Chapter Text
On clipped Wings
The Expected (and how it’s merrily tossed out the window)
There were monsters, and sneaking, and slinking from shadow to shadow. All the three were expected
(There’d been a catapult, and a barrel, and a flight sans wings, that was unexpected so it didn’t fit here)
There were cages-
(all empty)
-and shadows, hence the slinking. Because without his sword he wasn’t going to try anything with the monsters, so sneaky way up it was. And there was the omnipresent sense of things that creep in them (besides him) and the awful hovering coulda, woulda, shoulda that was scarier than the things that he could see.
And there were stairs. Lots and lots of stairs.
By the time he was nearly done he was done. As in stuff in the cook pot and set the fire because he was just that far gone. But he still wasn’t finished, not yet. There was Sis to think about, and stairs to climb because maybe she was at the top of them. She had to be because he’d been everywhere else and she wasn’t below like the big pig monsters were.
So here he was, a few turns up yet another stairwell, and wondering who was crazy enough to live in a place like this. Because here was stone upon stone, a hollow thing that went up courtesy of a wooden walkway that had something too precarious along its edge to call a rail. Light was a precarious thing, but that was fitting since it was night and there were no windows. No, whoever lived here did not like windows. In their place were slits along the stone sides, for illumination the innards of his ascent were prickly due to steal talons that clasped sticks afire. Granted it was only every other stick that was on fire and the place about the fire was bare, but he didn’t trust it.
Which was why when he sat to think and breathe and honestly feel he sat in a patch of gloom thank you very much. Above him, tip toe hands over head might be able to touch its base, was a slit. Just wide enough for him to maybe slide a few fingers through.
Maybe, if he tried to flatten his pinky fingers a bit.
Though light wasn’t let in the wind whistled a one tone tune over his head. A sudden gust that’d set a structure of wood to quivering blasted through and swiped the green cap off his head besides. He let it. Not bothering to reach after it, or even scoot after it to see where it had fallen.
Likely below, where another one of those curiously empty cages were.
Only when he was sure he wouldn’t wobble he got to standing. His legs ached and he whined a bit since no one was about to hear him. Once up to got to walking, up not down that was. Gran’ma might’ve spent forever knitting his green cap but she’d worry more for him than it and he was a smart enough boy to know that. So he didn’t worry a tick about the hat.
For his Sister, well he worried about her lots.
Even before big birds the size of small islands had swept down and picked her up, he’d had plenty to worry about. About her swimming too far, and tides, and sharks. The forest atop home while small was thick and there were a few snakes here and there and girls’ hated snakes, so that was a worry too, but a bit more distant since Sis spent far too much time swimming for his tastes. Closer than sea and forest were the bigger boys who were sometimes meaner than they should be. There’d been a lot to keep an eye on and keep her safe from.
But he had, and hadn’t minded. She was his sister after all. He just squeaked his big brother stuff around chores, though he sometimes “forgot” to do chores so he could spent more time doing brother things because those were funner and weeding was boring.
A few other turns and he was a reasonable ways up, and aching, and really really wishing he’d found his sword. He felt silly with just the wooden shield strapped to his back, but it was something. And he’d been everywhere and Orca’s short sword wasn’t anywhere.
He’d have to do something nice for Orca when he got back, to say he was sorry.
And he’d also have to blame the Pirates. Because when one considered the maters of catapults, and how he’d gotten in (via one) his borrowed sword was likely at the bottom of the seas.
Thinking about nice things to do for Orca, nicer than weeding the old Sword Master’s garden was something nice to do, so he did it and the knot in his tummy that he’d named “worried for Aryll because of the Bad Bird” seemed to shrink a little. Truthfully thinking up things was a little tricky (he’d normally ask Aryll for help there), but it made the walking bearable, and when the stairs ran out he was so busy thinking he didn’t notice the ladder until he walked into it. A quick look up told him that the ladder led to a trap door that was wide open, so up he went without a thought in his head.
Humming, because there was no one to talk to and the wind really needed a counterpart because it’s whistle was so samey, he looked about the tower’s top. Just feathers the size of him in crudely rounded off corners. That and a nice wide wood bridge from this tower to a rocky outcrop that had a ship atop it.
He might have lost his song when he looked at it. The thought of “how’d that get all the way up there” sorta drove everything else out for a little. Still he found path and melody and something of softness besides and got to sneaking.
On tip toe, because that’s how all the best sneaking was done.
There were lights, lights in the misplaced ship’s port holes. Halfway across the bridge one of those lights flickered as something dark and big went across it. Whatever it was was bigger than big, bigger than the walking stick pigs and he’d been sure that those were the biggest things ever.
If his feet went into revolt and didn’t want to sneak for a little, well he made them, because he, not they, were needing to find his Sister and this was the last place. If she wasn’t here…
He didn’t know what he’d do.
He knew he was close when he could hear voices, one deep, one deeper and snarly besides. The wall of this ship, once just plain old wood had acquired a stripe of red paint. As he sneaked he listened, and wasn’t able to hear anything because the voices got softer the closer he got. Weird that, almost as weird as the stripe above his head. It widened as he went, slashed down into patterns that over lapped pattern until it became a block of color.
Where the color was darkest and freshest was a door with a knob like any other door anywhere else.
Well this wasn’t anywhere else, this place had drooling pig monsters and a giant island sized bird’s nest and it wasn’t home.
But he wasn’t, rude that was, and even though he was here and not home that small bit of normalcy recalled him of homelike things.
Like manners.
He knocked, and the quiet voices cut off. If one ended in an oddly doggish yelp well he didn’t say anything about it.
This place had pig people for the Sea’s sake; dog people weren’t that much of a stretch.
For a while it was him, and the wind, and the quiet and the door that held whoever on the other side away from him. And hopefully, his sister. When no one came or said anything he knocked again, and the second time turned the trick.
“Enter.”
So he did.
The room was wood, and there were port holes about the walls and a orange rug pooled about a big chair that was covered in pelts that was topped in a skull set just right so both it and the person in the chair could stare at whoever entered. All he got was a glimpse of big and dark and perhaps a bit of red tops about when the whole of his attention was taken from the person in the chair because-
“Big Brother!”
Because Aryll was here, and safe, and hugging him so tight it hurt but not the way his legs hurt. It was a sorta good hurt that took the pain from his tummy and heart and head and everything was alright, for one perfect moment.
He held on as tight as he was held, even when something walked past him that clanked and rattled he didn’t care.
He did start caring when the door was closed, the snick of it snapping shut brought him back to reality. He looked up from Aryll with a cold jolt jumping up and down his back.
The thing that looked back was big and red, a deeper red than the walls were painted. It was and metal but not quite all metal. Its angles gleamed and where there wasn’t metal and angles there were patches of grey cordy hair about the seams and joints of its encasement couldn’t seem to hold in.
That and the head, there was no metal there, only a dog’s head, save the snout was too long and the teeth were too sharp and the eyes glowed like embers in its skull.
“You are late, boy.” So spoke the dark form on the big chair on its pool rug.
“I didn’t know I was being timed.” He huffed, pushing Aryll back and a bit side because back was where the red metal thing was. And though he felt really stupid he did pull off his shield, maybe he could hit the person-monster things shins or something.
To the bearing of a shield the thing on the chair smiled, showing teeth as white and sharp as the edges that peeked out from where the furs it sat upon didn’t quite meet.
“Not by myself, I’m not so petty. The girl however had been boasting about your prowess endlessly.” The person shaped thing tipped his head to Aryll, the red rupee set against his skull flashed like a misplaced dog monster’s eye. “The young miss owes me a blue rupee.”
“I said green FireEyes.”
A fitting name there. Because the man-things eyes started orange but were like embers. Taking life from the air, as the man had talked they flicked from red to orange and back again, slowly but surely cycling through fires colors.
He was big, this dark burning eyed thing. Draped in black that held no pattern save two wide orange serpents that chased and clasped cinder colored orbs. One per arm, and the arms, like the rest of him were thick and big and not fat merchant big either. How he loomed without standing was a wonder, and the boy wasn’t the only one to notice the strain of hostility building if the metallic clank (wince) from behind meant anything.
“Why are you here, little boy?”
The man’s robes moved just so, showing the hilt of a blade, the threat was obvious but the boy was about as oblivious as his sister and didn’t really note it save for an absent thought of “how can he sit with it poking like that” and nothing else.
“So… umm.. I ah…” Expected had taken a lazy day. Feeling five types of stupid as the monster person waited the boy floundered. Under fire’s regard it was so hard to think, and there were monsters, people and dog people and pig people and all were awfully big (if not just plain awful) his brains seemed to take be joining expected on that day off.
The whole area outside was spooky and it’d made thinking outside hard. So he hadn’t had to think there, save when sneaking. Thinking inside then should have been easier, save the sitting guy was getting creepier and there was a monster here too and it mixed so sour with the room. The room was lit well and he could see and it was warm and not miserably cold like everything before had been.
Where he anywhere else, especially where things weren’t like this he’d of called the lot cozy and might have tried the chair on for size because all those furs had to be really soft.
“I’m here to save my sister, Mister Fire-?”
“Dragos.” Hand raised then fell; the boy fell silent despite the gesture, or rather because at gestures end the hand was closed over the swords hilt. “You may address me as Dragos for now.”
“Mr. Dray-ghost?” Aryll snickered.
“Only by your brother, my dear, neither you nor Wolfkaunos are allowed to take such liberties in butchering my name or title. But then… Heros are always granted liberties in the tales.”
The hand clenched, and having seen Orca’s hand do the same thing before a quick draw, something he’d been trying to teach the boy… well…. The Outsetter took a step back and considered everything. He was here, Aryll was here, and really it was time to go home because they were done. Because he’d come here to go home but he couldn’t go home without Aryll, and Aryll was here, and she was fine.
In short everything was so better than he’d expected and that was good.
“I’m here to save my sister.” The mysterious “Though the shirt the right hue…” Really didn’t mean much of anything, and when it was all the man-thing seemed inclined to say… Well the boy buried plowed right ahead. “Are you going to stop me?”
Fire hued eyes slid into slits, as something was considered. Clearly it wasn’t what the boy’d just said, because forever had come and gone and the child was still waiting. Finally, just tired and done long the Outsetter decided what the heck and sat. His legs hurt less for it and Aryll happily sat at his side.
“He does this a lot, just thinking, it’s best to be quiet and sit.” She whispered, deciding to cuddle as well. “He gets crabby otherwise.”
Orange eyes flared red and stayed that way. The hand still lingered on the sword and the glare sent Aryll’s way was definitely a threat that set all of her big brothers neck hairs to standing.
“Well you do, and you are. Are you done yet?”
“Yes, I do hope you haven’t had to wait for long.” Came the snarled rejoinder. A whimper from by the door and another clanking cringe told the boy he wasn’t the only one wondering what had gotten into his sister.
Aryll’s answering yawn obscured whatever she said back, and she didn’t repeat herself but then the dark form on the chair didn’t ask for her to and they were done it seemed. Aryll just curled a little tighter and those burning eyes flicked to him, and stayed.
“I’ve not coerced your sister to remain, she stays by choice. The incident with the bird was an accident, and for that I apologized… to her. I owe you none however.”
“You did ruin big brother’s birthday.”
To that the man-thing Dragos had nothing to say.
“We can leave?”
“I’ve no need or want for guests.” Dragos rumbled, “the girl-child has earned her place here and immunity from the things I rule over. The wild, the feral... well I don’t rule everything. But such is the risk of life at Forsaken.”
“Can you send us home?” It was hard to talk when Aryll’s hands –the smelled all hot and bitter with a touch of ash, he winced away when she found a tangle courtesy of his hat- started playing with his hair. Still he tried. “With a boat or something?”
A snort. “Boy, I’ve neither resources nor time to waste fiddling with boats. I burn them, and their crews. Can I send you home? Yes. Will I? I’ve yet to be persuaded it’s worth the trouble.”
He stood, stood sudden and sharply, and Aryll’s squawk was a small thing in the swell of his rising anger.
“You… you’ve got this big bird and it snaps people up and who knows what you did to the other girls, but there were others because all the pirates know it! And you keep them and my sister and it’s not worth the trouble to send us home when it’s your stupid birds fault for bringing us here!”
Silence, save for the soft scrape of claws on wood and fire’s crackle as the man who’d stolen embers for eyes considered the outraged, shivering boy before him. He’d stomped clear across the room stood almost right up to the big chair, the rug and its curly hairs nipped his toes at rants end.
“Everything’s your fault.”
To that childish barb the man went still, even his breathing stopped.
“That… boy, is truer than you could ever believe, if you believed certain people of course.” And with that bit of confusing babble the man bared teeth and fangs because he had both in his mouth when he smiled. “I will consider your most eloquent claims later but for now…
“Master.” The thing from the door bobbed its head; ears slicked back, eyes fixed on everything save the children and the person sitting. “False dawn steels the sky.”
“For now… We’ll part company. Wait my summons, boy, they’ll come by sooner than you’d like.”
“My name is Link, not boy!”
The smile widened, sharpened. More fangs than teeth and wider, so wide it must burn like those eyes. “I know that, boy, but you’re one of many, and truthfully I don’t care.” Lifting his head, just so, the seated considered the standing dog thing. “Kaun, throw them out.”