Voice of the Wayfarers

(OOC this was basically the original piece I wrote for Tree Dog. He's been around for a while, and a bit of this stuff has changed, but the Arcadia stuff is mostly the same)
---
The Mistress has a new dog.

He is not like me. He is sharp lines and shadows and bright white teeth. He doesn't play or prance, or wag his tail. He is dangerous and keen.

Mistress praises him for not chasing his tail or snapping at butterflies. She used to like it when I did those things. They used to make her laugh, and scratch my ears. She doesn't scratch my ears any more, and we don't go for walks and play. She doesn't say I'm a good dog any more.

I think she loves the new dog more than me.

She takes the new dog hunting. We tried to go hunting once, but I am loud have stumble-feet and scared all the birds away. Now I'm not allowed to go any more, and the new dog brings her home rabbits to eat. I don't get to eat the rabbits. Sometimes I don't get to eat at all.

I think she's forgotten about me.

But how could she? I used to make her laugh. I used to be her good dog. It's not her fault, she is the Mistress, she never does anything wrong. It's not the new dog, he is a good dog, he is sharp and keen, and does what he is told. He is a dog like me, and he loves her, too.

So that means it must be my fault. That means it's my job to fix it!

I will go! I will find her the biggest rabbit! She will be sad when I am gone, but when I am back, she will be happy, and give me all the scratches, and some for the other dog, too, and we will eat rabbit together. I will make it all OK. I will be her good dog again.

~*~*~*~

It is dark and scary here. There are scratchy things, and bitey things, and things that howl and hiss. It is not nice, like it is at home with Mistress. But I will not be afraid, I will find the rabbit and then I will go home...

… If I can remember the way.

~*~*~*~

Suddenly I wake up, and there are people! One glitters like stars, and another is made of stone, and another looks like a ghost! They are looking at me, eyes wide.

I shy back, because things are scary in the dark scratchy place, but they smile, and talk in strange words I can somehow understand.

“Come out, boy,” they say, “we have things to eat.”

I'm very hungry, so I go, and they feed me and give me scratches. The food is nice, but the scratches are even nicer.

They wash my fur, which rustles, and run their hands through my branches.

“Look at him! He's a dog, but looks like he's made out of bushes. Not the strangest thing I've seen, but still...

Then they speak to me

“What's your name?”

Something moves in me, like a bird flying away when I get stumble-feet, and I can answer them.

“I am Tree Dog. I am a good dog. Where am I?”

They smile brightly, but also look kind of sad. I want to put my head in their laps and lick their hands.

“You're free now, Tree-Dog. Welcome home.”

Five years ago

It took the young people of the town three days to find Kasumi somewhere that they could beat her without getting caught.

She knew it was coming. It always did. With the people around her moving into official training with their families and other masters, they learned why the ronin were looked down upon, and why they were, in some ways, considered worse than heimin. The danger inherent in those that wore the daisho, but answered to no one, was impressed upon the young bushi and monks alike- as was the fact that they had no one to protect them.

These students knew that they couldn't take on any of the ronin Shin's sons, all of whom had begun their training as well, so they chose to assert their dominance through the Celestial Order upon his smaller, weaker daughter.

Kasumi had noticed the Matsu girl watching her, so it came as no surprise that she was the one to grab her, twisting her arm up behind her back, and dragged her back behind one of the houses with two of her closer friends. She struggled as they pulled her out of the way, but not too hard- she wouldn't give them another reason to strike her.

She kept her head down as the Matsu girl paced in front of her, smiling indolently. She was only a few years older than Kasumi, but her lazy, arrogant demeanor marked her heritage more clearly than the mon worn by her father, who was so proud of his daughter's budding prowess in combat, and her adherence to the tenets of Bushido.

"My name is Hoshi," she said, "And these are my brothers in training, Ikoma Katsurou and Hida Isamu. Do those names mean anything to you, girl?"

It was always the same, if not in words, then in their meaning. We do not expect you to know. We do not think that you know the ways of Rokugani society. We expect you to be ignorant, so that we may punish you for it.

Obediently, Kasumi shook her head.

"Only that they are names of the families of the Great Cla-"

She was cut off by a punch to the stomach. She gasped for air, while inside, she reflected that she had received worse. Not by much, but this Matsu Hoshi wasn't the strongest or sharpest she had faced.

"Yes, the Great Clans, which you are not a part of, little rat. You and your band of ronin garbage are nothing, nothing compared to us! Your brothers stride around as if they mean something, but they don't, and that goes doubly for you, with your weak body, your weak honour, and your weak family."

Kasumi choked down what sounded like a sob, and Matsu Hoshi smiled.

"But you know that, don't you? You won't look at me because you know that you don't deserve to. You don't even deserve to be struck by me, or my brothers here. But we will, for you, so that you don't forget your place."

She turned to address the boys.

"Put her down where she belongs, and begin the lesson."

Ikoma Katsurou and Hida Isamu threw her to the ground. She didn't try to push herself up again, but curled up a little, to protect her stomach and face as the kicking started. As much as she could, she tried to avoid their feet, but she couldn't stop them as their blows broke her ribs and tore at her skin and hair.

The Matsu girl watched, smiling as she heard the sobbing sound grow louder and louder between gasps and squeaks of pain. Finally, the need to gloat grew too much, and she gestured for her minions to stop. She knelt down, still towering over Kasumi's tiny form.

"Now now, little rat, you shouldn't be crying yet, we've barely even begun your lesson."

She grabbed the other girl's hair and pulled her head back, and was shocked and angry at what she saw.

Kasumi wasn't crying. She was laughing.

For a moment, Matsu Hoshi was stunned. One look at the confused faces of her companions spurred her to action, dragging Kasumi to her feet by her hair. Her other arm pistoned back to deliver a punch into the girl's stomach.

"Why are you laughing, you filthy wretch?!" The Lion hissed angrily, barely able to keep her voice down. "I could kill you right now for such an insult!"

The blow hadn't stopped Kasumi's laughter, but she fought to calm herself down to answer the question. After a moment, she smiled briefly, baring bloodied teeth.

"Just you. You and your friends are so amusing. You think you're the one in power here, the one in control. You are wrong- it's me. I have the power."

She tried weakly to free herself from Matsu Hoshi's grasp, but the two boys with her grabbed her shoulders again, as the other girl stepped back and looked at her victim incredulously

"You have the power? You must be mad! Where is this power, then? Show me!"

"You're only hurting me because I let you. If I had truly wanted to avoid you, I would have, but this exercise was necessary, as are the lessons that come from it. You see, your poor grasp on the tenets of Bushido is unfortunately common. You do not have compassion or courtesy. You only think of yourself, and this will be your downfall, as it has been for every other who has raised their hand to me. Your exposure will be my victory song, and your shame will be my pri-"

Kasumi's words were cut off by the furious cry of the other girl, as she swung a powerful, angry punch at her face. She felt her nose break and begin to spurt blood, but still she smiled as she lifted her face again.

"Oh look. Here comes your lesson now."

A shadow fell over the entryway, and the Lions and the Crab looked up to see Kasumi's four brothers. Only then did Kasumi let out a cry of pain.

Kasumi was dropped to the ground as the two groups clashed. She watched, hiding her smile under her hands as Arasora smashed through the other Crab, punching him to the ground brutally before turning to the Ikoma. Takeshi and Kuro moved forward to engage the Matsu girl, leaving her reeling at Takeshi's unfamiliar training, and Kuro's constant circling, waiting for a moment of weakness.

It was Hiroshi, however, who moved through the fighting like a blade through the water to reach his sister, and carried her out into the street with silent care and fury combined.

The boys were not subtle, so the sound of the struggle had drawn an audience. Adults plunged into the fray, dragging out the squabbling teens by whatever they could grab, and holding them apart. Hiroshi carefully lay Kasumi down in his lap as Shin and Turo sprinted to him, panic in their eyes.

"Is she OK? Kasumi-chan, are you OK?" Shin asked as Turo wrapped his hands in cloth to probe her face. Kasumi moaned in reply, and nodded carefully, keeping her eyes closed. In contrast, Turo briefly met Shin's eyes, and shook his head slightly.

Shin nodded, as calm as a mountain lake, and turned to regard his sons and the perpetrators both. A few moments later, the parents of the other teens arrived, puffing and panting with outrage.

"What is the meaning of this disgrace?" Shouted the elder Lion, pointing to his bruised and mussed daughter, "Ronin, you and your brats have some explaining to do here!"

There was the strangled sound of at least one of Kasumi's brothers swallowed a curse, and she felt even calm, rational Hiroshi tense in anger beneath her. Shin, however, managed to remain glacially calm as he spoke.

"From my understanding, Matsu-san, your daughter and her two compatriots attacked my little girl." He gestured to Kasumi, and called out without turning around- "Turo-san, how bad is it?"

"It's a bad break, Shin. We're going to need to plug her nose tight to make sure it heals straight, and even then. She's swallowed a lot of blood, too, and that will make her very ill if we can't make the bleeding stop." Turo's hands flew as he spoke, carefully guiding his patient to sit correctly and hold still.

"So, you see, it seems that your daughter conspired with her two friends to attack someone who had no means to defend themselves. That contravenes the tenets of Compassion and Courtesy, as described by the codes of Bushido. As a Matsu, you must understand how dreadful this is."

"Father, he's lying!" spluttered Matsu Hoshi unconvincingly, as her companions looked away in shame.

"I see. We can then add violation of the tenet of Honesty and Justice. Three of the Seven Virtues, Matsu-san. Will you do something now, or wait until she collects the set?"

The elder Matsu stormed up to Shin, stopping centimetres from him, face pale with rage.

"You go too far, ronin! My daughter is a paragon of her heritage, and nothing you say will convince me otherwise! You will retract your statement, now!"

Shin remained silent, his face revealing nothing, until the Matsu took a few uneasy steps back, incredulous and furious.

"Well?! Say something!"

"If your daughter is the example you say she is, then she can face me in a duel for the insult that she has paid me and mine. I am Shin, of the Wave's Strength, and she has disgraced my family- Your own codes demand no less."

The older man looked as if he'd been slapped.

"But... she's only a little girl!"

"Either she's a paragon or a child, Matsu-san. Decide."

The Lion glanced from his daughter, to Kasumi, to the other parents, before he turned back to Shin, his face blooming with a gloating smile.

"I don't have to give you anything, ronin! You are outside the Celestial Order! I do not have to honour your request for a duel!"

"Then honour mine."

Everyone turned to look at the new speaker- everyone except the members of the Wave's Strength. The woman that the children had grown up calling Auntie Meyoko strode towards the gathering, her daisho thrust through her obi, and Shin's naginata in her hand.

The elder Matsu looked her up and down, frowned a little, and took a step forward before the elder Ikoma grabbed his wrist. They whispered to each other fiercely, the Ikoma gesturing to Auntie's kimono, that was so unmarked by the mon of the Lion that it hurt, and to her katana. Kasumi had studied that blade at length, and had always wondered why she'd never seen anything quite like that tsuba before, just as she'd wondered why Hiroshi had taken to calling her Matsu-sama since they had started training, but clearly both meant something to these Lion. When the elder Matsu turned to speak to Shin again, who had received his naginata with a nod of thanks and the easy grace of a master, his face was a different kind of pale, and sweat dotted his brow.

"I... we should speak about this in private."

Shin raised one eyebrow.

"Should we?"

The other man swallowed, and his eyes darted to his daughter, weeping silently in terror, before returning to Shin. "Y... yes. I think that would be for the best. I will ask Hoshi's teachers to be present, and we can discuss where we will go from here."

It took a long moment for Shin to nod, but when he did, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

In Hiroshi's lap, Kasumi smiled. The only person to see was her Uncle Turo.

"Yes, very good, little one," he murmured soothingly as he dabbed herbal paste inside her nostrils, "you know how to swim. But maybe next time, you can stop them from breaking your nose?"

"And where would the fun in that be? How would they learn their lesson?" Kasumi replied in the same soft tone, so that Hiroshi wouldn't hear.

Suddenly wearied by all the commotion, Kasumi yawned. With a wry smile, Turo nodded to Hiroshi, letting her brother take the little girl to bed.

OOC I have probably dicked up some of the linguistics in here >.< If you can see anything, please let me know!

Six years ago

Kasumi liked to sit and watch as people went by, while she worked on her embroidery between her chores. She had realised that, thanks to her quiet nature and her age, she was all but invisible to the bustle of the Second City, and that was the way that she liked it. It was even easier with her brothers around- while they were also quite serious children, they were louder and more apparent than she was, so much so that people sometimes forgot that Shin's little girl even existed. She preferred it that way, too.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to face Turo, her all-but uncle, who had been traveling with her father for longer than she could remember. He was quiet as well, but sometimes asked her what she had seen, and, of course, she told him. He knew what it was like to slip into that world, where you could see everyone, and they didn't even bother to notice that you were there.

"Kasumi, I have something... something for you," he said softly, and gestured for her to walk with him. She followed obediently, tucking her needlework away.

They walked a while in silence, watching the world rush past, until Turo spoke.

"What have you noticed today, Kasumi?"

"Today I have seen that the plum blossoms are in bloom, Toru-sama."

He nodded. "Yes, they are. What does that mean?"

"It means that soon those boughs will be gathered, to ward the people and their homes against evil, and the taint of the Shadowlands."

Turo nodded again, smiling a little. "Good. It also means that the court will be preparing for Spring. It is a good time to enter the game- the politics of the Winter Court will have settled, and there will be little immediate turmoil." He paused for a moment. "I have arranged a position for you at court. Just as a cleaner, but it is a good place to start."

She bowed to him, exactly as tradition demanded- she had no other way to show how happy and honoured she felt.

"Thank you, Turo-sama. I will make you proud."

"I know you will. Now, you will watch. Do not speak to anyone, unless they speak to you first. Do not draw attention to yourself. Observe the requirements of protocol to the very letter, and the very spirit. Be silent, be industrious, be invisible. When we get the chance, you will tell me what you have seen. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Turo-sama, very clear. Thank you for your instruction."

"You are welcome, little one. I look forward to hearing from you."

===

Kasumi's time at the court both matched and defied her expectations. The physical activity was more sedate, but the social side flowed and splashed like rapids over rocks. She watched as the savvy players of the court, usually the Crane, walked as wolves among foxes. They would circle around the weak, the isolated, the socially lame, and cut them off entirely from the rest of the court, before tearing them down. They moved as one to walk beside those that would give them favour, and then, in turn, offered their support to those people. It was brutal and ruthlessly efficient... and exciting.

This is the power I want, Kasumi thought to herself as she watched the delicate dance, This is what I was made for. I will make this my home, my game, my reason and downfall. I will live and die by these rules, and it will be worth it.

Sometimes there were outside visitors and influences, which changed the game again. A particular pair of courtiers, a Dragon and a Scorpion, were her favourite to watch. Young, ambitious Crane courtiers would circle around, trying to wheel the pair apart as prey. The Dragon would raise an eyebrow, or cross her arms, dismissing their words with a single motion. The Scorpion, however, would invite the to come closer with a beckoning hand. He would whisper something to them, hiding his lips from prying eyes, and the hungry pack would scatter, confused and frightened at what they were told. This odd couple quickly became her favourite to watch, trying to work out who they were, and what their part in the game was.

One day, Kasumi looked up from her work as another fruitless wave battered itself against that social fortress, and found the Scorpion looking at her. As she met his gaze, she saw his lips curl upwards with a triumphant smile. Cursing herself, she looked away, but she knew that it was already too late.

===

He found her again, as the flow of the evening drew to a climax, when there was no one to pay attention. He paced an arc around her, the sharp angles of his lacquered mask shining in the lantern light.

"I see you here every day, before sunrise, working and watching. I wonder what you see."

She kept her eyes to her work, not daring to look up.

"Kakka-sama, I am sorry, but my master has asked me not to speak to anyone when I am working."

"Really?" He sounded amused. "And who is your master?"

"He is the most honourable Turo-sama of the Wave's Strength, if you wish to speak to him, kakka-sama."

The Scorpion sniffed derisively, and Kasumi finally looked up, straight into his keen, dark eyes. She could feel him unraveling her with his gaze, looking straight through her, and seeing all her motivations, desires, and feelings. It only took a moment for her to tear her eyes away, but again, it was already too late.

The Scorpion's smile deepened, just a little, and he nodded

"If you would rather learn from a worthy teacher, rather than this-" he sniffed again "-ronin, you may find me in my quarters tomorrow morning at nine."

A rare spark of anger flared inside Kasumi, and she struggled to keep her face calm as the Scorpion turned to leave.

"With respect, kakka-sama, please do not insult my family again."

She knew that she had spoken disrespectfully, and was willing to accept her punishment for defending her uncle, but the Scorpion gave no indication that he had heard her as he left.

===

The next morning, just before nine, Kasumi's father stopped when he found her working on her embroidering.

"Kasumi, don't you have an appointment this morning?"

"No, I don't," she replied, eyes on her needlework, "I will not receive tuition from someone who insults my family."

Somehow, Shin managed to look proud and exasperated at the same time.

"I... look, Kasumi, just come with me."

He held out his hand, and she followed him, puzzled and curious, as they wandered through the halls of their lodging-house. Before too long, her father stopped at a door, and rapped on it sharply.

"Turo! Kasumi says that you insulted her family."

The door opened, and Turo stepped to greet them, smiling widely. Looking up at him, Kasumi realised that the eyes behind the Scorpion's mask looked a lot like her uncle's.

She scolded herself inside as schooled her face into her most calm expression.

"I believe that I have nothing more to say."

Turo laughed with delight, and pushed the door all the way open, gesturing for his student to come inside for her lessons.

May, 1988

The world was cold, and painted in black and white, washed with the faint blue of the moon. She wandered across the vast swathes of empty ground, stiff and slow, like the dreams of the dead.

She couldn't tell what was happening- the words on her lips were gibberish, and meant nothing to her. Her body was heavy and strange, almost moving on its own. But somehow, it felt right, and it felt glorious to be here in this place, at this time.

She couldn't judge the passing of time, but after what seemed to be years, she stumbled upon a place, bright with colour- blues and greens and bright, sticky reds all bound up in a small, moving form. It lay still, but for the heaving of its chest. The colours startled her, and awakened a hunger within her, the likes of which she had never known.

She fell on the shape, tearing and biting, trying to take the colours from it into herself. She growled softly as she found her hands were weak- why was this thing not still by now? Why was it still struggling and making those senseless, bleating noises? She redoubled her efforts, and snarled again as the bleating grew louder and more urgent.

Suddenly she was snatched up by invisible arms. She shrieked with rage and started biting and kicking as the bright, warm thing shrunk away into the darkness.

"NO!" She cried, writhing in the grasp of her tormentors, and her shouting was answered by a high, keening, piercing sound. "NO, NO, NO, N-"

She woke up to her mother screaming.

"Ashley! Ashley, stop it! Stop it!" She shouted as her father strained to hold her, arms wrapped around her like steel bars.

She stopped struggling, and took in the scene around her. The bedroom was a mess- torn sheets, scattered pillows, tangled curtains everywhere. Who had done that? What had happened?

Then, in the corner of the room, curled up against their mother, was her brother, Martin. He was trembling and crying, for good reason- his face and arms were torn and bloody, and bruises were blooming wherever there wasn't blood.

Who has hurt my brother? she wondered, anger stirring in her breast at the mere thought of it. He's only four. I'll show the-

She looked down at her hands, puzzled that they hurt as she clenched her fists. The fingernails were torn, and they were covered in blood, a testament to what she couldn't remember. What had happened struck her like a bolt from the blue- She had hurt her brother, she had fought her parents when they tried to stop her, and she couldn't remember it at all- only the faintest recollections of a strange dream.

With a soft gurgle, eight-year-old Ashley Jackson swooned in her fathers' arms as the full realisation of what happened swept over her.

( On the other side of the world... )

"We need to get her here as soon as possible. Her time is running out."

OOC So, in the long and somewhat belaboured tradition of filking, I've managed to spin out another. Absolute admiration and respect goes to Professor Elemental for his song 'Fighting Trousers', which serves as the basis for this piece. I'd like to apologise in advance if it doesn't read like it scans, I've taken a few creative liberties with the rhythm, so it fits when I'm actually saying it- except for the intro and outro. I should also point out that Charlie is Poppy's Talkative Rattus Faber.

IC
"Ah, Charlie. What's that you have in your hand, dear, pass it over. A telegram? Oh dear... yes, Charlie, I can read that someone is challenging me. No, Charlie, I don't know why he'd do a foolish thing like that. Yes, Charlie, just shoosh, and fetch me my trousers at once! No, not those those are my sneaking trousers... those are my lecturing trousers... yes, that's it! Those ones, my duelling trousers!"

Dear Sir, regarding your recent foray
Into the duelling business and the scene you portray
See, I don't normally approve of war games
But "He wants to duel you" is what they all say.
And by the Masters, they might be right!
This is the Ribbon, not a silly bar fight!
Shelve this Feducci impersonation,
Let it end now, it's impertinent waiting!
You seem a reasonable gent, when your letter was sent
I'm sure that you meant it
But it's just not likely that your plan is the ticket
Put away that ratwork rifle or I'll tell you where to stick it!

I – Don't like your tweed, Sir!
Will – Teach you the Professor's ready
Not – Let's see who strikes the loudest
Lose – Put on my duelling trousers.

I've got Vakeskin Boots and a Working Rat,
You've got Dancemaster's Dabs and a Ridiculous Hat.
Don't look around, Sir, I'm speaking to you
Roll up your shirt sleeves, Father Norton's rules!
Never test professors with the cleverest wits,
Let's settle this like gentlemen, armed with heavy sticks
On the dome of St Fiacre's, in the dark of the morning,
Your luck's run out, weasel- I gave you fair warning.
When this good fellow tries to start fighting
Audiences fall asleep, he's so unexciting.
A new ambition might be more rewarding
So go back to the silk scraps that you've been hoarding!

I – Don't like your tweed, Sir!
Will – Teach you the Professor's ready
Not – Let's see who strikes the loudest
Lose – Put on my duelling trousers.

I don't see you in the Labyrinth, or up in the Flit
Or at the Docks- Dear sir, you're not worthy of it!
Sold your soul to the devils for barely a bat-
You should never take off your Ridiculous Hat!
Hope it's safe to assume you won't do it again,
Step up to my house and get ruined again.
So begone, you rake, try going to zee-
There's not room in the 'Neath for two duellists like me!
Please leave town by the end of this song,
Sincerely, and so forth, et cetera, Professor Worthington

I – Don't like your tweed, Sir!
Will – Teach you the Professor's ready
Not – Let's see who strikes the loudest
Lose – Put on my duelling trousers!

"Sorry, this is just upsetting. Gets my hackles right up. Charile, get off the drums, this is going to be presented to the Empress. Yes, Charlie, I know I'm not welcome in the Empress's Court. Yes, Charlie, I know she wouldn't approve of such language. Just get off the drums, and could you be quiet, just for one moment."

The battleground was soaked with the blood of the fallen, as Spencer, Aliera Blazeblade and Tilda Bloodymane stood, backs to each other, against the Warlord of the Bloody Reaches. The crowd had fallen silent as each of the Warlord's other champions had been cut down, and now the White King, Clothed in Red, stood on his own against three of his best children.

Tilda shouted to the Warlord's soldiers on the far bank, urging them to turn their backs on their master, and cheered as Spencer's cold iron blade bit into the Warlord's chest, as she held her spear high and firm against the next attack.

Seeming unfazed by the blow, The Warlord ducked under her spear and jabbed to the left with his other sword, the one he never drew, the first lying steaming on the ground. Spencer hesitated one moment too long, and the blade sliced into his stomach and down, hard and fast, into the leg joint.

There was nothing she could do as her motleymate staggered in the mud. He was a half step too far away for her to reach in time, and was under the length of her spear, which she could not bring to bear to save him. She couldn't save him alone.

But luckily for them both, she wasn't.

Aliera ducked under her spear and in front of Spencer, face fierce and bright as she turned to face the Warlord's sword for the sake of her Enemy. It went straight into her throat and down, down, down, through the ribs and the heart, emerging near her kidneys.

As Commander Blazeblade slid off the Warlord's sword, Tilda and Spencer both howled with rage as they staggered forward and attacked their Keeper with all their might. Under their weapons, the white figure stopped, fell silent, and crumpled to the ground.

Tilda gently lowered Spencer to the ground as his legs gave out, and knelt beside Aliera's body, clutching her hand. She looked up at the people staring, shocked, and drew in a deep breath to speak-

BANG

Something struck Tilda in the head with enough force to throw her backwards, and she knew with absolute certainty that it was the Commisar, taking care of the last of these deserters.

Oh, fuck... she thought as she lay on the bloody ground, consciousness spinning away, hand still clutching her Durancemate's tightly.

~*~*~

And she opened her eyes to a world where the ground was only a suggestion, where the air was warm and sweet with sunlight, and shadows were only a memory.

She looked up at Aliera, who was smiling and holding her hand.

"Come on, Tilda," she said, "Let's go!"

The Fireheart tugged on Tilda's hand, but the Razorhands couldn't move, despite her trying.

"Why am I so heavy all of a sudden?" She cursed, trying to push herself up with her other hand.

"Because you're still alive." Aliera replied.

"Then why are you so light?" Tilda asked, and it was true- it looked as if Aliera was floating above the suggestion of the ground.

Aliera smiled sadly. "Because I'm dead."

Tilda blinked. "Don't be retarded, Blazeblade, help me up."

"I can't. You need to go back."

"But... but how? You aren't going to come back with me, are you? How am I supposed to keep fighting if there isn't us?"

"The same way you always have, sis. You're stronger than this. You aren't done fighting yet."

"But you are?" She snarled, fighting the weight on her shoulders and back. "Give me a fucking break."

"Yeah, I'm done. I got here. This fight is done- that white bastard is the only thing I had left to fight for. Now he's gone, I can rest." Aliera smiled gently, her whole face lighting up, and squeezed Tilda's hand. "But you've got people to fight for, and someone's gotta keep our promise. You've got a life back there, and a motley, and someone who loves you. You can't just give all that up because your body is heavy and because you won't have me."

"But I'm tired."

"Yeah, you are, and you will be for a long time. But you're better than that."

"I don't think I am, Aliera, please let me come with you."

"Megan." Tilda started, and looked up again, unable to deny her birth name. Aliera's eyes were serious and dark.

"You need to go now. Your body needs you. Spencer needs you. Your motley and your freehold and your men need you. Go home, sis. I will never be too far away."

She squeezed her hand again, and for a moment it felt as if she were falling...

~*~*~

Tilda woke up in a room she could only guess was white through her heavy eyelids, with Aliera holding her hand. She tried to sit up but couldn't move.

There was a pinging noise to her left, and someone stirred nearby.

"Miss Bloomington, glad you're back with us," a nurse said as they adjusted one of the cannulas in her arm. Tilda flexed her fingers against Aliera's hand, and was puzzled to not feel any resistance.

She opened her eyes slowly, and saw there was no one there next to her, but the feeling of someone's hand in hers remained, as if her friend would always be there, always and never again.

The beautiful woman that Woodwing Skirruk would become in the dreadful years of this future smiled distantly at herself as the younger one giggled. There could be no deception between them, as there was no deception within the Self, and the older woman knew why the little girl laughed so.

Davquelyi didn't quite understand what had lit a fire under his student, who he knew he shouldn't think of as his daughter, but something had vaulted her forward into action, making her fingers dance anxiously and her breath come fast. He wasn't sure quite what to make of the report that she and her friends had been into the future, but whatever had happened, it had driven Skirruk into a frenzy, and she dragged him with her relentlessly.

( How this came to pass )

Gauchel scooped her up carefully, resting her fragile head against his shoulder, as Davquelyi looked her over, eyes worried.

"Is this always how it is? I haven't... seen her like this before."

Gauchel nodded, his speech slightly slurred by the swelling around his mouth. "Enervation always takes her hard. This time it's worse, but there was more than the exhaustion riding her."

Davquelyi tried to smile, but couldn't. "Are you going to be alright to get her to Leashah?"

Gauchel nodded again. "I can, and I'll get him to take a look at my jaw. Don't worry, Davquelyi, that future won't happen now, at least, not to us."

The older psion looked at his unconscious daughter, and sighed. "No. But I worry at the future that's going to happen now that this has come to pass."

Two-Stick-Lightning was becoming more and more agitated as they grew closer to the Empire. The cities they had been through were dazzling with their size and diversity, yet the people were so... small. So unmatched to the fierce and deadly world they had been part of. How did they even survive out here?

And yet, Chaosti promised her that they weren't at the capital yet, which was ridiculous- the last city had six hundred people in it. Six hundred people! That was more people than had been at the Great Moot of the Plains. More than lived in the Spider Elves' city. How could that not be the capital, with so many people?

She shook her head with frustration, and concentrated, dropping into the familiar trance that let her see the next caravan ahead on the road.

She blinked, shook her head, and cast the spell again, growling with anger as she did. No, that couldn't be right, she thought, some manner of ward or abjuration must be interfering, or some area of magic disruption.

After all, the next gathering of people ahead couldn't be ninety thousand people. That number didn't even exist in anything but a theoretical sense. If it did, she'd be able to see it over the next...

The caravan stopped at the crest of the hill, and Two-Stick's jaw dropped. Along the plateau, as far as the eye could see, stretched buildings and walls and people- So many accursed people!- living and contradicting everything she'd been brought to believe.

The knowledge crashed down on her like the rain that haunted her dreams. Chaosti had been right about the numbers they faced, and as such, they were doomed. How could they stand against so very many people? If even half of them stood to fight, that was still over a hundred bodies to each one they could provide. How could they even begin to hope to win?

She spoke of her fear to her friends, and they looked at her, not really understanding the enormity of her words. Only Chaosti met her eyes, his mouth grim with the truth he had known since the beginning. He pointed out beyond the city.

Beyond the massive press of architecture and the filth of the sentient races of the world, there glittered something chilling. The city backed all the way onto the River that they fought, and the River ran all the way to the horizon.

Two-Stick-Lightning should have been afraid at that point. Any sane person would have been. But instead of fear, the white hot anger of Lightning crashed through her. How dare it? How dare it hide behind this wall of flesh that it didn't even understand or value? How DARE it wash through these people, dumbing them down, making them the slaves of the ceaseless city that had been built upon it?

She fell silent as they came to the great gates, the anger swirling around her like stormclouds, her cloak and strange colouring marking her as something unknown, something strange, and that unknown was something to be feared.

As they walked through the city, she smiled with no humour. Even if they did lose, she could do nothing but fight them anymore, not after this, not after the proof that the River didn't care for its people, and would take any measure to rise and destroy them all once more.

OOC So most of you know that I'm not going to be playing Elise in Masquerade any time soon. That doesn't stop me from writing about her.

IC
The Drazeta was so still as Elise brushed her hand against its face. It seemed that someone had finally taken offence to its transcendant philosophy, and its talk of becoming perfect. Whoever it had been, they weren't anymore- The Drazeta's claws were powdered with fine ash, and it had splattered all over it's clothes- but the victory had come at a terrible cost.

"He will be alright here," the Kogaion said, trying to smile comfortingly and failing. Elise bristled at the deliberate dismissal of the Drazeta's work- 'he' was 'it', and rightly so. The Kogaion sensed the flare of temper, and frowned.

"There's no need to be angry. He-"

"It." She hissed.

"-It will awake in time, and be no worse for wear." The Kogaion sniffed, straightened his tie, and held out his hand to Elise. She resented the action, that spoke of his belief that she was damaged, but she took his hand anyway as he turned to leave.

She didn't even remember shouting, but suddenly she was in a frenzy, biting and clawing at the Kogaion with terrible force, born of desperation and need. She broke away from him, as he felt the frenzy come to a head and wrapped his arms around her to stop her escaping, and went back to the Drazeta's side, sitting down beside the bed.

The Kogaion hissed, furious, clutching the arm of his ruined Armani suit. "What is the meaning of this!"

"I will stay with it." She said calmly, her trembling hands the only betrayal of the fury of moments earlier.

"Don't be ridiculous," the Kogaion replied, "He won't wake for years. Come back upstairs."

She shook her head.

"It may wake sooner than that. Give it time. I will wait here until it does. Please bring me down some books. So that I can read to it."

The Kogaion opened his mouth to protest, closed it again, and shook his head.

"Fine. Just... fine."

He all but stormed out of the basement, and Elise busied herself by straightening The Drazeta's new robes, and brushing its hair out of its face.

"There. You won't be alone. Not while I'm here."

They say the Correspondence is what the Letters of Hell were born from. They say it opens things that shouldn't be opened. They say it is the last syllables on the lips of the dying- not the half-death we have here, but the truly dead.

I have always been interested in seeking it out, since my escape. Perhaps it was this that led me back to Fallen London, after my time in New Newgate Prison, and into Ladybones Road, when I am told that all Scholars start.

Both the Provost of Summerset and the Principal of Benthic Universities would be pleased to have me, they say. The'd like me to start lecturing as soon as possible, and to meet at my nearest convenience- I cannot. I am afraid that if I try to speak on it, I will start screaming, and then it will be the Royal Beth for me. I can't handle this, I am not wise enough yet, I must not look any further into this until I am more stable.

They say the Correspondence is the only thing the Masters fear. They say it is scribed in the flights of bats and the dancing of the moonish light. They say it's why there's no foxes in Fallen London.

They say it's the only way to see true starlight down here.

They say there's no way to speak of love in the language of the Correspondence, or of hope. Only pain and fear and madness and greed.

I say I shouldn't look any further, but I know I will. It is learning me as much as I am learning it- it needs to be heard, to be passed from mind to fertile mind. If I do not strive forward in my studies I will be this way forever- moaning into my bottle of laudanum, unable to comprehend the dreams that haunt me, eternally trapped, half a step away from sanity or understanding.

I wonder if I am being played. The Masters know that I know SOMETHING- The Ministry of Public Decency was at my last discussion, asking pointed questions, and now Mr Pages hopes that I will bring him a veritable fortune of forbidden texts, gathered from my brethren. I cannot refuse, it will mean the end of my work. I can only hope that the books will not be destroyed, although I can see the Correspondence liking that- fluttering from its shackled state on wings of fire...

Speaking of fire, I do not doubt that I haven't seen the last of Virginia. That the Brass Embassy has shown such an interest in my work unnerves me. They are in close contact with my friends- the young man that lives in the swamp is being courted by two seperate devils, and who knows what Hell understands of what the libertine who lives above the gambling den sports under its felts. I am afraid- I care for them both very deeply, but they will not hear of the danger. I remember those heady days of being courted by devils, but surely, they must come to understand what comes of dancing at the Brass Embassy balls. They are being used- of that I am sure. Why does Hell care for the Correspondence, and why are they moving through my friends?

They say that the Correspondence is written between the glass and the silver of Mrs Plenty's mirrors. They say it is the last sound that will be uttered when the Bazaar is finally closed down. They say it cannot actually be spoken, only felt and dreamed, and that all pronunciations are only shared hallucinations caused by its highly psychotropic nature.

They say it is the language that God wrote the World in.

They say it is the language that is scribed upon the scrolls of the Apocalypse.

I do not know. I'm not sure that I ever will. But I must sleep. May God save me, because the Correspondence cannot, and the Bazaar will not.