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part ten.
IP: 82.14.67.140
Posted on September 10, 2012 at 02:42:30 AM by georgia

Part ten The Core, Shaman In standard original fairy fashion, Tsi had proceeded to assist the fairies of Shaman in one way and then refused to help them in another. One of his first acts was to safely bring down the rock-dragon in the centre of Ily Moor (which, for obvious reasons, the locals had begun to call ‘Dragonbone Moor’) and remove its life. There it still crouched, its tail wrapped around it and its wings slightly outstretched, now nothing more than a landmark. However, Tsi had declined requests to assist with the pirate raid, claiming that it was not his business to get involved in the ordinary fairies’ affairs. Although it was not a complete loss, the battle did not go well. There were no fatalities but a large number of injuries, and while a few of the pirates were captured most did escape. The royalists won a temporary victory in securing the pirates’ base and forcing them to flee, but the pirates had retaliated by capturing Apeliotes Island and forming a new base there. The former residents had only just escaped and were currently being forced to take up occupation within the castle. A second raid was being planned, but coming up with a solid strategy to attack the highly defendable island was not a quick or easy process. Matters were not helped by the incessant rain which had not stopped since Thoth had learned of his mother’s death. “Would you bring up a bottle of red from the cellar, please?” the king requested, pausing outside the entrance to the main hall, his grey eyes fixing upon the young serving girl who hovered in the nearest doorway. She dropped her eyes, but nodded her head, before turning on her heel and disappearing along the nearest corridor. Arthur trudged along the narrow carpet, that ran down the centre of the room towards the dais, his steps heavy from fatigue. The king’s hair, laced with sweat, clung to the side of his face, and his left arm remained encased in its weighted training armour. It did not take him long to find the seat, the tall-backed chair with the carved arms that awaited him at the very centre of the long raised table. Tired rings encircled his eyes, and his face looked a little drawn as he reached across the table towards the nearest stack of papers. Collecting the first sheet from the top of the pile, he smoothed it out carefully before reaching for his quill. The hinges creaked as the maid slipped into the room, some of her long brown hair tumbling free of her modest cap, a wine bottle clutched in one hand, and a golden goblet in the other. Arthur offered her a kind smile, thanking her as his own fingers closed around the cold surface of the glass and metal. She did not leave. The king turned his head slowly, considering her, from the anxious way she was wringing her hands, to the small indentation she was making in her bottom lip with her front teeth. “You had a message?” Arthur asked gently, uncorking the bottle as he did so, and pouring a measure of wine into the goblet. The maid took a deep breath, and nodded, “s-something in the kitchens,” she managed, at last. Setting the goblet down upon the tabletop, the king offered the girl his full attention, gesturing for her to continue. “A note,” she explained, nodding her head, “it appeared, out of nowhere – the cook almost fainted, it was so sudden, and then it just kind of...floated there.” The smallest twitch of the King’s eyebrows portrayed all the reaction that the maid was going to see as he replied with a steady, “I see. Where is this note now?” Promptly, the girl reached into the pocket on her apron, and pulled out a square of paper, folded neatly in half, and emblazoned on the front with a stylised sun. It brought one name to mind: Mallos. Arthur held out his hand, and the maid reached forwards to tentatively place it in the palm of the King’s hand. “Thank you,” he said, nodding a dismissal. The girl seemed to take this with great eagerness, as she promptly exited the hall at a half-run. Arthur, alone once more, looked back down at the note, unfolding it with his thumb, his eyes scanning the four words in flowing Spanish script: ‘same place, one hour?’. Arthur turned the piece of paper over automatically, as if in search of some kind of indication of how he might reply. There was nothing. He had never truly expected there would be. The hour presented him with a good opportunity to wash, change and even catch a precious few minutes’ rest before making his way to his office. Presumably this is where Mallos had intended to meet him, the ‘same place’ they had met before. He didn’t have to wait much longer; presently, there was a light knock on the door before it swung open and Mallos entered. He’d clearly just come from work because he was dressed, not in his usual casual black, but in a more formal military grey ensemble which didn’t suit him quite as much. Evidently he realised this, because the few buttons open at the top of his shirt and the way it hung over his trousers instead of being tucked in went some way to restoring the effect of his personality. Mallos inclined his head in greeting, took a seat opposite Arthur and the pair exchanged meaningless pleasantries for a few moments. As well as following the rules of courtesy this usually gave each person a chance to gauge the other, but Arthur could see that Mallos’ heart wasn’t in it today. He seemed less watchful and interested, his face lacked even more expression than usual and the normally playful quirk to his voice was noticeable by its absence. Arthur could sense that the barricades which had begun to lower in the time the Spaniard had spent on Shaman were up again – perhaps higher than they had been before. The king responded to a few polite enquiries about his family, waiting patiently for Mallos to bring up the reason for this visit. Eventually the Spaniard’s lips twitched slightly in the first display of life since he’d entered the room, and he said, “I am in Barcelona, if Tsi happens to ask.” The king responded with a small smile of his own, his grey eyes acquiring a new warmth. He nodded slowly. “I doubt he will,” Arthur’s tone was mild, a trace of good-humour detectable beneath the surface, “but if the subject arises, I will reassure him of your diligence.” The Spaniard inclined his head in a polite expression of gratitude. “There are a few things I think you need to be aware of,” he continued. “Information which will not be forthcoming from anyone else. Firstly, you should know that wherever the originals gather, there is trouble,” he leant back slightly in his chair. “You have seen that for yourself here. There is a reason that the original fairies went to different countries: we cannot get along. A disagreement between two divine beings is naturally going to be more violent than a disagreement between anyone else. Secondly, Tsi is a good man and he will try as well as he can to look out for your people’s interests. If he has to make a choice, he will choose Shaman over the Council of Originals; but he will not choose Shaman over the Earth.” Arthur leaned forwards in his seat, resting his elbows upon the surface of the desk that stood between them. The palms of his hands met, the point of his first fingers pressing lightly against him lips as he considered the Spaniard’s words. “The news does not surprise me,” he confessed after a pause, shaking his head in order to emphasise the point, “I am under no delusions… Tsi and I may not develop the easiest of working relationships. My duty is to my people, his to his own, I do not think either of us doubt that resolve in the other.” A sigh escaped him, though his facial expression adjusted only slightly, “again, I fear, I am at a disadvantage.” “You fear?” Mallos raised an eyebrow enquiringly and there was a brief moment of quiet while he apparently considered his next words. “Did you have any fears as a child? Spiders, snakes? And did your mother ever tell you not to be afraid, because it is more afraid of you than you are of it?” Arthur did not reply, but he inclined his head a fraction to confirm his understanding, and his eyes encouraged the other man to continue. The Spaniard leant forward a little, resting his forearms on the table and fixing Arthur with a slightly searching look. “We spoke before about the power of the original fairies in comparison to the rest of the world.” There was another, smaller pause before he continued, “do you know why Shaman was created? It was intended as a sanctuary for fairies to protect them from humans; but if humans have no magic, how can they be a threat to you? For the same reason that Gwythr fears for the extinction of an immortal race. The same reason that Gwythr was unable to take complete control of Shaman at any point, even when he was not challenged by another divine being,” he paused again, apparently for effect. Evidently, even when conversations were at their most serious, Mallos’ Latino habits were too strong for him to ignore. “Because numbers can subdue magic, and it doesn’t take as high a number as you would think. The original fairies are more afraid of you than you are of them.” He sat back and sighed. “Rhaegar and Xephyr will not stand by Tsi if you disagreed with him and, as you have already seen, one original fairy is not enough to overcome the whole of Shaman.” The corner of Arthur’s mouth rose in the smallest of smiles. “There is hope then,” he said, slowly and deliberately, as if deep in consideration. Another pause, quieter and more meaningful, dragged out as the pair exchanged a silent understanding. “Thank you, Mallos,” the King announced, the warmth returning momentarily to his tone, “you have been most helpful. It is becoming something of a habit for you, is it not?” Mallos shrugged loosely, uncharacteristically dodging the implied compliment. Silently, Arthur acknowledged that disobeying Tsi’s orders to come here and give this information had probably not been an easy decision to make. He knew enough about reading men and situations to recognise a dilemma, and enough about Mallos to know that he wasn’t used to having dilemmas. The Spaniard got up as if to leave, and Arthur followed suit. Rather than exit the door or simply dematerialise, however, Mallos reached into his pocket and pulled out an object, which he handed over to the king. It was a piece of soft brown leather, about the size of Arthur’s palm, and stamped firmly onto the front was the same sun motif which had been on Mallos’ note. The sun had been carefully drawn on in a special kind of yellow ink which glowed slightly, and its main body formed a square spiral reminiscent of typical Spanish representations of suns. The leather looked quite old, but the ink had not faded. “That’s my emblem,” Mallos said quietly. “All of the originals have one. If you show that to someone who understands what it is, they will think twice before attacking you. There is an… implication, that an attack on you is an attack on me.” Arthur’s fingers closed around the material and he nodded, silently communicating his appreciation for the gesture. Mallos bowed his head – which was probably as close as he ever got to a full bow – and started towards the door. Before he got there, Arthur called his name and he turned back, raising his eyebrows slightly. “I’m sorry,” the king said sincerely, Mallos regarded him for a moment with his cool, blank stare. “Me too” he answered after a moment, before silently exiting the room and clicking the door shut behind him.

Replies:

• epilogue - By georgia September 10, 2012 at 02:42:21 AM

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