nenyath

_________________
My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies
Fairytales of yesterday will grow but never die
I can fly - my friends
~The Show Must Go On by Queen

Zampsa1975-



That she is, if only in part. I think it may be obvious that Torrent is an inevitable destination now, but are you sure the Queen is the only evil one she'll have to ass kick?


LittleBit-

You will indeed hear more of the Ancients. It's pivotal. You wouldn't have me give away everything at once, though, would you?


Nenyath-

Corteo just passed through Seattle... Actually, I think they're still playing through this weekend. The concept is the death of a clown. And no, not the creepy barnum and bailey type clown, but the comical cirque du soleil type. We both had a fantastic time.

You'll be seeing some favorites return soon enough, just bite your nails in the meantime.

_________________
There, but for the grace of her, go I.


http://citychickenfarm.blogspot.com/

I wasn't far off then when I suspected Willow had a connection with the Ancients, but to be one, well, at the time I felt that would be too obvious, but with her growing power it's the only thing she can be.

Is the Black Knight an Ancient also? What about Tara? I do think certain members of the cirque are, but I'll let you tell your tale and give me the answers in due course.

I have to say the story really picked up pace in this chapter. The main players appear to be gathering.

I get a sense of 'The Water Margin' type of thing about this. Are you familiar with this tale from ancient China of the outlaws who become heroes saving China from tyranny.

I'm now believing that it isn't only the castle that has an insidiuous nature, but the city itself, normal human weakness' are amplyified and taken advantage of and only the strong appear to immune from it's influence. It's either that or I'm reading too much into everything

I'm also wondering what is so important about Tinari that the Queen needs his allegiance so much that she will marry Raven off to get it. Or is there something else she wants?

A great read as usual. A few answers, but many more questions!

_________________
People grow through experience if they meet life honestly and courageously. This is how character is built. Eleanor Roosevelt

Paint the Sky-

I hope some of your questions will get answers in this next installment, but I'm afraid a few more questions may crop up. And yes, everyone is gathering. Something big is brewing in the Known Lands, and much will be revealed soon. I have not read the Water Margin tale, but since you mentioned it I wikipedia'd it and realized the similarities of which you speak. Though I had never heard of it before, I find it interesting that some of these concepts must somehow be lodged in our collective subconscious... Stories about bravery and war, love unrequited or lost... Perhaps we're related to elephants after all! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and perhaps you'll even find something hidden that will make you smile.






Chapter 18


Willow wrung her hands together in nervousness. The courtyard of the Princess' private garden was bathed in golden light, calendula and hazel returning the yellow light with intensified color. A crisp breeze chilled the handmaiden's bare arms. She wished silently for a shawl.

"I feared you would not return," River whispered behind her. Willow turned to find the beautiful Princess gazing at her with an expression she had never seen. Something in the girl's eyes made her fearful that she would disappoint her, that nothing she could say would satisfy the Princess' desires.

"I came as you requested, Highness."

River rushed at the girl with fury and relief both brimming over in her eyes. Tears coursed down her face and soaked the handmaiden's silk gown before Willow even realized the girl was clinging to her. They stood in the embrace until the sun disappeared behind the espaliered apple trees along the west wall of the garden. "Forgive me," River finally spoke, her voice thick with tears. She backed away and regarded Willow anew, taking in every nuance of her appearance as though they had been parted for much longer than a few hours. Without any warning or indication, the Princess fell to her knees, bowing her head in reverence. "I didn't know who you were. Forgive me."

Speechless, Willow knelt before the young woman and brought her hand along the perfect, royal line of her chin. River allowed her eyes to meet the redhead's once more. "I am your servant, Princess." Her words were tender, hopeful.

"No," long strands of black hair shook themselves loose and tumbled over the Princess' shoulders. "I am yours." River stared into the emerald depths of her friend's eyes, seeking and perhaps even finding in them all the mysteries which she had assigned to the Ancients since the story first implanted itself in her heart. "I knew you merely slept, awaiting the right moment to wake, to return to your home, your people. Forgive me for not seeing it sooner."

Willow sat back in wonder. She believes I am an Ancient. Before this moment, before this day, Willow would have laughed off such a wild fantasy. Now, kneeling in the well-tended soil of the Princess' garden, she understood so many things which had not made sense. Hepsebah had kept the truth from her to protect her and their clan, but her secrecy was their undoing. This was the thing that had set about every motion that pushed her away from the Circle. It had driven her north to Torrent, it had hidden her with the Cirque, and now it had brought her into the arms of royalty, in the very castle where her magic was least safe. My magic, Willow thought, her mind returning to the forest hidden behind the Princess' chambers. My magic. She recalled the sensation of walking through City Lost, of being guided by a force she could not name. My magic. Inara's words haunted her. What is this magic I posses? Her mind reeled at the possibilities, of the amount she did not know. "Forgive me for not knowing myself."


__________________________________________________________________




“You know the story of how the Ancients walked the land and parted the rivers, but how did they disappear? Where did they go?” Reza’s audience was silent. “I will tell you.” His beautiful brown eyes sparkled with delight. “They never left. They became what you see all around you. They became the cities and the trees, the rivers and the mountains, they became what they had created, for it was the only way they could watch over mankind. When the age of man came upon them, they knew their time had come and gone. Creator and creation cannot coexist forever. Some of them chose to become silent, to observe for all of eternity. Others resisted. ‘We are powerful,’ they said. ‘Let man move aside for his gods!’ And so a battle began. It was a battle of gods, a battle of Ancients, and its spoils, its cost, and its legacy became the inheritance of man.”

A tiny girl, perhaps eight years old by Reza’s eyes, crept into his lap and curled up in his arms. He brushed her fair hair from her tired face and traced the line of a bruise on her neck. Anger flared in his heart and tempered his words. “One of them, old, wise, and powerful beyond measure, carved out canyons and destroyed entire mountains with his rage. He crushed anything in his path, furious that mankind should have that which he made with his own hands. So livid was he, the other Ancients bound themselves together as one to destroy him. Unable to cast him into the underworld for all his power, they instead confined him in a stony prison for all time without end. There he remains, slowly poisoning the people who walk his halls and rest against his walls. Below him, deep within the earth, tunnels and caverns twist and wind and grow with each year that passes. Though he strains to reach that which might free him, his chains can only be undone by a spell.”


__________________________________________________________________


Mistress Kousa strode the length of her chamber, deep in thought. How could this have gone unnoticed? Her elegant burgundy gown trailed behind her, bound to her furious steps. Tired of thinking without having the answers she required, she stretched her fine neck and closed her eyes. A knock at her door brought her back to the present. “Enter,” she called. The door opened, revealing the source of Kousa’s predicament. Willow walked timidly into the center of the room, waiting by the chair she had sat in on the fateful morning her mistress had placed her with the Princess. “You may sit.” Willow bowed her head slightly, then sat, gathering the sage green fabric of her gown in around her legs. “The life of royalty suits you.”

“Thank you, Mistress Kousa,” she answered, unable to look the woman in the eye.

“I believe we can cut through the useless part of this conversation, if you don’t mind, Willow.” The lady sat opposite the handmaiden, obviously worn and tired from ceaseless thinking. “Suffice it to say, information has come to me regarding your recent.... actions.” The redhead stiffened sharply. “I do not intend to cause you harm, nor will I hear any lies to the contrary of that which I know.” She looked Willow in the eye, her glare stern. “This castle is not a safe haven for you. Prince Tinari is a witch hunter, though he would have his talents labeled in a different manner. Should you be caught casting a spell within these walls again, especially one of the magnitude which you cast yesterday, I fear the Princess may not be able to save you.”

Willow commanded the tears in her eyes to hold fast. River had explained the act which had indeed saved the handmaiden’s life. “I do not believe in the archaic sacrifice of animals to gods or Ancients,” she had said, “but there was no other way to draw him off your course.” The cat had been her only friend through much of her young life, offering comfort and silent support as the Princess grew within the constraints of royal life.

“I cannot, however, allow you to leave,” the Mistress went on. “You were brought to this place for a reason, and I feel quite certain you will understand that fact once I explain a few things.” The beautiful woman took a deep breath, steadying herself. “This castle, its walls, its floors, every nuance of its structure was created by the Ancients. More importantly, it is an Ancient.” Willow felt her stomach drop abruptly. “He is one of the oldest, the wisest of His kind. The legend speaks of His imprisonment here,” she stood and swept her arm wide over the delicate glass windows, “and of His imminent release at the turning of the age.” She pivoted and stared directly at Willow. “That time has come, and you are the one to wake Him.”

“Wake him?” Willow felt her pulse pound and throb in her ears. Her skin crawled at the sensation of being trapped inside the powerful, albeit contained, body of a fellow Ancient. Why had Ulhetha not told her of this?

“Yes. He is our God. We must free Him. And you,” Kousa took three steps forward and grabbed Willow’s shaking hands, “are the one with the power to release Him from that which binds Him to this prison. You are the one we have awaited.” Something unspeakable shone in Mistress Kousa’s eyes, stirring the fear in Willow’s chest to a new height. “He has told me that you are the one.”


__________________________________________________________________


“It’s a disease. Plain as that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” the other man bellowed. “He was burnt. He’s nothin’ but scar under that thing.”

“Burnt?” Henry Alvern piped in, taking a seat by the other two slave traders. “I heard he’s cursed. Come across the Red Sorceress, he did, and she cursed him for all time.”

“But why?”

“Because he’s in league with the Queen is why!” The other two men sat back and thought about their obese companion’s words.

“Oh, shut it, Henry,” Merl growled.

“All I’m sayin’-”

The large bartender leaned over the counter and stared right into Henry’s face. “I’ve had enough. You come in here day and night, getting people riled up over something you don’t even know squat about. No one knows why he wears a mask. No one knows his loyalties. Let it go.”

Henry sat back on his stool and considered his pint of ale with a thoughtful expression. “Word ain’t good, Merl. You know that as well as I do. People just need something to talk about in dark times. It keeps my merchandise alive to think that the Black Knight could be comin’ to save them all,” he grinned maliciously. “Hope sells.”

Merl closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply, but he could not. Without regard to the guardsmen who filled his pub, he reached across the bar and grabbed Henry with a massive fist. The slave-traders shirt tore and crumpled in his powerful grip. “You and your kind are filthy, despicable creatures from the underworld!” he roared. “People are not animals. You treat them like dogs, and then you gloat at your earnings and get fat off their misfortune.” He looked the hideous man up and down, clearly disgusted by the rolls of flesh trembling under his fury. “You will never have another drink in this city from my pub or any other, and you had best watch yourself once you walk outside of these walls.” Fire blazed in Merl’s eyes as he held the heavy man steady in front of him for a long moment. The clink of sword and dagger from the guardsmen who had approached beside them brought Merl out of his angry trance. His peripheral vision caught the slightest hint of fear in the Royal Guardsmen’s eyes, but he knew he had reached the limit of their tolerance. Reluctantly, he let Henry go. The fat slave-master sat wit a thump, outraged and terrified. “Get out,” Merl slurred through gritted teeth.


__________________________________________________________________


“Where is she?” Jinna paced the Princess’ chamber again, her tiny feet flying rapidly over the thick carpets, now returned to their appropriate shade of pale cream. “I told her to come right after.”

River took hold of the serving maid’s wrist and pulled her to a stop. “She will come, Jinna. Have patience.”

Jinna glared at her, “You think she’s someone different now that you know. But she’s not. She’s still just Willow.” River let the little girl’s hand go, stung by the comment. “Maybe she is an Ancient. What difference should it make?”

“It should make every difference,” the Princess whispered, looking out the window onto the light of late morning over the orchards. Though the little maid could never understand, to River it was obvious. Willow was not the same person she had been two days ago.

As though Jinna’s calling had summoned her, Willow stepped through the threshold of the Princess’s chambers with a pallid expression. Both girls rushed to her and helped her sit. “What happened to you?” Jinna stroked her forehead which was damp and cold.

“I,” she began, but suddenly she could not find the words to continue. Her encounter with Mistress Kousa had left her shaken and unsure of everything. Mustering all her resolve, she tensed her shoulders and spoke through gritted teeth. "I've had enough of this. Enough of the secrets, enough of the lies, enough of Ancients and witchcraft and sorcery and everyone wanting me to be someone I'm not!" Her chest heaved with the power of her anger and frustration.

“It’s alright,” River soothed. “You’re with us.” She walked forward and took Willow's hand in her own. "Just be Willow."

“I’ve brought something I think you’ll like,” Jinna smiled, hoping she could lighten Willow's mood. The little girl jumped up and ran to the sideboard, uncovering a tray with a practiced hand. Willow watched her cut and serve something which looked like cake. She carried the three plates delicately and set them on the low table between the couches. “Calla said she couldn’t sleep last night,” Jinna explained. “She made this a dozen times over before she got it just right.”

The two young women lifted their plates and stared at the delicacy. “What does she call it?” Willow inquired, delighted at the distraction offered by her little friend.

“She hasn’t decided,” Jinna ran a finger through her own, popping the dollop of cake into her mouth before either of her companions could object.

Willow boldly did the same, making River giggle. As soon as the creamy substance hit her tongue, Willow relaxed into a smile she could not resist. Calla’s baking was second to none. “It’s heavenly,” she sighed, reaching for more. All three ignored their silver in favor of eating like children. “Cream is the food of the gods,” Willow spoke before she realized what she had said. The other two girls froze, thick cream covering their fingers and lips. A beat passed in silence, then River suddenly burst out laughing. Jinna followed suit, loudly giggling away the tension. Color crept up Willow’s neck and into her delicate face as she struggled not to laugh as well. Her mouth was full of the cake.

"Cheesecake," Jinna suddenly named it. "It's cheesecake."

All three smiled at her choice of names to describe the new delicacy, and they plunged sticky fingers back into the uncut cake, hungry for more. "Forsake the gods," River teased, "I shall declare this creamy cake the food of royalty." She laughed despite the shock she felt at being so bold with her words.

Feigning anger, Willow pulled the entire tray toward her side of the table. "Absolutely not!"

River leaned over and took a handful of cheesecake threateningly. "I shall, and there is no Ancient who can stop me." The grin on her face was radiant, highlighted by bits of cream and crust. "All the people of my kingdom shall have cheesecake! I'll order so much made that we can paint the sky with it!" she shouted in victory.

"You'll never get the chance!" Willow took the momentary opportunity to have the upper hand and launched the remainder of the cake fully at the Princess, covering her bodice with sweet cream. The two painted each other with cheesecake and laughed until their sides ached, finally collapsing back on the couches. Although different than the last time, the Princess' chamber was once again ruined and in need of a thorough cleaning.

“I’ve never tasted anything like it,” Willow sat back with a sigh, heedless of the mess they had created.

Jinna wiped her face on her apron, “I’m going to be sick if I eat more. It’s so sweet.” Her friends smiled in the joy of the moment. “Now that you’re both calmer,” she rolled her eyes slightly, “there’s something we have to do today.”

Jinna explained things hurriedly, then whisked the Princess and her handmaiden off into the marketplace. Something was brewing amongst the people. All were oddly quiet, yet whispers flew and tickled Willow’s ears, disappearing when she turned to find their source. “Jinna, why are we here?”

The little girl sighed, exasperated. “I told you, something important is about to happen.”

“How do you know?” River bent down to look the maid in the eye. Unlike her mother, the Princess delighted in walking amidst her people. She held no fear of them in her heart, and they loved her for her near constant presence among them, even in the dark and dangerous times of the present.

“Everything that happens in the kingdom goes through the kitchens, one way or another.”

A hush fell over the crowd. Everyone looked up at the city gates, not two-hundred strides from the center of the busy market. The normal bustle of immigrants had ceased, leaving only two men on horseback at the entrance to the Drylands City. They walked slowly, purposefully down the dusty street, parting the silent crowd before them. At its apex stood the Princess and her company. Though dressed plainly and unaccompanied by the Royal Guard, her beauty set her apart from the commoners of her city. Hundreds of pairs of eyes watched the black rider and his warrior companion approach her, stopping within arm’s reach. River’s hand clutched at Willow’s, grasping her hard enough to cause pain. Jinna sought a hiding place behind the red-haired gypsy. Even the birds were silent as the Black Knight dismounted and drew his sword. As though in slow motion, unstoppable and terrible, he drew his sword and strode up to the Princess, swinging the blade with a practiced hand. His steps thundered in the dry, compact earth, feathering the dust in swirls around his polished, black boots. Late morning sunlight glinted off the sharp edge of his sword as it twisted and turned, raised up over his shrouded head. The breath in River’s chest refused to move as she stared at the blade.

He has come to kill me.

Willow inhaled, the only person among hundreds to do so. The sword dropped, the flat of the blade scoring the earth in its descent. It was placed before the Princess’ feet, its owner kneeling on one knee before royalty. Wide eyes watched the black rider’s companion perform the same movements, an old rite of respect performed by servants of the royal family in public greeting. So long removed from its practice, few in attendance could recall its origins.

Touch his head, Willow urged the Princess in her mind, but River failed to move so much as a muscle. She was frozen in panic and terror. Touch his head. The custom of receiving warriors from battle was common enough, but the Princess was clearly incapable of performing her royal duty. In her stead, the hand maiden reached forward and touched the back of the Black Knight’s head, covered in a black cowl, with her hand. Her brain lit on fire with the images that coursed through her from the connection.

Fire and smoke raged through the trees. Willow saw faces she thought she recognized, but they moved too quickly. A sense of pain and loss struck her squarely in the chest, knocking the wind from her lungs. Freezing wind and snow pelted her body, driving the smoky haze into the background. Before her towered the Pass of Death leading up into the Southern Mountains. A blond woman on a powerful black horse ascended, sparing a momentary glance over her shoulder. Tara stared into her eyes, piercing her heart with a sadness her heart could not contain. Her own hand suddenly felt heavy, and she lifted it. The Black Knight's sword was firmly in her grip. Willow realized all too late that she was merely a spectator in this vision. Though she fought with all the strength of her mind and body, she could not resist the Black Knight's swift movements and deadly strike. Tara fell under his sharp blade, never having offered the slightest hinderance.

Willow snapped back to the marketplace, trembling from the vision. Her hand still rested on the back of the foreign man’s head. She removed it, and he lifted his black face to her.

I got dibs, and I got my surprise. Thank you

I'll come back later when I've read it again.

Ok, I'm back!

Well, now we know why Mistress Kousa was so keen to buy Willow, but she either doesn't know that Willow is an Ancient, or she is not showing her hand on that just yet.

Now, does the Queen know the same thing. Given her power and position it's unlikely she would want to give that up, so what better way to stop the Ancient being released than killing those who could have the power to do it. Wipe out all the magic users and elimanate risk. Not subtle, but effective if she was able to achieve her objective.

In her twisted way is she trying to save her kingdom as well as preserving her station?

It's interesting to speculate as to which of them is the bigger danger to Willow.

That was nice of you to give Willow a happy moment, a little bit of normality before you tore her heart from her.

Ok, so this is another piece of speculation from me, but I get the feeling that the Black Knight was kneeling before Willow and not the Princess, despite the sword being placed before her. How did he know River was royality? For me it would be likely that he felt the power coming from Willow and his gesture was an act of supplecation to her as an Ancient.

And that brings me to what Willow seen when she touched him.

I'm wondering at what point in his own tale did he encounter Tara. Was Willow's vision in chronological order, or totally random in terms of the order of events? Did she see his memories going from the most recent to the earliest? Is it possible that his meeting with Tara was when she first came from the South? Or is Willow experiencing a vision of events yet to come?

But, you've already said that the Knight knows what happened to Tara, and in a sense he does, but would he have waited to see if he had killed her, or would he have moved on leaving her just wounded?

You were right about this chapter raising more questions. Thankfully you update quick so I mightn't have long to wait to get some answers.

_________________
People grow through experience if they meet life honestly and courageously. This is how character is built. Eleanor Roosevelt

Yay for great update-y goodness.... I hope Willow doesn't performe the spell to revive the Big Bad... Now that Willow has seen the vision of Black Knight killing Tara she is able prevent that from happening...

_________________
We few, we happy few. We band of buggered.

Posting While Nude Improves Your Mood.

wow... that was a strong ending!

Even though I don't always reply, I'm still reading (and loving!) your story. I like the pace and the fact that I can't predict the plot, it really keeps me intrested. I'm enjoying every chapter, every step of the way, and I find myself intrested in what happens to the original characters as well as the ones we already know (willow and tara), which I think is a pretty neat thing to achieve in fanfiction. I'm curious to see what's become of Tara after these eight years, but I'm having no problem with the wait, since there are many other things going on that hold my attention. I'm sure you will write her re-introduction as smothly as everything else has been coming so far. Which reminds, I remember reading your concerns about the eight years jump (I know, ages ago, sorry I'm a bit late ), but I think you did it great! And you managed to skip the "eight years later" introduction.

Thanks for a lovely story.

_________________

Ich bin für Liebe, ich bin für die die's lieben zu leben; ich bin für die, die Liebe geben auch wenns schwer ist im Leben. - Curse, "Widerstand"

Oh wow! That was one update to be treated with for breakfast! Certainly many answers, certainly many more questions! So the castle is alive, the prison of an ancient. I do wonder why, if he is called the oldest, wisest and strongest, he was the one who went ravaging through the land, destroying and now imprisoned.. Is he really that character or has the story been twisted as it has been handed down through the centuries, even though the image from the castle when Willow was fleeing do speak for a "big bad"..

And then the black knight and the vision. I do have a feeling that Willow is stepping into character here, finding her new position. As Mistress Kousa said "royalty fits" her.. Then Tara.. I still have a feeling the black knight is Tara and isn't Tara or perhaps Tara whom has been transformed into something else and the vision Willow saw of the black knight casting aside Tara might have been symbolic.. But I don't know..

To reply on your cirque remark.. I know Corteo, we have it on DVD and in my opinion it is one of the best shows they have made, next to Quidam.. I am glad you enjoyed it live though, I have heard such mixed reviews of the live performance lately.. I love the story of Corteo, some has called it stereotypical but I really disagree with that!

Anyway, thank you for a scrumptious breakfast!

_________________
My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies
Fairytales of yesterday will grow but never die
I can fly - my friends
~The Show Must Go On by Queen

Paint the Sky-



The Queen's motives are fairly simple when compared to the other players at work in the castle. River is the only one standing in her way as ruler of all the Drylands. I wonder how she could resolve that problem? I'm sure when she formed an alliance with Tinari she never suspected his ulterior motives. And now he has a frightening amount of power.



Sadly, Raven's motives may be a bit elusive for a while. Your speculation is reasonable, though. As for Willow's vision, she won't know until she talks to him what it was about. It could be from the past or a glimpse into the future. It could even be, as Nenyath suggests, symbolic. Regardless of its source, it had a huge effect on Willow. She's been through so much in eight years that by now she has perhaps learned to forgive and understand what happened to the Circle. No matter how angry and hurt she was by Tara's supposed actions, it's obvious that she still dreams of her and longs for her.

Zampsa1975-



Where's the fun if she doesn't!?

TinyAnt-

Thanks for keeping up with it. Things are coming together more and more now, so Tara's fate will soon be revealed.

Nenyath-



Ooooh..... Hopefully you'll like that particular Big Bad when he's unleashed later. Honestly, I couldn't put something like that in this story and not let him loose later. How he is released, however, should prove interesting. I've always loved tales which lead the reader into a timeline with neither a beginning nor an end. Here we see the creators and their creation, but there is so much more before and after all that I've shown. And yes, rumor, speculation, and story-telling do lend to false information being passed on for generations. I've tried to make each telling of the Tale of the Ancients slightly different to hint at that. As Bell X1 says, "history is written by the winners."

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There, but for the grace of her, go I.


http://citychickenfarm.blogspot.com/

Chapter 19


“We must kill him. There is no other way.” Willow paced the stone floor of the underground room impatiently. “We must kill him.” Her skin was flushed and her voice hoarse from screaming at the others in her haste to sign the Black Knight’s death warrant.

Ulhetha had watched her for long enough. Irritated with the girl’s behavior, she jumped up and grabbed Willow by the wrist. “By the Ancients,” she cursed, instantly regretting her choice of words, “sit down and tell me what happened. I won’t have any more of this useless screeching out of you. “We cannot simply murder the one man the resistance believes will be our salvation.”

“Then let the resistance decide,” Willow spat back. “That awful beast took Cam from the market square.” Her words chilled the old woman’s bones. “I doubt if he shall live till sunset.” Less than a nod was needed to send Jinna off running. Ulhetha trusted her to find things out, and this was one time when her ability to hide and listen could save a life. “He approached us in the square,” Willow began. Her eyes drifted towards the fire as she described the terrifying events.

Still stunned by her vision, Willow felt icy fingers wrap around her brain. Words formed in her mind, guided by a sonorous voice. “Let my words and deeds show my loyalty, Highness.” Willow looked briefly at River, seeing that the voice was in her mind as well. The Princess had not moved.

The black rider stood, sheathing his weapon. His companion did the same. “I am Aelish,” the second man spoke. “This is Raven. We are honored to be in your presence, Majesty.”

River’s trance was broken by the tall man’s voice. Her eyes took in his armor, dusty from many miles of riding. His face was unshaven, his hair long, and his brown eyes seemed kind. “Welcome,” she answered, the boldness of her voice thrilling everyone within earshot. “Please, call me River. This is my handmaiden, Willow.”

Aelish turned to face her, bowing slightly. Raven, however, had not moved from his stance, though whether he stared at her could not be seen. Straining to contain the fear and anger in her chest, Willow could not reply. She breathed deeply. Though she searched for the voice and the vision in her mind, she could bring neither back. Tara had haunted her for so many years, and now, confronted with the man who may have killed her, Willow could no longer feel the betrayal which had governed their departure from one another. She only felt loss.

“The Royal Guard will accompany you into the keep,” River motioned to the nearest soldiers. “Will you tell me if I can provide anything more you might require?” Though her words were calm and true, her eyes never parted from the brown-eyed warrior.

“We will. Thank you, River,” he answered, smiling at her kindness.

“Our people require peace!” a loud voice from within the crowd shouted, ceasing the breath of hundreds. “We are hungry! Our homes are burnt and raided by the Queen’s own hand, and our children are sold into slavery in the streets while you exchange pleasantries with the keeper of the wyverns!” Gasps and exclamations escaped the lips of those who stepped aside to reveal the naysayer. Cam, standing tall and proud, held his ground. “We will not stand by while everything we have worked for is ruined by the Queen or the Princess,” he spat, “nor any other member of the Royal Family. This man,” he pointed at Raven, pausing for several breaths, “this man,” his voice and arm shook and trembled. Something was happening inside of the young man, a battle of sorts, and he strained against it, determined to speak his message, no matter how deadly it would prove to be. “This man is in league with the Queen. He is evil.” The crowd whispered and looked from the boy to the masked man in wonder. The guardsmen, no longer waiting to be dispatched, strode forward in a half circle and closed in on him as his words grew desperate. “You cannot silence the whole kingdom! We will not die without fighting back! Even now, while you draw your swords to kill one unarmed man,” and they did just that, “others are rising up. The will of the people will be heard!”

As the lead guardsman’s sword was raised in preparation for a deadly strike, a thundering voice ripped through the crowd, bearing down on every mind. They turned their eyes as one to the Black Knight. “Stop.” The command was low and simple, but all obeyed. The guard lowered his blade, and his company parted to allow Raven to walk through and stand before the heretic. “He speaks of my deeds and my intent. Let him witness it first hand. He is mine.” He stared with his horrible black visage, challenging anyone present. None opposed him. He turned back to Cam, facing him silently for many long breaths. Leaving his weapons in favor of powerful fists, the Black Knight drew back and struck the young man across the chin with the back of his armored hand. Cam spun and staggered. Blood coursed in rivulets from the cuts created by the steel plates on Raven’s gauntlets. Stepping forward, the black rider bore down on him with both fists joined, driving the boy to his knees. He offered no resistance. Raven’s knee jerked up and into Cam’s chest. He coughed, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed in a heap. To the right of the Black Knight, a guardsman took a step nearer to them, preparing to drag Cam off. Raven held out a hand in warning. “I said he is mine. Leave him.”

“And they just let him take the boy off?” Ulhetha asked incredulously. She, too, paced the smoky room, absently plucking herbs from their resting places and throwing them into the pot bubbling over the fire. Willow nodded, suddenly exhausted from the whole affair. “How can he have been so stupid?” the old woman threw the handful of thyme into the flames. It crackled and shriveled in the heat.

“Is it true?” Willow raised her head.

“Is what true?”

“What Cam said about the Queen and the Royal Guard.”

Ulhetha pulled a chair over to where the handmaiden sat. She took Willow’s hands gently in her own. “Few know the real culprits of the current devastation of this land. The Queen is one of them, though neither the least nor the greatest. Prince Tinari has tainted what remained of her purity with his anti-magic campaigns. And then there is the Mistress Kousa,” Ulhetha took a long, cleansing breath. “That woman wishes to unleash an unspeakable evil.” Willow glared at her knowingly. “Yes, yes, I should have told you. There is too much to speak of, little one, and never enough time to say it all.”

“Hepsebah used to say that, too.”

The old woman smiled, new wrinkles springing up in her cheeks. “My big sister always thought she was so smart. Your mother, on the other hand, knew that we were but children in this life.”

Willow sat up sharply. “You knew my mother?”

“I did,” Ulhetha nodded. “In fact, I helped bring you into this world.” Her eyes misted over with the memory. “It was the most amazing birth these old eyes have witnessed.” Willow moved closer, desperate to feel and see and hear what Ulhetha and Hepsebah must have taken for granted. “Rowan was pure radiance,” Ulhetha went on, “and you, Willow, were the happiest baby ever to be born in an underground cave.”

“Here?” the young woman looked around.

“Close. There are other tunnels and rooms. Your mother was in hiding, you see. She was one of the last of her kind, the last of the true Ancients to walk among her people in the Known Lands. When her existence was discovered, they hunted her down to kill her. They succeeded shortly after your birth.” Willow felt tears gather on her bottom eyelids. “However, it is not such a simple thing to kill an Ancient, you know.”

Willow had never considered her own mortality in such a light, nor had she thought about how an Ancient could die. “What happened to her?”

Ulhetha sighed and looked into the fire. “She wanted to watch over you, see you grow and become a woman. Hepsebah and I helped her become something different so that she could do just that. You remember the forest where you spent your childhood?” The red-haired gypsy nodded, filled with wonder. “That forest is your mother.”


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Jinna quieted her breathing as she spied through a tiny crack in the mortar. A narrow hall behind the prison had served her well many times in the past, but now, for the first time in her life, she feared what she might see. In a solitary room, confined between stone and steel with no windows nor any natural light, the Black Knight, his companion, and a very badly beaten Cam hid from the prying eyes of the prison guards. Jinna watched Aelish pace nervously. He spoke in whispers, but she could not hear the other side of his conversation. “You could have killed him, Raven. He’s only a boy.” He paused, listening. “I know,” he sighed, resignedly, “heresy is punishable by death. Still,” he bent down to the bruised young man, “are you sure he understood what you told him?” More silence. “Then we must find a way to get him out of here.”

Cam groaned and opened his eyes, wincing at the pain. “I thought you said you weren’t going to kill me.”

“You’re not dead,” Aelish answered. “By all accounts, he spared your life. The Royal Guard would not have been so kind. What in the Known Lands would possess you to speak such things in the open market with all those people around?”

Cam struggled to sit up, feeling the welt on his chin with his free hand. “The voice of the people must be heard.”

“Well you very nearly died for a short speech, boy. Your bravery is commendable, but your methods need rethinking.”

“How can we think when we’re starving?” he scowled.

Aelish stood and turned to Raven. “And you wonder why they seek a hero.” He sighed, perhaps hearing an answer, perhaps not, then he turned back to the bruised boy. “We must smuggle you out of this place. Who can we contact?”

Mustering all her bravery, Jinna filled her lungs with air and whispered, “Psst!” All three men spun around and searched for the crack in the wall. Raven found her without pause. Where the barest of light once flowed through the tiny hole, now blackness coursed through it, frightening the little girl right down to her worn boots. “I can get him out,” she spoke, overcoming her fear.


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A heavy shadow interrupted the light which flowed over the interlocking stone floors of the high court, swiftly following the Prince’s footsteps. Sighing with determination, he left the Queen’s empty hall and raced through the corridors of the castle until he came upon the Princess’ wing. Once there, he waited. Word of the display in the marketplace had traveled fast, penetrating the conversation of every member of royalty and service alike. While Tinari looked forward to meeting the so-called hero of the people, the timing could not have been worse. Still, an advantage could be found in the wreckage if he simply employed the right maneuvers at the right moments. While he thought and mused about the best direction in which to focus his power, the light beat of steps could be heard ascending the curved stairway from two flights below. The Prince smiled, licking his lips at the scent of a beautiful woman approaching.

Pure sunlight glinted off the red flame of her hair before the rest of her form could be seen. Tinari inhaled, quelling the desire he felt in his chest. Patience would bring her to him. Willow’s steps sped up as her feet found the level floor and carpet which led to the Princess’ chamber. She glanced upward for only a moment, but in that moment she saw something out of place. Tinari stepped from his shadowed place of rest and bowed slightly to her. “My Lady.”

Willow drew back, pulling her hands to her chest. “Prince Tinari,” she forced herself to speak. “I did not expect you.”

“I believe the best things in life are unexpected,” his smile revealed sharp teeth. The image made Willow’s eyes dart around and search for the frightening wolves who accompanied him regularly. Her heart sped up as he neared. “I dare not waste your time, My Lady. I know the Princess will be awaiting you.” Willow nodded. “I have come to propose something.... most unexpected indeed.” The handmaiden felt her hands begin to shake. “Please be assured, I am only interested in the safety of this kingdom and the well-being of the Princess. I believe you stand for the same things.” His black eyes stared into her. “A threat has come to this castle, Lady Willow, and we are the only ones capable of stopping it. Will you aid me?”

Willow held her gaze up to his, unwilling to break it for even a moment. “What do you propose?”

“The Black Knight,” he raised his eyebrows, “pretends to serve the Queen, but his true motives are quite the opposite. He will kill both the Queen and her daughter if given the chance. He will question any attention I show him, for my allegiance with the Queen is widely known. You, however, are but a handmaiden. The Princess’ handmaiden, no less. He will be drawn to you.” Willow pieced together the information as he spoke. “All I ask is that you return his attention. Woo him, court him, do as you like. Lead him to me, and I will ensure the Princess’ safety for all time.” His voice softened. “I know she is your friend.”

“She is,” Willow acknowledged.

“Then you will do as I ask?”

The young woman considered his bargain. This, she mused, will serve my needs more than he knows. “I will.”