#i used to stand at the hill where you can cross the river over to blackwater and law starts shooting you

[nex-has-obssessions]

Where the tall grass and endless fields are.

[rotworld]

15: Feast

(previous)

you've returned to nelton just in time for a very special day.

->sexually suggestive. contains mild gore, body horror, force feeding, parasites, mind control, dubcon/noncon due to mind control, religious content.

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Nelton is what you need most right now. The sleepy, small town aura, empty crosswalks, the gentle lapping of the river at its meandering banks—it’s the calm you’re looking for, the comfort you want more than anything. You’re still tearful, still hurt when you think of home or where it should’ve been, but a comfortable numbness has taken root in your mind. This place will take care of you.

“Pull over up there,” Jamie says, pointing to the open spaces in front of a furniture store. There’s a room display in the front window, a hypothetical dining room with cushioned chairs and a floral tablecloth beneath a spotlight. Home is the feeling it evokes, intimacy, family, fullness of the heart. You take a shuddering breath. Jamie is trying to talk to you but all you can hear is blood rushing in your ears, your own racing pulse.

You have no home. Nowhere you can go back to. If there were ever children of the road in Anchor, they’re gone now, scattered to the wind. A place like that would never have let them stay.

“Hey,” Jamie says softly, cupping your face in their hands, urging you to look at them. “I think we should go back to the University, okay? We can take the long way around, make a detour so we don’t go through Anchor again. But you need a break, some time to figure this out.”

You shake your head. You don’t want to stop moving. Too long in one place and you’ll get restless, think too much about things you don’t have and never will. Places you can never go.

“Just for tonight. Just one night, okay? I’m worried about you.” 

There’s a knock at your window. You and Jamie both flinch. If you’d been looking, paying attention, you might’ve realized just how empty the town was when you arrived, the shops all closed, the lights off. You might’ve seen the slow procession coming over the hill, smiling faces, arms open in welcome, as they drew closer and began to surround your car. 

Malachi stands just outside, peering down at you with warmth and love emanating from his eyes. He’s dressed differently today. Rather than his plain black cassock, he wears vestments of white and gold, gruesome symbols embroidered in fine, scarlet stitching; blood, bones and viscera, human hearts skewered upon the cross. You smell it now, stronger than before—food. Meat. Flesh. Your mouth waters. The void inside of you is desperate to be filled.

“Miracle after miracle,” Malachi says in breathless reverence. “I prayed for your return and here you are. Won’t you join us, courier? There’s plenty of food to go around.” 

You fumble with the car door, desperate to be out there with him, with all the multitudes of Nelton. You hear Jamie calling out to you in confusion, but they suddenly stop. They are utterly still and silent, staring in wide-eyed shock and horror out the window. Malachi locks eyes with them and you hear an awful, muffled sound come from Jamie—from within them. Not human noise, but something shrill, screeching and suffering.

“Just the courier, I’m afraid. This feast would be wasted on you.” He opens the door and takes your hand in his, helping you out of your seat and pulling you against his chest. Jamie watches helplessly, trembling in their seat. “There’s no room in you for the holy spirit,” he says, his smile wide and threatening.

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: SILENCE BY DELERIUM FEAT. SARAH MCLACHLAN]

They bring you to the edge of town. To the river and up the grassy hill where the church waits. You remember something being wrong with this place before but all you see is peace now, people who are glad to see you, enough food that no one will go hungry. There are tables and folding chairs set up, picnic blankets stretched across the grass. You’re welcomed by everyone you see with warm smiles and embraces, kisses to the cheek. 

They make room for you, parting to form a path to a soft, tasseled blanket with a feast already laid out. There is space for two, for Malachi to pull you gently down to earth, your head resting in his lap. You are surrounded by food of impossible splendor; a living commercial and five-star buffet, everything fresh and fragrant and lovingly arranged. There are ripe, red grapes and plump strawberries, apple pie with glistening ruby insides and thick raspberry jam. The deli sandwiches have hot, soft bread fresh out of the oven, crisp tomatoes and artfully folded slices of meat. You smell charcoal, hear the sizzle of a grill. 

“You’ve got some heavy troubles weighing you down. Do you want to talk about it?” Malachi says, stroking his hand over your hair. You inhale sharply. You don’t want to think about it now. But Malachi cups your cheek, urging you to look up and into his soothing gaze. You could tell him anything, you think.

So you do. Everything, as far back as you can remember, even the things you’ve never told anyone. He listens with sympathy, stopping only to nod, to wipe away your tears, and to feed you. He plucks a single grape from the stem and presses it to your lips. You’re grateful. It bursts on your tongue, the skin thicker than you expect, chewy, the delicate fruit inside the sweetest you’ve ever tasted. 

“I have these nightmares,” you whisper. “I shouldn’t. I should dream about home. But I don’t know where I am, or who’s there with me. And it hurts, and I’m afraid, and I can’t breathe, I can’t remember—”

He offers you a slice of pie and you think nothing of the mess you make, how the flaky crust crumbles and makes a mess on his beautiful vestments or the filling, red and glistening, thick like jam, smears across your cheeks and chin. He chuckles fondly and gently wipes at the excess with his thumb. Some he gives to you, humming in approval when your tongue laps at his palm like a hungry bird. The rest he takes for himself, licking his fingers and moaning at the taste. 

Your thoughts are turning to sludge. You were telling him about home—where it wasn’t, Anchor and its gates and its cold people and how it felt to drive away—but it’s getting harder to string a sentence together, to remember where you leave off after every irresistible bite. Someone passes a charcuterie board around and Malachi has you sample each and every slice of meat, marbled cuts of prosciutto, spotted, peppery salami, breasola curled like pig’s ears. 

“I’m scared that there’s no one like me,” you tell him. “Because I can’t go home, and because I dream about something I don’t understand, that doesn’t understand me. I’m scared that I wouldn’t know even if I met someone like me, because I don’t even know what I am, and I’ll be lost and alone forever.” 

“Oh, courier,” Malachi says, tears welling up in his eyes. “You’re not alone. You’re here today where you were always meant to be, and you’ll never be alone again. This will be your home. You’ll become the same us, and we will be the same as you, and we will always understand each other. Do you know how I know that?” You shake your head. Malachi smiles. He has you sit up, straddling his lap, hushing your nervous stammering that you’re getting his vestments dirty. “I know,” he murmurs, cupping your chin, “because that’s the miracle. It’s there, in the Feeding of the Multitude and the Lord’s Supper. ‘He who eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood dwelleth in me, and I in him.’ We were all remade in the image of God.” 

He takes an apple, teeth crunching into smooth, scarlet skin, and then he cups the back of your neck. All of your reservations are nothing but dying whispers against the roar of your hungry need. To kiss him is to taste satiation for the first time. Malachi makes soft, pleased moans at your growing boldness, how your hands rest on his shoulder and you come closer, pressed against his chest. He presses the pale flesh of the apple between your open mouths and your tongues twine around it, saliva, sweet and runny, dribbling down your chin. His hand slides down the curve of your back, stroking your hip. When you bite the apple, it bleeds. 

That’s almost enough to scare you lucid, but the taste of it—the richness, the savory notes, dark red ambrosia sliding thick across your tongue—drags you back down into voracious hunger. 

“I think you’re ready,” Malachi murmurs against your lips. Both of his hands are on your hips, kneading the flesh, rocking you gently forward and back over the throbbing hardness beneath his vestments. “Finally, finally ready. You’ve been so worth the wait.” He presses one more hard, nipping kiss against your mouth and then he turns you around, making you lean your back against his chest. “Close your eyes. Relax.” 

You do as he says and are rewarded with a soft, sliding touch down the center of your body. You hear the grass rustling, the people of Nelton drawing closer, watching with bated breath. Someone kneels on your left, another on your right, holding your hands. Holding them down, you realize. Keeping them pinned to the ground. Someone is in front of you, crouching. A whisper of gratitude floats by your ear.

Something is pressed against your lips. It’s soft. Tender. Still warm, still dripping. “Open your mouth,” Malachi whispers. His fingers stroke your scalp. “This is it, courier. This will make Nelton your home. You will never be afraid or alone or lost again.” 

You hesitate. Is that what you wanted? It seems like it should be. Somewhere you can always go back to. People who will understand. Anchor ripped a hole in your heart and still it yearns for the place that wounded it. This will fill that void, you know it will. This will eat away at the tether, bit by bit.

Someone offered you this before and you refused. But why? 

“Open,” Malachi says softly. There is a hand on your chin, a palm cupping your jaw. The touch is not cruel but it is firm, guiding. You feel the give of flesh pressing past your teeth. It’s soft and coated in briny glaze, and there’s so much of it. There are more hands now, holding your head steady and tilted back, keeping your jaw open. “You have to swallow this one whole. I know you can do it.” 

You squirm nervously. No. This isn’t what you wanted. You try to pull away, to turn your head, but you can’t. There are too many people holding you, hands on your legs, your shoulders, your head, keeping you trapped against Malachi. Someone covers your eyes and you try to thrash, a muffled cry lodged in your throat.

“No, don’t fight,” Malachi says. He sounds so hurt, so sad that you would even try. “Don’t struggle. You’ve already come so far. You’re ready, courier. Don’t you want to come home?” 

You strain against his hold. Jamie—where’s Jamie? Are they hurt? You can’t remember. Everything is a blur since you crossed the bridge into Nelton and smelled food, a fog clouding your mind. But you know you don’t want this. It was never just the place or the people. Home, you have always believed, is more than a dream or a sketch on your map or the other end of the tether. There’s something you’ve always wanted more than to know what road to take, to see it with your own eyes. You want the freedom to choose where home is. 

Malachi sighs, the sound exasperated and affectionate. “Let me help you, courier. Let me show you how to take this last step.” Someone—it must be him—touches the front of your throat. Kneading. Massaging. Pushing and prodding, inducing you to swallow. You make a frightened sound. More of the thing slides into your mouth.

It twitches. Wriggling, stringy tendrils slither into your throat and your stomach lurches. It’s alive. It’s pulsating. You shiver and fight but you are held still and the thing undulates forward, deeper, nudging against the back of your throat. Malachi squeezes your neck again and you can’t stop yourself from swallowing again, taking more of the thing inside yourself. Tears fill your eyes.

“Swallow,” Malachi whispers. There’s an edge of excitement to his voice, breathless anticipation making him rasp his words. “Swallow, courier. That’s it. Yes, just like that. Oh, you’re radiant! More. More, darling. You’re doing so well. If only you could see yourself like this…”

You’re choking, gagging on the thing. Malachi squeezes and caresses, conducting the muscles in your neck with a musician’s finesse and you swallow, swallow, swallow. It feels like a snake but more slippery, moving at an agonizing inchworm pace. Your brain whites out at the sheer horror of what’s happening. Knowing but not really knowing, imagining what its bulging girth looks like as it crams itself into your throat, not being able to make it stop. Malachi never stops speaking even as you stop understanding, a steady stream of soft, soothing sounds purred against your ear. The air feels heavy, the silence weighted beyond the obscene squelch of flesh stuffing your throat and your muffled, gurgling whines. 

“There you are, angel.” 

You flinch. That wasn’t Malachi. That wasn’t a voice you recognize. The words were crystal clear even though the world sounds muffled and far away, louder than your pulse, than the racing of your thoughts and your pitiful, choked whimpers. It was the exquisite softness of a real bed after days of driving. It was the graze of a lover’s fingertips down your back, familiar and long-awaited. It was the freedom of the road, the crisp newness of the air after a shift. All the fight drains out of you, all the tension and fear fading away. 

You are seen. Known. Held. Home. You don’t need to choose. Hands fall away from you with lingering touches, stroking your head, your face, your relaxing shoulders, but you still feel wrapped in that all-encompassing embrace. Your head lolls back against Malachi’s shoulder and you hear him praying. Giving thanks. You taste sugar and blood, something sweet and tangy leaking from the corner of your mouth. Malachi gathers a thick, red droplet on his fingers and tastes it, shuddering in delight. 

“You are an angel, aren’t you?” he whispers. “Our angel.” 

You hear a scream. Fear, anger, horror. Unimportant, you think. Nothing matters but the peace of this moment, Malachi helping you turn and tuck your head against his chest, his hand rubbing up and down your back. There’s a sharpness in your chest, a thorny prickle in your lungs like you’ve swallowed glass. Unimportant. The pain is not greater than the easy pleasure of belonging. Malachi kisses your forehead, your cheek, just above your eye. It’s easy, the most natural thing in the world, to lift your head and kiss him back. 

Someone is screaming. Calling for you. Someone is fighting, biting, clawing, tearing their way through Nelton. You hear a table overturned, plates shattering, flesh violently meeting flesh and the crack of breaking bone. You don’t care. Malachi parts your lips with his tongue and something deep within him touches something deep within you. There is a spark of connection; of knowing, and being known. Nelton’s decades flit before your closed eyes like an unraveling film reel, swift and silent.

Loneliness. Emptiness. Hunger. Two boys crouched at the back of a church, whispering promises. The miracle, vivid and visceral. The Feeding of the Multitude. 

And then you’re ripped away, out of his arms. And you are moving, being moved, being dragged through a mess of hunched, wounded bodies and wasted food, Godflesh still warm and beating where it fell into the dirt. This one doesn’t know. They don’t understand. But you can change their mind. That’s why you look back and Malachi is smiling. That’s why you let yourself be taken.

Jamie is covered in blood. Good blood, holy blood. The blood of your home. It’s beautiful speckled on their cheeks and splattered across their clothes, the scent tantalizing. “I’m sorry,” they sob, holding you tightly. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think, he was in my head somehow. I think he’s—he’s like me somehow, but different. Those aren’t the same species, I’ve never seen anything like it…” They trail off, fresh tears trickling down their face as they look at you. 

You smile, wiping absently at the sweet, holy blood oozing from your mouth. 

Jamie shoves you into the passenger seat. Their hands are shaking. They buckle your seatbelt for you, check that your hands and feet are clear of the door, and then slam it shut. They cross quickly to the driver’s side and you watch with placid curiosity as they turn on the car, struggling to back out and onto the road. “I’ll fix this,” they say, their voice cracking with a sob. “I promise you, courier, I’m going to get that thing out of you. I’ll find a way.” 

You don’t think that’s possible. And even if it was, why would you want that? But you smile and relax in your seat, watching Nelton’s streets pass by. It’s bittersweet to leave home so soon after arriving but you know you’ll be back before long. You’ll bring Jamie. Maybe you’ll even bring whoever Jamie thinks can “help” you. You’ll bring as many as you can. The holiday will be over by then, but there will still be food and shelter and the unquestioning kindness of this wonderful place, a miracle that is eager to be shared.

You are an angel and your law is hospitality. You will feed as many as you can.

(next)

[foundtherightwords]

The Firebird - Chapter 13

Pairing: Prince Paul (Catherine the Great) x OFC, Fairytale AU

Summary: When Paul, a spoiled young prince, spots a strange bird in the forest near his palace, he impulsively chases after it, hoping to both escape from and prove himself to his disapproving mother. Thus he is plunged into an exhilarating adventure across a magical realm populated by enchanted princesses, dangerous monsters, and powerful wizards, an adventure that may change him more than he can ever imagine.

Chapter warning: violence, gore

Chapter word count: 3.8k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12

Chapter 13 - The Eagle and the Dragon

There was a rush of preparation. Ilya donned his armor, put his sword into his belt, slung the bow and the magic quiver onto his back, and held his mace in his hand. Paul, feeling rather ill-equipped, had Dobrynya's spear. On second thoughts, he took his broken sword and put it in his belt as well. It may be broken, but it had its use. Zhara stood on her perch, watching him with eyes full of love and concern, though she didn't try to stop him.

Elena gave Paul a pouch of herbs. "Burn this and whoever smells the smoke will fall asleep," she said. "Be careful to stand downwind of it. May the gods be with you."

Baba Yaga gave them two other things, a handkerchief which she said could help them cross a river of fire—she didn't know if Illarion was going to use it on them or not, but the river of fire had been a favorite weapon of Koschei's—and one of the skulls she took from the fence, its eye sockets stuffed with moss. Paul thanked her and put the herbs, the handkerchief, and the skull in a knapsack.

"A word with you, Russian boy," the witch said, beckoning to Paul.

Puzzled, he followed her outside, to where Voskhod was standing, calmly awaiting the return of his family at the end of the day. Baba Yaga didn't say anything for a while. She looked Paul up and down, causing him to rub a self-conscious hand through his curls, which were getting long.

"Do you wish to return to your world?" the witch asked abruptly.

Paul stared at her, uncomprehending.

"If you manage to return alive, I can open a door and send you back, should you wish," she continued. "I told you I still have some powers left, didn't I?" She smiled humorlessly. "But for now, I don't want Illarion to get wind of it. If he knew I could open doors between worlds, his ambitions would extend to your world as well, and that would be disastrous for all. So try to defeat him, Russian boy. Your fate may depend upon it."

Horrible as they were, there was something perversely encouraging in her words as well. But Paul wasn't really listening. All he could think was that he didn't wish to leave. He wished to stay, not to prove himself or to defeat Illarion or to achieve any such heroic deeds. He wished to stay simply so he could see the dawn with Zhara.

Baba Yaga gave a shrill whistle, and from the hills behind them, the Day and Night horses returned, their saddles empty this time. Paul and Ilya each took one. Zhara settled into her usual place in the inside pocket of Paul's kaftan—they had agreed that it would be best for her to stay hidden until they could determine what Illarion was planning. And then, leaping as one, Day and Night side by side, the horses flew across the vast expanse of sea, taking them to Buyan Island.

***

The horses landed on the rock, as lightly and daintily as stepping over a garden fence. The oak, which they'd seen from the shore, spread its twisted branches over their heads, its leaves so dark and thick that twilight reigned around its base, despite the midday sun. Other than the rustling of the leaves and the crashing of the waves underneath, there was no other sound, no sign of life on that rock.

"So where's the Alatyr Stone?" Paul asked, looking around.

"Some said the island is the stone itself," replied Ilya, holding his mace at the ready. "Perhaps that is why Illarion chose this place."

"What do we do?" Paul found himself dropping his voice to a whisper, as though afraid the island itself may be able to hear them.

Ilya slowly walked around the base of the oak, keeping an eye out for danger. "We wait, 'til Illarion shows himself."

That didn't sound like much of a plan to Paul. "In the tales of my world," he said, "Koschei keeps his death hidden in a chest under this oak tree. Should we—I don't know, start digging?"

"Digging?" Ilya snorted. "Do you honestly think Illarion would be so careless as to leave his death unguarded?"

"He may be arrogant in his power," Paul said, speaking from experiences. "It's worth a try."

Ilya looked closely at the gnarled roots at the base of the tree. Then he shrugged and drew his sword from its scabbard. "You take that side," he said to Paul. "Use the spear."

The moment Ilya's sword touched the ground under the oak, the tree split open.

A giant double-headed eagle sprang out of the oak and flew straight at Paul, feathers gleaming strangely under the sun, sharp beaks pointing at him like knives. A net dropped from the branches over him, pinning him to the ground. The eagle gathered the net up in its powerful claws and took to the sky, with Paul dangling under its belly like some grotesque fish.

"No!" Ilya jumped after the eagle. The roots of the oak, writhing like serpents, wrapped themselves around the bogatyr's wrists, dragging him down.

It was a trap. There was nothing on the island. Illarion had lured them here to make them easier to kill.

By some miracle, Paul still managed to keep a hold of the spear. He thrust it upward at random, hoping to make some contact, only to find that the spear was glancing off the eagle's claws and feathers ineffectively. To his horror, he realized the reason the eagle gleamed so brightly was that its claws and feathers were made of metal, iron and copper covering its entire body like a suit of armor. And most horrifying of all, a green medallion dangled from its neck.

Zhara leaped out from Paul's pocket. She flapped her wings, turning her entire body into a ball of fire, and tried to launch herself at the eagle, but the heavy, thick net weighed her down, and she could get no further than its legs.

On the island, Ilya gave a great roar and tore a root from his arm. He picked up his sword and chopped off the rest of the roots, freeing himself, before quickly removing his bow from his back and firing an arrow at the armored eagle. The arrow clanged harmlessly against its metal plumage.

"Destroy its medallion, Ilya!" Paul shouted, but his voice was blown off by the wind and the waves, and he couldn't tell if Ilya heard him or not.

Paul saw Ilya mount the Night horse. With a mighty leap, the horse took flight and chased after the eagle. It soon caught up. Ilya swung his mace at the bird, hitting its flank with an ear-splitting clash, sending a shower of sparks over Paul and Zhara. No matter how well-protected the eagle was, it had to feel that. It turned back with a shriek, razor-edged wings slashing at the knight and the horse. Caught in the net in its claws, Paul was swung around so violently that there was little he could do other than cling to the spear with one hand and hold Zhara close to his chest with the other. The sea and the sky whirled into a maelstrom of gray and white, making his head spin and threatening to bring his breakfast back up, until he had to shut his eyes and curl himself into a ball around Zhara, praying to all the Saints of his world and all the gods of this world that it would be over soon.

The clangor of steel on steel went on over his head, mingled with curses from Ilya, panicked screams from the horse, and screeches from both of the eagle's heads. Then there was a muffled screech, and the eagle dropped a little, as though a new weight was added to its back. Paul risked cracking one eye open and saw the Night horse leaping toward the shore with an empty saddle. His heart sank. Had Ilya been killed? If so, why was the eagle still howling and twisting? Then Paul heard a grunt and realized Ilya had jumped onto the eagle's back and was now clinging to its neck while trying to stab at the medallion. The shore was now within sight.

Though he and Zhara were still being jerked around like puppets on a string, the jolting and jostling were not as bad as before, and Paul found he had some measures of control over his movements. He stuck his spear at the eagle's legs again. With its armor, the stabbing of the spear probably felt no stronger than mosquito bites, but at least he could distract the eagle a little and give Ilya a chance. Next to him, Zhara also renewed her fiery attack. The eagle squawked irritably and tried to kick at them, but dared not let go of its precious cargo. Paul craned his head, trying to see if Ilya had gained a purchase around the eagle's neck at all. He couldn't see anything past the eagle's belly.

They reached the shore. The moment it was close enough, the eagle dropped the net. It landed in the shallows. Dazed, Paul picked himself and Zhara up, saltwater burning his eyes and nose, just in time to see the eagle land hard on the ground, using the sudden force to throw Ilya off its back.

"Ilya, watch out!" Paul shouted.

It was too late.

As soon as the knight tumbled onto the shingle beach, the bird drove the tip of its wings at his chest. Ilya rolled over, but he was not fast enough. Tangled up in the net, Paul could only watch, helpless, as the eagle impaled Ilya in the back with its knifelike feathers.

There was a terrible scream. Paul didn't know if it was Ilya or himself or perhaps even Zhara. He didn't stop to think. He picked up the spear, slashed through the net, and ran at the eagle. The monstrous creature was just pulling its bloody feathers out of Ilya and turning toward Paul when he drove his spear at the medallion on its chest.

It wasn't like with Alyosha and Afron, perhaps because the armored eagle wasn't a living creature. The medallion didn't simply crack. It disintegrated, and along with it, the bird collapsed in on itself. Feather by feather, plate by plate, the metal crumpled like sheets of paper in an invisible fist, until nothing was left of the bird but a ball of crushed iron and copper. It took the spear along with it, and Paul had to let go of the shaft before it took his arms off as well.

Then the sea exploded behind him.

A dragon, a zmei, like the one he'd only seen in pictures, burst out of the water, its body covered in coppery green scales, green leathery wings dripping foam, three horned heads with gaping red mouths roaring at him. Before Paul could even feel fear or shock, the dragon reached out one of its legs and snatched Zhara from where she stood on the beach, its claws closing around her small body like a cage. It then flew toward the castle on top of the cliff and was gone in a blink of an eye, leaving only behind an echo of Zhara's panicked cry.

Paul stood stuck to the spot, watching the dwindling figure of the dragon as it disappeared into the castle. He was too stunned to move, too stunned to even fully realize what had just occurred.

A choking sound from Ilya snapped Paul out of his daze and sent him stumbling over the shingle. He knelt down by Ilya's side. The bogatyr had turned over on his back. His armor still looked intact from the front, but the growing dark pool underneath him and the red stains on his lips revealed the severity of his wound. The coal-black horse of Night stood by placidly, joined by its milky-white mate. Paul's hands shook as he helplessly reached out for Ilya, both wishing to offer the knight some comfort and afraid he was going to make things worse. He looked down the beach, searching for any sign of the house on chicken legs, but the cliffs stood in the way.

"Try to be still," he said to Ilya, surprised at how steady his voice was. "I'm fetching help."

"No..." The knight shook his head. A red bubble burst at the corner of his pale lips. "Go after the tsarevna. Help her." At some point during the fight with the eagle, he had lost his mace and his bow. Now he pressed his belt and Baba Yaga's quiver into Paul's hand. "You're the only one left now."

With that, Ilya's fingers went slack, and his eyelids fluttered shut.

Paul remained kneeling by the fallen knight for a moment longer. Then he got to his feet, trying to ignore the trembling of his limbs. Here it was, at long last, what he had always dreamed of. Here was his chance to be a hero. So why couldn't he feel anything other than crippling, sickening fear?

He knew now that if a coup were to occur in Russia, he might as well resign to his fate. He wouldn't be able to come to his mother's rescue as he had always imagined. He wouldn't even be able to save himself. Besides, he didn't care enough about his mother to risk his life for her, if it ever came to that. He had never cared about her. She was his mother in name only. He realized that with a strange sense of detachment—the thought of his mother no longer made him angry. Rather, he was a little sad about it, only it felt like he was sad for someone else, like he was watching another person's tragedy from afar, not his own.

But someone he did care about deeply was in danger, and he couldn't leave her to her murderous brother.

With a deep breath, Paul tightened Ilya's sword belt about his waist, strapped the quiver to his back, mounted the Day horse, and steered it toward the castle on top of the cliff.

***

The castle, its walls radiant like pearls under the sun, was deserted and silent as the rest of the coastline. The white horse circled the golden domes, before alighting on a high tower, its snowy coat blending it perfectly with the walls. Paul hid himself behind the battlements, and, from this vantage point, took in a sweeping view of the castle. Where could Zhara be? Illarion was preparing for some ritual, that much Paul knew, but whether it would take place in the dungeon or the topmost tower of the castle, he could not begin to guess.

Then he peered into the courtyard below, and his heart turned to ice in his chest. The dragon was curled up in front of the main entrance like a monstrous guard dog, a medallion glowing amongst its green scales, its three heads swiveling this way and that to watch out for any attempt to breach the castle. Even as Paul watched, one of those heads whipped around, fixing on the very tower where he was hiding with a baleful, suspicious gaze. Paul hastily ducked behind the battlements again, praying that the beast hadn't seen him.

No such luck. He didn't dare look down again, but he could hear the unmistakable clashing and scraping sounds that signified a dragon made of metal was slithering its way up the wall, trying to catch its prey by surprise.

What to do? There was a door leading from the battlement into the heart of the tower, but it was locked and barred; if he tried breaking the lock using Ilya's sword, the noise would surely draw the dragon's attention before he could get the lock open. He could try finding an open window and flying the horse to it, but again, the risk of being discovered was too great. No, he had to face the dragon. If only he still had the spear or even Ilya's bow, he could try shooting at the medallion. All he had now was the sword and a handful of arrows, and he'd be dead before he could get close enough to the dragon to use them.

Wait. Those were not all he had. He still had Elena's sleep-inducing herbs. Would they work on a creature that was made of metal? He had to try...

Trying to make as little noise as possible, Paul pulled the pouch of herbs and the skull out of his knapsack. After tying some herbs to an arrow, he removed the moss from one eye socket as Baba Yaga had told him. A spark of fire shot out, but the herbs, damp after his dip into the sea, refused to catch. The scraping sound was getting closer.

Cursing under his breath, Paul tried again. Blessed be the Saints, the herbs caught this time. Protecting his nose and mouth from the smoke with one hand, he threw the arrow haphazardly into the courtyard with the other, praying that it was enough to draw the dragon's attention.

And it was. As the arrow hit the flagstones with a soft clang, the scraping paused, then receded—the dragon was now crawling down to examine this new source of noise. Paul rapidly tied more herbs to arrows, set them on fire, and threw them down. Clang, clang, clang, clang. The smoke was now surrounding the dragon. Then he waited.

A dull crash, heavier than the clang of the arrows, told him that Elena's herbs had worked, even on a creature not of flesh and blood. Letting out a breath of relief, Paul got on the horse again. They flew into the courtyard, where the dragon now sprawled, its three tongues lolling out of its mouths. It was even snoring, with a sound like a boiling samovar.

Although it appeared asleep, Paul reminded himself to approach it with caution. He waited for the smoke from the herbs to dissipate before picking his way toward the dragon's heads, carefully stepping over the thick coils of its body until he was face to face with the medallion. Then, raising the sword above his head, he made his strike.

A harsh grating sound confused Paul. He looked down just in time to see the coils between his feet moved. He tumbled backward, the sword flying out of his hand, numbness reverberating throughout his body as his spine hit the flagstones. Iron claws swiped at him, and the numbness was replaced by an excruciating pain across his chest. The dragon, no longer asleep—whether because the smoke was gone, or because the smoke wasn't enough to keep it sleeping, or because it had never been asleep in the first place, he didn't know, and anyway, why does it matter now—bore down on him, all three mouths wide open like bowls of blood, showing fangs as big as daggers. He couldn't take in air, with the dragon's furnace-hot breath blasting him in the face and its weight pinning him to the ground, crushing him. He could only hope that he would lose consciousness from the lack of air before the dragon tore into him. Already black spots were swimming in front of his eyes.

This is it. I'm going to die here, like the useless, cowardly lump that I am.

Stop saying that you're useless, Zhara's soft voice sounded in his ears. He could feel her lips on his, her presence in his arms—had it only been the night before?

Paul's eyes snapped open. No, he couldn't give up. Zhara was depending on him.

Straining, he pulled his arm out of the dragon's grasp, screaming as the iron claws ripped through his old wound. He managed to close his fingers around the hilt of Ilya's sword lying nearby. Bringing the sword upward, he stabbed at the head closest to him, driving the sword through its chin. The dragon roared and wrenched away, exposing the medallion at its throat, where the three necks met. The moment he felt the weight upon him lifting, Paul jumped to his feet, pulled out his own broken sword, and rammed it into the medallion.

Just like the bird, the moment the medallion was destroyed, the dragon started imploding into a ball of molten metal. This time, Paul remembered to pull the sword out of the medallion, though Ilya's blade, lodged in one of the dragon's jaws, was lost.

Paul limped up the front staircase of the snow-white castle, toward the carved and gilded double doors, which were left ajar. He took slow, careful steps, partly because his ankle had been sprained when the dragon pulled him down, and partly because he didn't feel particularly brave, with only half a sword in his hand and a handful of arrows on his back, and he didn't know what other monsters or horrors the castle would have in store for him. But he continued anyway, putting one foot before another, spurred by a fire deep in his heart.

For all his caution, the castle seemed deserted. Unlike Afron's brilliantly painted fortress, the stronghold of Arthania was all lofty white walls, with decorations made out of amber or intricate carvings tastefully picked out in gold leaves. The late afternoon sunlight shone through tall windows, throwing patches of gold on the marble floor. The shuffling of Paul's feet and his heavy breaths were the only sounds echoing along the winding corridors, while he passed by door after half-opened door, leading into rooms decorated with more gold and amber, their color reminding him of Zhara's eyes.

Finally, after ascending a staircase flanked by giant marble columns, Paul arrived at another set of double doors, the only ones that remained closed in the entire castle. Something told him this was his destination.

"Hold on, Zhar-ptitsa," he whispered. "I'm coming."

He pushed open the doors and found himself in a throne room, all white and gold like the rest of the castle. A golden throne sat empty on a dais of white marble, in front of a floor-to-ceiling window facing the sea, framed by ivory velvet curtains embroidered with gold thread. A long table was placed just behind the throne, and a redheaded figure stood by it, bending down to examine the few items on the table.

"—recognize Gagana and Garafena, sister?" the figure was saying in the croaky voice of a boy who had just gone through puberty. "Our favorite childhood toys? Controlling metal toys is not nearly as fun as controlling a human being, but they have their use. I thought you'd like to be welcomed home by something familiar, now that Father and all your friends are gone—"

Hearing Paul's approach, the boy turned around.

"Ah. There is your gallant defender," he said. "I must admit, I didn't expect him to last this long."

Chapter 14

Taglist: @ali-r3n

[lucky-clover-gazette]

The Big Picture

The Four Swords manga, adapted/retold using both canon and additional scenes, with a focus on Vio and Shadow's individual characters and ambiguous relationship.

Chapter Two: Who Are You? (Part One)

Link glances down at his own tunic. So that would make him…

“Purple,” Red says, although he doesn’t seem quite satisfied with the title. Link—not Purple—crosses his arms over his chest. “No… Violet? Maybe just Vio?”

“Isn’t that a girl’s name?” Vio mutters, although he’s already subconsciously using it for himself. Red either pretends not to hear his question or simply decides it isn’t worth answering.

Read the rest on ao3 or under the cut:

As rare creatures who thrive in both the Dark World and realm of light, the dragons have been invaluable to Ganon and Vaati’s grand evil plan. It had taken some negotiation with the union leaders, but sure enough, Shadow basically has an entire fleet of them at his disposal. And look at him now!

“Fly! Fly, my dark ones!” he calls to his minions, perched atop the strongest of the bunch. “Tear down Hyrule Castle!”

The dragons cover the castle in darkness, alerting the guards outside. Shadow steadies himself on the lead dragon’s back, reaching out an arm for balance. The loose sleeve of his undershirt flutters in the wind. “There’s a new Link in this chain!”

Shadow’s dragon opens her mouth wide, politely informing the guards that there is a fireball in her throat. The cowards drop their spears at once, literally running for the hills. Shadow hopes they’re singed on their way out.

He still expects some resistance inside the castle. During mandatory research he’d learned all about the royal knights, whose forces are lead by the hero’s own father. And he knows the four heroes will show up, too, eventually. How could they not? Those idiots are courage personified.

But so is Shadow, and he actually has the guts to get his hands dirty. Their strengths may match his strengths, being cut from the same cloth, but they have four times the weaknesses. In a way, the Four Sword’s bizarre magic only makes Shadow’s chances better—not that he’s ever needed fate’s intervention in the first place.

He glances down at his tunic, focusing his magic on its many interwoven threads. One by one they shift from black to green, making him the spitting image of Hyrule’s savior.

“Well?” he asks the dragon, putting his hands on his hips. “How do I look?”

She shakes her disapproval with only a second’s glance.

“Missed something, huh?”

The dragon huffs.

“Where’s a Dark Mirror when you need one, am I right?” He runs a hand through his hair, very proud of the quip. “Oh, my hair!”

Purple locks shift to blonde, red eyes to blue as a final touch. Shadow clears his throat. “Okay, what about now?”

The dragon’s nearest deadly claw curls into a thumbs-up.

“Thanks,” Shadow says, and means it.

─────────────────

It would be a beautiful hike, if not for the circumstances.

Link stands directly beneath a rainbow, the cool spray of a waterfall hitting his back. The four have made good time through the sprawling overworld, trekking through dense woods and climbing down a scenic cliffside.

“Are we there yet?” Link asks, second-closest to the front of the group. Of course the one in green takes the lead, as he clearly enjoys doing, while the other two lag slightly behind.

“We should see it when we cross the river!” answers the leader, while someone pants loudly behind them both.

“Can we rest a little?”

That was definitely the Link in red. Link turns his head and sure enough, the guy is on his hands and knees like he just singlehandedly took down an entire hinox. But if we’re all echoes of the same person, Link wonders, how is one of us more easily exhausted than the rest?

Throughout the quiet hike, he’s found himself questioning many aspects of the others’ and his own personhood. It’s a bizarre feeling, to know you’ve been alive for nineteen years, but you’ve only been yourself for less than a day. He is simply not the same Link who drew the Four Sword from its pedestal, which is a difficult reality to accept when that former self is the very foundation of his existence. All of his questions have led back to this: where does Link Prime end, and where does he begin?

“We don’t have time for that,” their unofficial leader tells the Link in red. “We’ve got to tell my father about all this as soon as possible!”

His father? Our father? Link isn’t quite sure. He has memories of the captain, of course, all the way from childhood to young adulthood. But just as with Zelda, there’s a certain distance he can’t help but feel. Link watches the memories in his mind like an actor is playing himself. He can recall the hero’s past, but lacks the emotional and sensory details of actually experiencing it.

The most brutish of the four clears his throat. “First, we need to make a decision.”

“About what?” asks the Link in red, who seems to have caught his breath. Guess he got his rest after all.

“Names! Names!” hollers the Link in blue. “We can’t all be called Link, we need nicknames!”

At first Link bristles at the thought of this—that’s his name!—but quickly realizes that the conviction just isn’t there. Maybe he doesn’t feel like just Link anyway. He wonders what the almighty Goddesses would think about that.

“I wear red clothes,” says the Link wearing red clothes, “so call me Red. You’re Blue…”

“Huh?!”

Link glances down at his own tunic. So that would make him…

“Purple,” Red says, although he doesn’t seem quite satisfied with the title. Link—not Purple—crosses his arms over his chest. “No… Violet? Maybe just Vio?”

“Isn’t that a girl’s name?” Vio mutters, although he’s already subconsciously using it for himself. Red either pretends not to hear his question or simply decides it isn’t worth answering.

“And Green! Whady’a think?”

Green runs a hand through his hair. “It’s weird, but it makes sense. I guess.”

Blue, meanwhile, is less willing to accept Red’s idea. “You can’t just change people’s names,” he fumes, pointer finger outstretched. “I won’t answer to anything other than Link!”

“It’s a great idea!” Red enthuses. “I’m a genius!”

“You’re an idiot!” Blue shoots back, stepping up on a rock for just a little more height than others. “Look, just ‘cuz we look alike doesn’t mean we’re gonna be buddies!”

“You’re no fun...”

“Riiiiiiight,” Vio says, finding that he quite enjoys being a snarky contrarian. “Hanging around with you fools is dangerous to my health.”

Blue grabs him by the collar, but he remains thoroughly unimpressed. “You callin’ me a fool? I oughta…”

“Oh, c’mon! Stop it!” shouts Green, his eyes sparkling with self-righteousness. “We’re all copies of the same person! Do you really want to hurt yourself?”

Distantly, Vio wonders how exactly that would work—do they feel each other’s pain? Maybe if he can goad Blue into actually throwing a punch, he’ll—

“Don’t say this guy is the same as me, or I’ll pop you too!” Blue growls, now pointing at Green. “You three can call each other stupid nicknames!”

Vio smirks and slides away, making a mental note to investigate at a later time. Having observed Blue’s first few hours of existence, he expects many more violent outbursts to come.

“My nicknames aren’t stupid,” Red says quietly. Vio knows he should say something reassuring, but it doesn’t come as naturally as it once did. And before he can figure out the right words to say, the conversation has already moved forward.

“If there’s a main Link,” says Green, “it’s me! Everyone knows Link dresses in green!”

Blue stretches his tunic as if searching the fabric for any hint of greenish pigment. “Rats.”

For a second Vio thinks this is a sign of resignation, but then Blue launches towards Green in a new fit of rage. “You think you’re better’n me just cuz you wear green!” he shouts, grabbing at Green’s tunic. “Take it off! We’re switching tunics right now! And hats, too!”

Vio can’t help but smirk at the absurdity of it all. Red, meanwhile, seems genuinely confused. “Why isn’t ‘Blue’ me more laid-back and mellow? If we’re all the same person, why are our personalities so different?

Green shoves Blue away, his tunic still completely intact. “Because we’re each a part of my… errr… Link’s whole personality,” he tells Red, ignoring Blue’s indignant huff. “Green is focused and motivated,” he says of himself, and Vio almost has to respect his unearned confidence. “Blue is hotheaded and aggressive—”

“What?!”

“Red is innocent and optimistic,” Vio interjects, patting the poor guy on the head. See? He can be nice. He’s great at being nice.

“Oh, I see!” Red exclaims, turning to Vio with a smile. “Vio is super cool.”

Vio finds himself glancing away, bangs falling over his eyes. Is one backhanded compliment all it takes to earn this simpleton’s respect? It feels too easy, too shallow. Red can’t possibly respect him if he doesn’t understand him, and none of them understand each other in the slightest. “Hmmm…. I’d prefer calm and collected.”

Before he can gauge Red’s response, Vio spots two familiar women climbing up the cliffside. The others see them too, finishing each other’s thoughts aloud:

“That’s…” Blue says, his voice low.

“… Arcy…” Vio mutters, the name familiar on his tongue.

“… the castle cook!” Red exclaims, and now Vio remembers why.

“Hey, Arcy!” Green calls out, hands cupped around his mouth.

The others rush towards the women, ignoring Vio’s motion to stop. “Idiots! Not at all once!”

“Arcy,” Green repeats, “thank goodness! We got lost trying to find the—”

Arcy wields a stick like a sword, pointing it right at the four. Beside her, the young girl looks absolutely petrified. “Stay back,” Arcy warns, “you monsters! How did you find us all the way out here?”

Red wipes at a tear. “Monsters? That really hurts!”

Green continues to talk when he really should just shut up and let Arcy explain—although Vio is already piecing things together himself. “Listen, Arcy, I drew the Four Sword and got split in four. But inside we’re all the same Link!”

“All the way out here…” Vio mutters, too busy contemplating Arcy’s words to disagree with Green’s demonstrably incorrect explanation.

“I used to think you were a good kid!” Arcy cries, holding onto the small girl for dear life. “But those things you did… you’re a demon for sure!”

Blue looks incredulous. “What did I do?”

“Wait,” Vio says, meeting Arcy’s panicked gaze. “Do you mean a dark, shadowy Link?”

She gives him the smallest of nods. While Vio just rolls his eyes at the reminder of that purple-haired freak, Green lunges for the poor woman.

“The castle,” he demands, grabbing desperately at Arcy’s wrists. “What happened at Hyrule Castle?”

[notquiteaghost]

People can’t come back from the dead.

It’s not a place you can go, death. There’s no bridge to cross, no river to ford, no gate to open – moving from one place to another requires a path and a body to walk it and a light to see by, and death takes all three. I know this. Everyone knows this.

"You have done my kin a great service," the Lady says, in her voice like wind rustling through leaves. "I will give you a gift, in return."

I had expected as much. She won’t let me leave her lands with a debt unpaid, and she can’t hold me here however much she would like to.

Not that it’s beyond her, mind you. It would just be politically problematic.

"I thank you for your generosity," I say, polite, and don’t dare wonder what she might see fit to give me. A gift, I know, is only as good as the giver’s knowledge of you, and I have taken great pains to ensure the Lady knows very little of me.

I hope, distant, small, that she won’t remake any of me.

She curves up her lips at the corners, doesn’t bare her teeth, and waves a hand. A gateway opens, nearer to me than to her, and something steps through. Someone? Tall and thin, bipedal, plain dark clothes, hearth-warm and alive, sharp dark eyes, face I see in my sleep, alive, alive–

I swallow, and make myself look at the Lady. "What is this?"

She tilts her head, bird-like, hunter-like. "Do you reject my gift?"

Questioning her is not wise. Walking into her lands was not wise – Leaving my home, such as it is, for anything other than the necessities isn’t wise. I have never lost the knack of weighing the costs. I know full well what I do.

I keep going. I get up, I keep going, I wear smooth and safe the path for anyone who comes after.

"I accept your gift," I tell her. "Your debt is paid." The weight of my words rings, metal pulled from the heat and struck sure. She nods her head, just once, and becomes small and winged – a sparrow, with a long tail and a hooked beak – and takes her leave.

We are alone in the clearing. It makes more sense, now, that the Lady met me here, in the gatewoods, with no guards. I have heard nothing of her giving impossible gifts. I wonder who else would necessitate such a show of power.

Bel looks just as I remember them.

That is, I think, the shirt they were wearing. The hole is gone, as if never there.

They’re looking at me. The gateway closed behind them, and the clearing is quiet, and for all I have dreamt of this moment I cannot think of a single thing to say.

"Hey," they say, soft. "Where are we?"

They’re looking at me with concern. I am far beyond knowing what my face is doing.

"Old realm," I say, somehow. "Oak and holly. Hill folk, mostly. Not many travellers."

"Why are we here?"

"There was a–" I trip over a word I haven’t used in years. I don’t say it. "There was a beast. I– made peace. Helped make peace. You–" Oh, the crease above their nose, how did I forget it, all the lines of their face I’ve spent so long tracing. "What do you remember?"

Their frown deepens. "You were here for a job?" I nod, once, and they glance around, look me over. "We should leave, then."

My pack rests on my shoulder, and we’re standing in the gatewoods. It’s not a difficult conclusion to draw. It hits me, anyway, like a blow. Their assessment of the situation; how much I still trust it.

I take a breath, and pull open a gateway. There’s no wards, not here – the Lady has other means of preventing an exit. No need to lock the door when it sits so high in the wall, so far from the floor. Bel hums, some suspicion confirmed, and waits for me to step through first.

[roselungs]

Alone and the river before me

I have a suspicious heart, brother, and a blind statue, and the news that amateur refugees brought from Baghdad stunned me there’s a lot they haven’t seen yet they were crossing the bridge by chance

intentions are in the ports befuddled as their owners left them, incomplete as the murdered left them and where our friend, the one you know, pointed, we went without a moan or groan

our country is far and intentions good

we left, as exiles leave, houses more beautiful than the roads and women more faithful than passers-by we weren’t discouraged and our will wasn’t stolen

we dreamt, as residents dream, of roads more beautiful than the houses of women who furnished our bodies and altered our language though this took us neither to hill nor sea

an infantry marching out of some front appeared we heard its drone but didn’t see it, and with worn-out eyes and cracked feet they shook off the mud over the marble and dried their boots on the billboards of the ‘founding father’

we watched as if we had seen nothing, heard nothing

and it was possible to remember their lustful dreams, chase the ghosts and touch the buttocks of women to be sure it was just a dream!

but there’s no mercy for the dead in these cold corners no reward for those who are in the know

there’s only listening to the mountain where caves are born and darkness grows like a carnivorous plant…

the cry of the birds at the bursting dawn didn’t overtake us we didn’t stumble over the wisdom or obsessions of our predecessors though what we saw is worth telling!

… and then a bunch of slaves started climbing out of a hole, up the walls even if the doors were wide open they climbed down to the city, roamed its markets men and children were shouting in the dark swatting it with drums and dancing, women undressing on the edge of an abyss to distract death from their children as one of the locals explained to us

we felt grateful for our exile and residence

and said to ourselves: we are only marching exiles, our shadows don’t trail us over the earth and like textile workers we hold threads and spin them to weave memories that breathe behind us and follow our steps like bewildered dogs

who are we that we should dislike what we don’t know or love what we have no business in!

then a jealous boy appeared: his jealousy remained glistening on the fence after he left and it blocked the path of cats, pedestrians, and the scent of basil after the amateur refugees, with the news from Baghdad, had gone

his jealousy leaned on the breasts of a young woman who came out of the shadows and took off her veil, placed it on the grass by the soldiers’ boots just as I was moving to another dream …

all this would have been worthy of consideration and repetition had a young philosopher from Ramallah not died at 4:16 that morning surrounded by his students, admirers, and three friends (two men and a woman) it would have been possible also to remember and add other scattered things so grief can appear and treason mature

chief among them Buddha’s lilac statue

or the photograph of a house owner in his furnished living room staring at us out of his conservative classical death

the father’s hermetic contemplation a complicity of sorts with the daughter as he expires beneath the oxygen apparatus

a woman’s voice as she conceals her infidelity through the phone’s ten thick layers

it would have been possible to document his death or to remember other scattered things in another context, like his dead weight or the white of his eyes resembling a final resurrection before the sirens were lit

if only he did not stand a bit crooked from the world, as happened with Cavafy whose poetry he did not concern himself with as he did other poets

I have a suspicious heart, brother and my stance is whole there is no one who can guess the whirling in my head and I no longer trust those night travelers!

&&&

I have a suspicious heart and my admirers are obstinate and in the wadis if you look closely are birds and hunters who wear in the dark longing’s smell and its form

hunters who have other motives in the light other labyrinths and paths that make a hyena pant and the signifier and the signified are lost

among them: wind-instrument blowers

wily attars in the markets

barefoot narrators behind the slaves

and pretentious mockers standing on their bank where we were born white from black fathers

there are among them more than enough to make me superfluous…

my guests are blind and dervishes as aforementioned I describe them as they appeared in secret as blessed and guarded narrators born with absent minds but if absently they died they’d notice

in meaning they have a jinn’s rank and its language and in structure a paranoid’s body and levity

…and for some reason I can’t quite recall now he moved a little away, turned his back to me and stared at the river and said: I have nothing left to give you except this: and pointed to the water then wiped my face with his hands

I became alert and imagined I was in a garden in Baghdad whose fence I had passed by when I was a kid… and there was in the dark a fishing boat a soft paddle transmitting the scent of sparks from across the river quiet sounds coming from the brothel, and all this seemed to me like breathing… what I don’t see as it has gathered

I rose and looked around and there I was alone and the river before me, with two maidens in it, one black, the other white and whenever I slept or was distracted he would come, sit before me, talk to me and I would listen, then he’d wipe his hands with my face and I’d awaken, transported from one land to another land one time to another time…

until I reached the Tigris bank that night where the two maidens were and I realized the state I had been in, and longed for those I’d left behind

so I composed these lines for the occasion:

I raise your secret to all expose mine to man and jinn I light a fire of jasmine and chase a dream of fleeing mirth I gather behind you the crowd’s shadow a salaam of vanishing to the vanished and in pleasure I am alluring and in sleep I see the invisible as if I were your radiance and you my whirling spell I played and spun the soul of life as one seeks a plaything and let loose prophetic horses and rode drunker than a drunk so here I am before you a triumph brought to the victor you’re all I have as I’m paraded the pleased around his benefactor

I elevated him higher in my prayers and embellished his favours then remembered what he had told me as he was bidding me farewell:

‘as for that which you did not ask me about it’s your secret, no one else’s and it doesn’t concern me I neither help you with it nor release you from it’

and I had asked him about all things but this!

he had tutored me when I was a kid, I would repeat whatever he said three times before the rooster crowed, I would listen then repeat what he had said twice and by the third time I’d add to it my own.

— Ghassan Zaqtan, tr. Fady Joudah

[mikimeiko]

Day 10 - Kosice (Slovakia)

I had some issues sleeping tonight which threw me off my mood, schedule and ideas for the day but I WILL NOT LET THIS RUIN THE REST OF THE DAY. It is what it is, we work with what we've got.

I have a late breakfast with a very nice apricot cake, then wander about parts of the old town that I hadn't seen yesterday.

I decided to go be in nature some more, and there's a place that seems nice that you can get to by train in about half an hour (though trains are only once every two hours). The ride is lovely, the hills are so beautiful and the vegetation is different enough from what I'm used to that I feel a genuine rush of exploration.

Ruzin station is super in the middle of nowhere. I manage to get to the river but there's no path, only the road with the cars. I go to the nearest dam where there's supposed to be a crossing into a hiking area, but it has locked gates and a sign that says that you can only enter with permission :(

I decide to walk to the other nearest train station, even if it means staying on the road with cars, because I have two hours and I have to do SOMETHING XD.

Luckily there aren't many cars, and even if this wasn't the hike I envisioned it's also not terrible. I also finally have the opportunity to look at wild flowers (not many flowers in this trip now that I think about it. Is it because it's summer? I feel very ignorant XD)

I end up arriving much too early at the station and the train is about 20 minutes late, but it's a peaceful wait, with a view of the trees and a book to read (seriously I don't think you understand how much of this trips is just... waiting XD). But then! They announce the train and the platform IMMEDIATELY before the train comes :O (in Italy the first announcement is usually 5 minutes before so this felt rather strange! But also it's likely that it is because it's a small station and you just cross the rails to get to your platform? XD)

An interesting thing I noticed on my way to Kosice but also today is that when a train passes in a station (not only when it stops, even when it's just passing by) the stationmaster comes out of his office and stand in front of the station until the train has gone. And I'm guessing there is or used to be a practical reason for this, but I don't know if it is still the case or if it's just a tradition now? This happens also in very small stations, which would definitely be unmanned in Italy (though now that I think about it the Ruzin station building was closed and I don't remember seeing the stationmaster there, so maybe it's only stations over a certain size/travel capacity?)

I finally try the bryndzové halušky, slovak national dish that I didn't have the courage to try in Bratislava for fear of the effect the cheese was having on me. I think they might be more popular in the Bratislava region than here? Or maybe it's just that Bratislava is more foreign tourism oriented, but they were everywhere there and they are not so advertised here. Anyway, very good!

Leaving Slovakia tomorrow morning and I'm a bit sad, I really liked it here and I think I'd like to come back and see more at some point.

[lordgrimoire]

So I’m gonna write a bit, just a fun bit that ain’t too serious but has some feels.

This is set between The Sea of Monsters and The Titans Curse

Demigods are not supposed to travel in large groups.

This is a natural law, the more demigods are gathered, the more they are under threat.

Unfortunately for Clarisse, things had not gone her way when she went to escort a group of half a dozen demigods to camp from Albany.

But now as she glared at the monsters that had been chasing them for nearly a week, keeping them from Long Island sound or any river crossing they had been forced back into the New York Hills and the Appalachians. So now here they were, having swept up the rest of a dozen demigods as they prepared to make a stand just north of a small farm where herds of cattle were grazing.

“Clarisse? I have an idea.” Clarisse looked over at one of the other kids, one of Hermes kids.

“Yeah? What would that be?” She sees it clutched in the kids hands, the small silver coin with a tree etched into it, The Celtic Tree of Life.

“Percy showed me how to call for help…” Clarisse sent another silent but strong prayer up to the heavens, and after receiving nothing back and the monsters still circling she nodded.

“What do you need us to do?”

——————————————————————

The monsters were closing in, Clarisse was starting to worry, but Will seemed certain of his plan, and as he whispered his last plea and burned the strip of bacon from their dwindling rations they felt it. The June sun began to beat like a heart, and a pilled of fire slammed into the monsters at their thickest concentration. The golden dust that shatters from the broken bodies of the monsters is thick and Clarisse heard three things as she blinks the sunspots from her eyes, a hunting horn, the baying of hounds, and the screams of monsters all around them.

When the dust and light settles, instead of a god laughing above them they see a man with a sad smile, adorned with a hunting vest and rifle sitting atop the hood of a camper van, his hounds trot around the field, sniffing and picking up pieces of monster, their weapons and armor, or just rolling in the gold dust.

Clarisse decides to pay the respect earned and begins to bow when she hears him hop off the hood of his van, light boots crunching in the dust and branches of the field.

“Rise, Children of the Olympians. I heard a cry for help, and I am here, who is hurt, who is still able?”

As Clarisse looked at the High King of the Tuatha De Danenn she realized something, he was genuinely concerned. He, a god, was worried about a bunch of Demigods from another pantheon. So she decided to humor him.

“We’ve been running for a week, a few of us are a bit scraped up but we should be fine.” Lugh sent her an unimpressed look, his mustache twitching as he raised a brow at her.

“Put pressure on your ankle.” Clarisse did so, only to feel the pain flash through the adrenaline. She’d been hit at some point during the run to the clearing. Fuming, and cursing the still unimpressed god she huffed out a “Point Taken.” As her fellow campers listed off injuries.

The real horror started when Lugh told her he had checked with Chiron and received permission to ferry them to Camp. “We have to go the Normal way, so it’ll take the rest of the day, I wager you can all fit in the Camper, just checking, anyone want a fur ball on them? I’ll be bringing a couple of my hounds, sort of a request from your Camp Head.”

So here she was, sitting shotgun to the Irish High King of Way Too Many Things and idly scratching behind the ears of a wolfhound who was rather firmly laid down between them, trundling through New York Traffic at the speed of a snail with the radio blaring The High Kings.

“So, how does Jackson know how to call the High King of the Tuatha De Danenn?”

Lugh looked over at her, a brow raising. “Which Jackson? There’s two you know who could have given instructions on how to summon me.”

Clarisse looked at him for a moment. “Why would Ms.Jackson know how to summon you?”

Lugh laughed. “So Percy told you then, he’s a Legacy Demigod, just not a Greek Legacy.” Clarisses eyes widened.

“He’s related to two gods?” Lugh nodded.

“Ever wonder why he gets on so well with Hestia? Granted you wouldn’t know her all that well due to her disguise.”

No…

“The Unclaimed Camper who tends the campfire, that’s…?”

Lugh nodded. “Eyup, Percy’s Grandmother is Brigid, fiery goddess she is, Goddess of Wisdom, Poetry, healing, protection, Smithing, and domesticated animals,” Lugh pet his hound who had perked up at Brigids name. “He Gets the Protection and Domesticated Animals Bits from her, ties into his fatal flaw and Poseidons gifts.”

His Fatal Flaw? Alright, Clarisse will have to think on that later.

“So what he’s, 3/4ths god?” Lugh Shrugged.

“Nah, still a demigod, half n half and all that, we do have natural drawbacks to legacies, the powers get weaker, random genes happen, etcétera etcétera.”

“So…any reason our parents aren’t trying to tear you apart?” Lugh barked a laugh.

“Alright, alright you’ll love this, so, The Greek Gods, they swore never to interact with their children yeah? Yeah, they made their Roman Halves do it they made the Egyptians sort of do it, they tricked the Norse into doing it, and that’s it, no one else fell for it, not the Irish Celtic gods like me, not the Britanic Gods, not the Welsh, or Gaulic, or Breton, or Slavic and so on, I have a list.” Lugh picked up his canteen, not noticing how much of a bomb he had lain in the Demigods laps.

“Now! This is where things get interesting, so, I died once, hells most of the Irish Celtic Pantheon has died at least once, but the Dagda, who was one of our first High Kings, he was visiting a bunch of his kids in Boston, Zeus found out, and skinned them all, so your boss is a pain for everyone but here’s where he makes a mistake, that being he skinned the children, who were in fact children, not adult demigods who are fairly common in our society, you’ll see them around, but yeah Dagda did unto Zeus as was done to his kids but found out in the process how you kids were treated. So he decided on something.” Lugh raised one fist.

“Y’all know baseball? Good. Dagda was on strike two, Zeus had done evil unto another Pantheons Children and his own Pantheons Children, so he forced him to swear an Oath not just on the Styx but his throne, “Never shall you endanger, harm, or demand a thing from your children that would endanger their lives, tasks or quests should depend on the skill of the demigod in question, there’s more, a lot more, but the final bit is that if Zeus forbid another god from having kids then Dagda retains the right to usurp him for a term of seven years. And guess who just got served legal notice?” Clarisse was horrified, staring at Lugh Ashe happily drove along.

“Questions?”

“Where have you been?” Lugh’s smile dropped.

“Turns out, Zeus called in a favor, we couldn’t see Jack until Percy was brought to camp, Castellan, Kronos? All the other junk your parents have done? Oh there’s hell to pay, and not a light amount either, there are thankfully, some gods who have tried to hold to the deal, Poseidon, Ares, Aphrodite, Hephaestus, Hermes, Apollo, the rest are uh, in flux, but Zeus and Athena re in the hot seats right now.”

“Zeus I get, but why Athena?” Lugh visibly cringed.

“She thinks her children exist for one purpose, to serve her! Awful thing to do to be honest, I should know, I was like that for all of a century before I got my skull cracked over it, loads of therapy and here I am.”

Clarisse wanted to scream, maybe vomit, maybe laugh, she wasn’t sure yet. But she felt everything may work out Alright. Hopefully.

—————————————————————-

Thankfully there was someone Familiar there when they arrived, to Clarisses surprise however it was Percy’s Mother. And now that she was looking for it she could feel it as Sally Jackson looked at the ragged group that piled out of Lugh’s Camper, a feeling that her wounds stitched together a little faster, her heart slowed with a feeling of peace and safety. Before Clarisse could open her mouth to say anything She began.

“Lugh, please tell me you didn’t overstimulate them with information?” Clarisse barked a shocked laugh, Lugh sheepishly chuckled and nodded, and Ms.Jackson rolled her eyes. “Alright, Clarisse? How are you doing?” Clarisses eyes snapped up at being addressed.

“I’m fine!” The brow that rose seemed to disagree with her, she spotted Annabeth and Percy standing by The Big House, speaking with a man who looked more Giant than normal person. She realized then she was on her own. “I’m, processing it, I’m thankful but…” Ms.Jackson nodded, her expression softening to a smile.

“I understand, let’s get you all to the infirmary and I’ll try to help you figure it out.” Clarisse nodded, wondering when things had taken such a sharp slip.

(I am hoping others will pick this up and run with it, I love the idea of the Irish gods turning up and going “Yer Rules Suck” before bopping off to their usual hijinx, HAVE FUN AND THANKS FOR READING!)

The lack of pagan Percy Jackson fics is downright criminal

Think about it. Sure there is the comedy of him being a Hellenistic pagan but what if he was literally any other kind of pagan.

Chiron: you are a demigod. The old gods abandoned by modern people are real.

Pagan Percy: old? Abandoned?

————————–—–—————————————–—

Chiron: and now we sacrifice some of our food to the gods

Celtic pagan Percy: oh! alight! I sacrifice this to Danu!

Chiron: not like that!

Danu the mother of the Irish gods: something just happened.

————————–—–—————————————–—

Annabeth: we need a god’s blessing to to do this!

Celtic pagan Percy: does it need to be a Greek god?

Annabeth: it was never specified.

Percy: *pulls out a candle and prays to Morrigan*

Morrigan the Celtic goddess of war: *shows up* yeah sure you have my blessing.

Percy: thank you lady Morrigan.

————————–—–—————————————–—

Jason: do you respect any gods?

Celtic pagan Percy: The only one in the Greco-Roman pantheon that I respect is Hestia

Jason: why did you specify Greco-Roman

Percy: I respect the Celtic gods

Jason: the what?!?

Percy: (:

Jason: D:

[whitepolaris]

Brown Springs

Topping the list of Oklahoma's most popular haunts is an unassuming natural spring located less than a half a mile north of the Red River. Luckily, it's also one of the most easily accessed, lying right along a dirt road just a mile off Interstate 35.

Its short distance from civilization, though, in no way negates the site's incredible foreboding. Surrounded by thick brush and wood, Brown Springs, and the path leading up to it, remain uninviting even in the daytime. Dust kicked up from the roadway creates an ominous miasma and, in the summer, the lagoon that lies just crossed the road can reek with the choking stench of death. And despite the clear, cool appearance of the spring water bubbling up among the green grass, it doesn't seem very palatable when you consider the cemetery that lies just yards away.

The site, infrequently referred to as Dripping Springs or Refuge Springs, has been known for generations as a place of misfortune. The aforementioned cemetery reputedly originated with the death of several outlaws in the 1800s. For a time, bandits and fugitives supposedly used the springs as a hideout-a secret discovered by Texas Rangers who laid in wait for the criminals, then picked them off one at a time and buried the bodies nearby in unmarked graves.

In addition, there's the story of a homicidal family from the 1860s, who mugged and murdered passing travelers, then dumped the bodies at Brown Springs. Little is known about the family, except that their stories may be connected with the Bender family. The Benders ran a store in Kansas, where they routinely robbed and killed patrons before their secret was discovered and they escaped to Indian Territory. They were eventually caught, and the mother, father, son, and daughter were all hanged. Some insist the father actually died in a more gruesome fashion-staked to the ground by a would-be victim and sliced open so wild dogs could eat him alive.

It's difficult to say why Brown Springs would make such a good spot for discarding evidence, but apparently its usefulness continues today. In 1988, two men on a murder spree killed at least four people from Texas and Arkansas. The last known victim was shot three times and robbed of his car, which was found the next day partially submerged in a pond at Brown Springs. Several bodies have been found in the area over the years, as well, according to newspaper accounts quoting the Love County sheriff.

As for the cemetery, which lies up a sandy hill to the north, it provides its own share of chilling tales. Those brave enough to hike back into the woods, especially at night, have encountered unusual noises, lights, and visions. Over the years, the curious have reported spotting unearthed bones, discovering bloody knives stuck in trees, and having trouble starting their cars when trying to make a quick exit.

Even if the stories of murder aren't true, it would be no surprise Brown Springs would possess such restless spirits, given the cemetery's condition. At least twenty-six people are known to be buried there, but few graves remain marked. Nearly all the headstones have been vandalized, broken, and dumped in a scattered pile. The few that still stand are barely readable. Numerous areas, oddly have been charred by fires. Some particularly strange delinquents, in what must be one of the most ill-conceived acts of vandalism one could imagine, have even carved their own names into upturned grave markers.

To get a look for yourself, just take Exit I north of the Oklahoma-Texas border, go east and turn right just past the convenience store/casino. About a mile later, you'll see a turnout on your left. A word to the wise, though: Don't drink the water.

[sooodreamyyy]

shadow man in the car wash

I'm going to use this blog to write out the really vivid dreams I have, partly because I love talking about the things people dream about, and partly to see if there are any patterns, etc that I can see. The first dream I'll write about is a recurring nightmare I had my whole childhood. From as early as I can remember until about 18 or 19 years old I would have this dream a couple of times a year.

Its 85 degrees outside and the sun is shining at maximum volume. My dad always lets me sit in the passenger seat. He says its because I'm big enough now, but secretly he always let me even when I was small. As the passenger I have many important jobs while Dad drives, one being to point out all of the cows that we pass during our time in the car. That one is really important because we live in Texas, so there are lots of cows. The second one is to point out all of the car washes- and to try to convince Dad that we need to go through them.

Car washes have always been one of my favorite things to do. I get so mesmerized by the colors and the bubbles and the sounds of the machines. There's one coming up on the right! We aren't in a rush so we pull in. But there's something wrong with this one? It's pitch black on the inside. As we get close to it, there are no colorful lights, no music, no people. But we've already started to pull in before I can tell Dad that this is not the car wash we should do today. Our car is locked in to the conveyor belt that starts to slowly drag us forward. A weak red light hangs from the ceiling off to the side of the track providing the only light. I can sense that beyond the light there is many feet of space before the wall separating us from the outside, but I can't be positive how many.

A shadow darts across our windshield from the right to the left and scurries up the wall and onto the ceiling before disappearing. I look to Dad to judge how scared I should be, but he doesn't react. My stomach is flipping cartwheels, but I'm big now so I don't show it on my face. In 2 minutes we'll be out the other side.

A big, round blade falls from the ceiling and manages to just miss our car. I can feel something laughing from deep within the space between the red light and the wall. was someone trying to get us?

I can see the light from the other end of the carwash now. As we pull back out into reality, the corner of my eye catches a glimpse of that same shadow hiding underneath a bench outside of the car wash. A grandma and her grandbaby sit above it, unknowing. I want to warn them, but I'm not sure of what. "Careful, there's a shadow under you" I would say, only for them to look at the bench's shadow, and back at me, confused. Before I can decide, I find myself standing on the pavement. Where did Dad go? Where is our car?

The shadow zips from the park bench to the bush closest to me, now camouflaged by the shadows of the leaves and branches. I realize that the shadow man wasn't trying to do anything to us, but to me. I take off running. He follows.

The road is a simple road with one lane in each direction. It goes up a hill, then down, then back up, in a straight line, seemingly forever. As I reach the peak of one slope, I look back to see him cresting the peak of the hill behind me. I'm running hard, out of breath and unsure of when I'll catch up to my dad or if I'll find someone who can help. He stalks me over three, four, eight, ten hills and I can feel my steps becoming so heavy that my feet almost refuse to leave the ground.

I have to think of another plan because I know outrunning him won't work for much longer. He's been gaining on me, and as I reach the apex of this hill I see him reach the lowest point of the hill behind me. In front of me, at the bottom of this hill, is a bridge crossing a river. The river is about 10 feet wide and I have no way to tell how deep it is. Can the shadow man swim? I have to make a bet, and though I can't swim either, I gamble that jumping into the water is the safest bet.

I cannonball off of the bridge just as the shadow is about to catch up to me. Right before I hit the water, I see the shadow strain over the side of the bridge. He can't get in the water, and I splash into the cool water knowing that I won.

[pointreyesjournal]

The Amnesiac : ep34

Yachats

Friday

The southern Oregon coast is the Greatest Hits of Unvisited Places. The California/Oregon border is only a few minutes north of our hotel in Crescent City. Every inch of the two hundred miles we will ride today is postcard scenic. The great northern Pacific Ocean is our constant companion as the highway follows the cliffs and bluffs at the edge of the continent. The landscape is verdant from the plentiful rain along the coast and there’s no traffic. The first little town, Brookings, comes and goes in the blink of an eye. Every five or so miles, there’s a signposted overlook with a plainly descriptive name like Arch Rock or Long Beach. With no real agenda today other than transiting the 200 or so coastal miles between Crescent City and Yachats, we stop more often than not to take in the view. One overlook has a small hiking loop, maybe 600 feet or so, following the bluffs to a rocky cliffside viewpoint. We hike is just for the hell of it and it turns out to be gorgeous. There’s a bench on the bluffs where lovers have been carving their names into the wood for decades. We check for a recently carved “Floody and River” just in case but find nothing, but there are a few Davids.

Our frequent stops make the miles more bearable. River takes a moment at each pullout to stand on her tippy toes then do a couple of high knee jumps to keep the blood flowing. The cities are really nothing more than dots on a map until we reach Bandon, famous for the Bandon Dunes Golf Course and an iconic lighthouse. We stop only for fuel and continue on across the bridge at Coos Bay and on toward Thor’s Well.

The highway is like a giant black ribbon stretching out in front of us cutting a path between the bright floral green on the right and the sea blue on the left. By early afternoon we’ve made pretty good progress heading north, but without a nav on the motorcycle we aren’t exactly sure how close we are to Yachats. We cross the low bridge over Cook’s Chasm and see another turnout on the left with a dozen or so cars, so we stop to find out where we are.

The parking overlooks a rocky outcropping with water spouting from a vent hole in the cliff. Below us, there’s a trail the rocks and a dozen or so tourists are gathered in a single spot, watching the waves pour into a giant hole in the ground. “That’s Thor’s Well” River tells me. As soon as she says it, it becomes plainly obvious. It is a scene that has been popularized on computer screensavers and lock screens for decades. I’m see flashbacks of the screensaver on my Amazon Fire Stick and as I close my eyes the debilitating pain of my memory recall comes rushing back. River see’s me fading and takes my hand. I keep my eyes closed as I tell her …

“We were here, you and I. We were parked over there, to the north and we walked the trail loop together. I see you with a camera, photographing the Well. I’m standing right beside you near the rocks.”

I open my eyes.

“We have to walk the path together to see if we can find my phone.”

My iPhone battery is long since dead so there’s no way to actively locate it electronically, but we can poke around in the bushes around the trail and see if it fell out of my pocket. If it hasn’t been picked up by a tourist, it’s here somewhere.

River tries to hold my hand tightly to keep the amnesia headache away, but I slip intentionally from her grasp. The memory recall has come and gone, so I’m safe to proceed untethered, but I do keep her close by just in case something jogs my memory. We walk to the north end of the parking area to pick up a narrow walking path that zig-zags a few hundred feet down the slope to the rocks. We walk slowly, I examine the grass and bushes on the left side of the path, River examines the right. We have no luck spotting the iPhone but I’m hoping we’ll catch a glimpse of it on the way back up the hill.

Thor’s Well is quite dramatic. Waves wash over the rocks and pour into a giant chasm 20 feet wide. The hole fills and drains with each surge of the sea. A fall into the well would be fatal, or at the very least, life changing. We stand holding hands for a few moments watching the sea pour into the chasm before returning to the Ducati empty handed. No phone, no luck.

15 minutes later we’re pulling into Yachats. I feel a tug on my jacket. River is pointing out a little fish and chips shack called the Luna Sea Fish Company. Clever name! We stop and gorge ourselves on deep fried fish and thick cut french fries. It’s the freshest deep fried cuisine I’ve ever had. We ask the cashier for a hotel suggestion and she tells us “the Adobe Resort, it’s the nicest hotel in town.” Once again, we’re astonished by the price. $81 for a panoramic ocean view on a Friday night. The value for money on the pacific northwest is beyond belief. I could probably sell my loft in Pacific Grove and buy this whole damn hotel. It’s crazy.

The rooms are nicely decorated and cozy. We decide to finish the day off with a six pack of cold beers from the gift shop, a hot shower (together) and a long snuggle under the covers as we watch the sun disappear into the sea.

[bike42]

Tuesday 8/19

I should know better than looking at weather.com each morning, but it’s what I do. Temp was in the low 40s and rain until 10am, psyched myself out, but still I prepared for another wet day.

It’s “moving day” today so we were up at 6am packing again. Had some time for stretching and Jeff had a hot chocolate and sat and read in our sitting area. Down for breakfast which started at 7:30am, but they’re a bit unorganized and we barely got and finished our food before the 8:30am round up in the library.

We picked up our sandwiches and reloaded our snack bags and headed out. All but 2 people opted for the long option, but another 2 only hiked up a ways and then turned back.

That left 13 hikers plus Jenn and Keith today doing the 9 mile route up and over the pass. The magic somehow happens to get the vans to the end of our route.

Up the hill, we warmed up fast and sun came out! I was undecided about starting with my puffy coat and rain pants layer, but was pretty warm once we got to the top. Some even went down to T-shirts! We stopped at the top to view the deer on the hillside watching us, and Keith gave us a little chat about the Highland Games:

Must wear a kilt with a pair of shorts, tshirt, hose and boots

Evolved differently in US (steroids), drug tested here in Scotland.

Shot put (cannon ball)

Hammer Toss

Caber (with waterlogged telegraph pole) stand it up and run with it to try to stand it up

The sun stayed out for sometime, but the breeze was cool and I kept my shell on and eventually even added my wool cap and light gloves.

We had a more serious river crossing jumping stones. I went first and was glad for long legs and good balance! I got to the other side and did a “time lapse” video of everyone crossing. Keith helped Cathy across, but then she lost her balance and fell into the side stream! Everyone offered dry clothes and she was fine the rest of the day, just embarrassed I imagine.

It was a beautiful hike with mountains, lochs and rushing streams. There are pretty flowers and some remnants of heather. I remarked to Jeff that I’m hiking faster than I’d normally be since the flowers are past their peak!

We got to a turn on the trail, a part where we’d be lost without the guides. A cloud descended on us and rain drops started. Seemed like real rain, so I put on my rain pants and was glad I did as it rained quite heavily for a bit!

We got down to a loch and the stones turned to pink and white - it was gorgeous! There were places where we could see the trail under a foot of water. Jenn said last week she sat on the “beach” here; amazing how these bogs collect and discharge water!

It had stopped raining and my rain pants were fairly clean so I took them off, and added my puffy jacket under my rain jacket. My feet were completely wet - mainly from stepping off the trail into a bog while avoiding a puddle. Since we were stopped, I ate half of my sandwich. Some others went on ahead and Jeff & I hung back with Jenn and Karri & Nelson.

At about 7 miles, we came to a “Bothy,” an old homestead renovated into a place where hikers can rest or sleep. I expected it to be much more primative! There we found the rest of our group finishing their lunches, plus Jules and Trish & Richard who had hiked up the two miles from the car park.

We finished our sandwiches. It felt great to sit inside in chairs - a real luxury! It was an easy 2 miles down to the van. We chatted with Jenn about her work with Backroads and her family. She definitely has the right stuff to do this line of work. It’s neat to hear that Backroads values her background as an educator, and she served as a trainer and mentor to new guides.

The rain was just starting as we got back to the van. We had a quiet 90 minute drive to Portree on the Isle of Skye. When I was here 32 years ago, the island seemed more remote and you had to catch a ferry to get here. Now there is a bridge, and the windows in the fan were so fogged with humidity that I only saw glimpses as we traveled to Portree!

I had changed from my wet boots into my Chacos while we were in the van - my wet and dirty gaiters, rain pants and socks were in a plastic bag. I carried my wet boots into the lobby and the lady at reception took them from me to put them in the boiler room where they would dry - fantastic service. We checked into The Cullin Hills Hotel - more modern than the last place, with very nice rooms again. We had less than an hour, but we quickly did some hand wash and showered. Fantastic heated towel rack and radiators to help dry our stuff!

We gathered in the salon to hear Angus and Ailie - a Scottish musical duo. Angus was most outgoing and demonstrated Highland Bagpipes (1785 originally), Scottish Small Pipes, Border Pipes and various “Whistles,” while Airlie played the Scottish Small Harp. They played just “tunes,” no songs … even though each number had a story behind the tune. They did a great job relating the instruments and music to Scottish history. For the final number, they taught us a little dance - those of us brave enough to perform!

We had another group dinner following the performance. We sat with our Wisconsin neighbors and had a nice time. I got a dram of Skye whisky to take back to the room - just a subtle hint of peat - just right!

[saratogaroadwrites]

For King and Country (37/122)

For King and Country | saratogaroad rating: T total wordcount:  280,466 characters: Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum, Roland Crane, Aranella, Batu, Tani, Lofty, Leander Aristidies, Bracken Meadows relationships: Roland Crane & Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum, Aranella & Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum, Roland Crane & Aranella, Batu & Tani, Batu & Evan, Tani & Evan, Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum & Lofty, Rolander other tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Mother-Son Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Place Slowly Becomes Home People Slowly Become Family, Found Family, For Want of A Nail warnings: none

Pulled from his world by mysterious powers, former president Roland Crane finds himself caught in the middle of a coup meant to take the life of the young King Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum. Joining forces with Aranella, the pair of them set out to aid Evan in making his dream of a kingdom where everyone can live happily ever after a reality.

But the road to peace is a long and treacherous one and there is no promise of success in a world where darkness spreads ever thicker with each passing day. If they are to stand a chance, they must stand together, for king and for country.

(A retelling.)

=

"Jack’s intel checked out, your Majesty,” General Gao Jia said seriously, tapping fingers along the ridges and dips of the map they had of the Rolling Hills. “The scouts found army encampments all along the ridge line, each of them bearing the banner of Dell.”

“Are they…doing anything?” Evan asked, stomach twisting. “They aren’t preparing to come here, are they?”

“It did not appear to be so,” General Bai Gon added in his deep, husky voice. He tapped the river delta. “They are also stationed here in greater number, much like at the exit to Cloudcoil Canyon.”

“Blocking all access in or out of the Hills.” Roland said, sitting back in his chair. “Makes sense. If Mausinger put Dell under martial law like Jack said he would, he’d need to keep all incoming or outgoing people under watch.” He shook his head. “I guess the bigger question is how long is that going to be sustainable.”

“That’s Mausinger’s problem, not ours.” Nella said with a sigh. She rubbed her forehead. “I still can’t believe you got him to talk so much!”

“I have my ways.” Roland said with a smirk. Evan tilted his head, then forcibly chose not to ask. Looking back at the map, he thought over his options for a moment. If Mausinger was just having his armies prevent entrance to the Hills, and they weren’t mounting an attack or an invasion, well, that was alright. He didn’t like the idea, sure, but it was better than the alternative. Sighing, Evan looked up to his Generals.

“Thank you for your reports, General Bai Gon, General Gao Jia. Please, ensure that the scouts get good rest and keep the patrols ready.”

“Yes, sir!” They responded in unison, saluting Evan before marching from the room. When they were gone and the door to the conference room had shut behind them, Evan slumped in his seat.

“What is Mausinger even doing?” He asked the room. “I don’t understand!”

“That makes two of us,” Tani grumbled. “And Jack wasn’t even working for the guy?”

“That is what he told us,” Nella said with a glance at Roland, who nodded. Batu started grumbling all over again from where he loomed over the table. “He kidnapped Evan all for the chance at glory and title. That wasn’t even a guarantee!”

“So ‘e’s as stupid as ‘is King.” Batu grumped and finally sat down with a thud, arms crossed over his massive chest. Knowing looks were exchanged around the table as he continued, “And ye’re sure we can’t give him a dose of Sky Pirate justice, Evan?”

“I’m very sure,” Evan replied, rubbing his forehead. His back was still a little sore, and he would be lying if he admitted even to himself that he hadn’t considered Batu’s idea of justice, but going through with it…he shook his head. “We can’t go down that road. I won’t let us go down that road. If we’re going to build a world where everyone lives happily ever after, we have to leave that sort of thing behind us.”

Even if it was the only easy solution. Sighing heavily, Evan sat back up straight.

“No,” he said firmly, “We will have to honor our deal with Jack. Even if it means keeping him under house arrest until we can come up with another solution.”

Batu’s eyes were dark, but he nodded in acceptance of Evan’s plan. Across the table from Batu, Roland leaved his arms on the table.

“That still leaves us with another problem, though,” he said, “Chingis said that the bounty Mausinger set for you was worth more dead than alive, but Jack was pretty adamant about Mausinger giving him favor for coming back with you still breathing.” He glanced sideways at Nella. “Would there be a reason for that, or did Jack just get out of Dell too soon?”

“I’m not sure,” Nella replied, cupping her chin pensively. “It could be either. I’m afraid I don’t understand Mausinger’s decisions right now.”

“Urgh,” Tani groaned, thumping her head onto the table. “Can something about this whole mess please make sense? What’s he got to be so scared of, anyway? It’s not like Evan can rule two kingdoms at the same time! You’ve only got one Kingsbond!”

That was true but--Wait.

Was that it? Evan sat up straighter. Could it really be that simple?

“What if that’s it?” he asked. He looked at Nella, eyes widening. “What if he’s trying to force Oakenhart’s Kingsbond to change?”

Nella stared at him. Her mouth parted, and then she hissed curses through her teeth. “That miserable—he's after the Mark!”

Everyone stared at them. Roland looked like he desperately wanted to ask what in the world they were talking about, but Lofty beat him to it.

“Hang on, what Mark?” he asked, looking between Nella and Evan. “The flip are you two goin’ on about?! What’s some seal gotta do with ol’ Oaky-boy and his bonding, eh?”

“In Dell,” Evan said, “Whenever a new ruler is going to take the throne, they have to pass Oakenhart’s trial in the Cradle outside the city. But the doors to the Cradle are locked, and they’ll only open if all heirs to the throne are dead or with the Mark of Kings.”

“Mark of Kings?” Tani sat back upright. “What’s that when it’s at home?”

Evan spread his hands. “It’s a special pendant, passed down from ruler to ruler in Dell. It serves as proof of the right to rule and unlocks all sorts of doors. The Cradle, the Kingsway, even the main gates.” He frowned. “If he had the Mark, he could open the doors and take Oakenhart’s trial even if I’m still alive. Without it…”

“He has to kill you to force the doors to open.” Roland finished with a dark frown. “Great. I don’t suppose we can offer to trade the Mark for your safety?”

Evan grimaced and shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. It isn’t that I wouldn’t be willing if we had it, but…I don’t have it with me.” He swallowed hard and looked down at his hands. “The Mark was given to me the night Father passed away, but…” He gripped his knees tight. “Well, I…”

“Lemme guess: ye went and left it behind when ye skedaddled outta Dell, eh?” Batu asked gently. Evan’s grimace was answer enough and the big man sighed. “Alright. Where’d ye leave it, lad?”

Evan shook his head. “It’s still in the Castle,” he said, “There are hidden rooms all over, you see, and I thought it would be safer to leave it there than keep it with me.”

That, and he hadn’t been able to look at the thing. It was real, tangible proof that his father was gone, and just holding it had made him sick with grief. He’d stuffed it in a chest and never gone back for it. Small miracle that he’d left it in the hidden room in his chambers and not just in his armoire.

“I left it in the room attached to my chambers. I intended to go back for it, but…”

He looked up at Roland then, and found Aranella had as well. Roland smiled sheepishly.

“Things got a little hectic,” Roland said, “Mausinger staged his coup so quickly that all hell broke loose. We barely had time to get out with our lives, forget going back to get anything.” Batu eyed him suspiciously; one of Evan’s ears pinned back as Roland pressed on, “But that means we can’t go back and get it, either.”

“That’s true,” Nella said with a nod. “The Mark opens the Kingsway, which we could have used to sneak into Dell and get anything else out of the palace, but without it…”

Without it, they were stuck right back where they'd started. Either Mausinger needed him alive to tell him where the Mark was, or he wanted Evan dead to forcibly bring about change. Neither option was good, Evan thought. Would things always be like this? So tense that it almost hurt to breathe?

“Oi!” Tani interjected, pulling Evan from his thoughts. “This is all really interesting, but if we need to get into Dell to get this thing that’ll actually let us in to Dell, that’s not much use, is it?”

Evan laughed sheepishly.

“I suppose not, no,” He said, shaking his head. “But it is something to consider for the future.”

Even if he wasn’t. Quite sure how in the world they were going to get it to offer it to Mausinger in the first place.

“Aye, that it is,” Batu rumbled, “But it don’t solve our problem now, lad. It ain't gonna be long before the rat starts sendin' actual hunters after ye, and just sittin' here? We be sittin’ waddleducks like this.”

“Lucky for us, Waddleducks can move.” Nella turned to Evan. “We have to get moving and keep moving. Sign the other nations to the Declaration and go from there.”

It was a sound plan, but one that felt a lot like running away all over again. Evan’s tail puffed up behind him and he fought to keep it from lashing. He gripped his knees tight, clenching his jaw as he forced himself to take a deep breath. He held it, then let go.

“I don’t like it,” he admitted to his closest companions. “I don’t want to be sent running from my home again!”

“It’s not running,” Nella soothed, “We’ll come back. In the meantime, Bai Gon and Gao Jia can train up more guards, the walls can get reinforced…” she shook his head. “It isn’t permanent. Besides—you wanted to see the world, right?” I can’t think of a better reason than this.”

“What, avoiding getting kidnapped?” Tani grinned, all teeth. “I can think of plenty of better reasons that that!”

“Reasons that let a King out of his castle, with a full contingent of bodyguards?” Roland tilted his head. Tani’s grin took on a chagrined edge, but Roland looked to Evan and smiled gently. “We’re not running. We’re keeping you safe until we can get a handle on the situation and we’re going to talk to the other three world leaders about the Declaration. It’s not running, and it’s not a retreat. But, even if it was,” He inclined his head. “There’s no shame in a strategic retreat. It’s better to live and fight another day, isn’t it?”

It was! Evan nodded, his tail slowly returning to it’s usually sleek state. Taking another deep breath, he nodded once more.

“You’re right,” He said, offering both Nella and Roland a watery smile. “Thank you. All of you. I don’t know…” A lump formed in his throat. With some difficulty, he swallowed it back down. “I don’t know what I would do without you all here.”

“Be bored outta youer flippin’ skull, that’s what,” Lofty chimed in with a wide grin. He padded over to stand in front of Evan, plunking his hands onto his hips. “Youer’re stuck with us now, lad, and don’t you go forgettin’ that!”

Evan’s heart swelled up inside his chest. He grinned at Lofty.

“I won’t,” he said, “I promise.”

[punkymonkeehat]

Another excerpt, a little more of an idea of the world for my story World of Mystery (working title). It's a long excerpt, but one of my faves so far :)

------------------------------

“Whoa.” Talli gasped. She was frozen, body stiff. Her hair floated with the gust of wind that barrelled through the gorge, causing the rocks to whistle as it passed. Althea had finally climbed up the small hill, cursing, pulling leaves and pine needles out of her hair, and kicking sticky vines off of her boots. She finally decided to pull a stubborn one off and threw it back into the bush with triumph before joining the other.

“Whoa, what?" She asked, yawning as she walked. "Can’t be as impressive as the ley line. I can't believe how straight of a path it is! I wonder how it was created - maybe the legends are true! What do you s-” she also froze in awe. "Whoa."

A vast, gray river that looked over a mile wide dominated the center of the gorge, crashing its waves as it ran towards the direction of the ocean. The wind coaxed the rippling waves, and some came up towards the cliff the two were standing on, licking the stones as it, with full force, slammed itself on the rocks. Across the river, mountains loomed in the distance, some still with snow at their tips, like great shadows watching them. Mist hugged these towering monuments, creating an air of mystery over the land. The forest that they were in seemed to continue across the river. The two women could spot similar trees with similar patterns of dying leaves. It was almost silent, save for the wind and waves. No birds were present to the awesome view of the other side. Althea grabbed Talli’s arm in comfort. The soil beneath their boots was thin and loose, and the two didn’t dare move in fear of slipping into the roaring waters below.

“Talli...” Althea breathed. “Where are we...?” Talli stammered a moment, trying to find words

“I-I… I'm not sure.” she swallowed. “This is where the ley line ends, though. It didn't continue, and the deer path doesn't continue, i dont think.” She finally moved her head to look at the other’s worried eyes. “I believe this may be the border to the South West.”

“What?" Althea hissed, eyes widening more and demeanor shifting to full-blown panic. "The border? We hiked that far?” Althea started and backed away, releasing the other. “We are not allowed at the border, South Westerners are dangerous.” She backed up even more, pushing herself against a pine tree closest to the hill they trudged up. Talli furrowed her brows, having never seen Althea be nervous like this before.

"We can easily go back if we retrace our steps. Why are you so worried? It's not like we're in the South West Territroy. We're just... staring at it."

“I'll get reprimanded by Krow if he knew I was here. He has told me that even being close to the border would invite them to sail over.” She pointed a quivering finger towards the mountains. “He said that they can sense when we're near and start to hunt us!"

“The river is too fierce for a canoe to get over, nonetheless a small boat. I don’t think they could cross this season. Besides, I see no smoke or life across the river. I think we are okay.” Talli murmured, glancing around. "And what Krow doesn't know won't hurt him. Come on, where's your sense of adventure? You used to chide me all the time when I was too terrified to even leave the fort walls."

"I love to adventure, but not when we're breaking the law."

"We're not breaking the law, Althea, we're exploring."

"Exploring an off-limits part of our territory. I'm the Learner, I would know."

"You're such a brown noser."

"And you are a terribly curious mouse!" Althea shot back the comment with a little poison. Talli set her mouth into a frown and huffed. She started down a few rocks in the cliff towards the water. Althea squeaked with fear, seeing the other climb down. “Talli, don’t!” She whispered. The other grabbed a large piece of wood that jutted out from the ground to help her stay steady as she descended. The flat land that Talli had crawled from had abruptly stopped, and she was picking her way across a path only she could see.

"I want a closer look, then maybe I can see the terror that you're claiming exists for myself."

“Tal, wait! Please, we're not supposed to be here. Where are you going?” Althea called, finally coming away from the tree and scrambling towards the edge on her knees to see her friend. She peered down towards the ground, a shiver of fear rolling up her spine. The river was so far down. Talli was a bit of ways east, making her way along the found path. She wasn’t as quiet with her steps as she usually was. Althea looked away for a moment, swallowing air to steady her stomach. She knew that she was in huge trouble. Pranking the wall warden by slipping a small amount of bloodroot in someone’s tea to make them vomit was fun. This wasn't.

“Talli!” Althea cried again, worry starting to bubble out of her again. “Talli, come back. Are you okay? Im sorry, you're not a mouse! Where are you?” She listened to the wind for a response. Nothing. Althea started to panic. Shaking her hands to get rid of it, she got back onto her feet and paced back and forth. What should she do? She was supposed to be the adventurous type, but this was too far. What would Zayden do? She thought about it for a momen but shoved it away. Knowing her friend, he would probably do the most reckless and idiotic thing he could think of. No, she couldn’t think like a guard. She paused her pacing. She needed to think like a Leader.

A Leader would go out of their way to help their people, whether it was through physical help or education, or to establish some sort of stability. That meant that Althea, as a Leader, needed to go get Talli back. She sighed. She hated that she had to think about being brave like Krow, but she knew that if she wanted to take his position in the future, she as going to have to practice what she was learning in the field. She grabbed a stick from the pine, sending a quick thank you to its spirit and apology for stealing its limb, and started trudgin down the found path.

She tripped a few times over the upturned roots of the cliff hanging trees, but Althea managed her way, looking for any sign of Talli and the path she took. She glanced for any footprints or broken grass throughout her hike. She finally saw some bushes that showed disturbance and began following the pattern back up towards the cliff side. Every once in a while, she would glance down at the raging river below her, taking a deep breath to still her nerves. If Talli can do it, so could she. After a few minutes, she followed the path as it turned inward towards the cliff. The terrain flattened greatly, and the large path swept open. Althea was in another ley line, the manicured path wide and inviting. She dug out some berries from her pocket and laid them in the middle of the path as her offering, repeating the words that they spoke before entering the ley lines back by the fort. After speaking her prayer, she screamed out, “TALLI! WHERE ARE YOU?” There was a brief pause.

“I’m over here!” her friend called out, and Althea almost jumped for joy that she didn’t get swept away by the river. She followed her friends voice towards one of the split off laylines back towards the river. The path opened up, much like the path before, but instead of there being a deer traip leading to a cliff for them to stand on, the path abruptly stopped almost without a warning. They were back out in the open again. There Talli stood, looking out towards the river, with her eyebrows furrowed.

“Thank the spirits and forest gods. Talli, I swear I am going to kill you! You scared me half to death!” Althea cried angrily. She grabbed Talli’s arm and shook it. “We need to go back. I’m serious.” She shook her friend’s arm again, getting frustrated that there was no response. Talli still paid no mind. Althea threw the arm out of her hand and tossed her own up into the air, cursing loudly. “Lost in thought again! Why can’t you ever listen to me when I talk to you? You’re always in the clouds up in that thick skull of yours. I said we should go back and look at us now! We’re lost on another ley line, which you didn’t even leave an offering for, need I remind you, and are still close to the border! We’re not. Supposed. To be. Here. We’re supposed to be back at the fort. I thought this was going to be some quick adventure that would take up a little time, but no, we had to have trudged our way to a place where we don’t belong! Krow is going to be furious! Give your curiosity a rest for once!” Althea huffed, waiting for some kind of response. Nothing. She growled, pulling at her blonde hair, and kicked a rock out towards the river; and as it leaped over the cliff, it rattled down, clanging on something below. “What are you staring at?” She shouted. Talli shook her head and blinked. Then, she pointed towards the border.

Althea walked up next to her friend and shielded her eyes, squinting to see. She gasped.

The skeletal remains of a bridge.

Then Talli pointed down at their side of the river.

The remains of the same bridge protruded out of the cliff. Althea’s kicked rock was on one of the beams.

----------------------------

[destinyimage]

Praying with Holy Spirit: Applying God’s Solutions Over Your Home

Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know (Jeremiah 33:3 NIV).

We were standing on the edge of a lookout overlooking the bay area of San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge in California.

It is a beautiful sight to behold where you can see the endless trail of cars streaming across the majestic bridge, the rushing rivers of current within the ocean bay below, the mound of Alcatraz Island in the middle of the bay, and the far-stretching hills of San Francisco in the distance. Nate and I had been traveling up California from Los Angeles, partly on a mission of prayer from God and partly on a family holiday (although I’m not entirely sure it could be called a holiday when you have a very determined two-year-old and a limit-testing five-year-old in tow). As I surveyed the beauty of San Francisco before me, my heart grew suddenly sad. I began to feel the weight of the Father’s longing for this state and this city.

I want to stop here for a moment, because this is where many people get stuck. They feel the pain of the Father’s heart over a person, city, or region and pray from that place of pain; or rather, they pray what they see with their natural eyes. What do I mean by that? It is good to feel the pain of the Father’s heart over a situation—that is the mark of intimacy and even intercession—but here is where we get to lean into Him further and ask Him what His intentions are. I like to ask Him, “What do You see beyond this current pain I see, Father? What is Your heart intention for this person or place that You love? What was the picture You had in mind when you created them?” We must learn to pray into the answers He sees. When Jesus was prophesying about His betrayer at the last supper, it says:

Then Jesus was moved deeply in his spirit. Looking at his disciples, he announced, “I tell you the truth—one of you is about to betray me.” Eyeing each other, his disciples puzzled over which one of them could do such a thing. The disciple that Jesus dearly loved was at the right of him at the table and was leaning his head on Jesus. Peter gestured to this disciple to ask Jesus who it was he was referring to. Then the dearly loved disciple leaned into Jesus’ chest and whispered, “Master, who is it?” “The one I give this piece of bread to after I’ve dipped it in the bowl,” Jesus replied (John 13:21-26).

It is the lovers of God, those who lean in close to Him, who are the ones entrusted to ask the questions and are given the secrets of His heart. John could have made an assumption and pointed the finger at any number of the disciples, but instead he asked. John was one of the three who was taken up to the mountain where Jesus was transfigured before their eyes. Even though Peter was with him, Peter evidently still had issues when it came to trust. If he hadn’t, he likely would not have ended up in the situation where he betrayed Jesus with his words just hours later. John was the one disciple who endured the horrors of the cross, remaining at the side of Jesus to the end. Why? He had become accustomed to abiding in His presence, and in doing so he had grown confident in his identity as a son of God. As a result, he was comfortable to lean on Jesus and confidently ask Him difficult questions. This kind of boldness is necessary if we are to effectively walk in prophetic prayer and release His solutions in the earth. “So now we come freely and boldly to where love is enthroned, to receive mercy’s kiss and discover the grace we urgently need to strengthen us in our time of weakness” (Heb. 4:16).

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Abiding in His presence gives us bold courage to come before Him, not in timidity. I used to do this—I would come before Him timidly and beg Him to help me. “Oh, please help me. Please help this situation I am in. Please do something.” While there is nothing wrong with asking for His help, I believe God’s design for us is not to pray as orphans begging Him to do something but as sons and daughters who are confident in His faithfulness that He has solutions for the problems we face. On the other hand I have seen many pray the pain of the problem over a situation: “God, rain down Your fiery judgement over this evil city.” When we know mercy’s kiss for ourselves, we know how to extend mercy’s kiss in our prayers. When we perceive that God is a God of fire and brimstone, our prayers become plagued with the very thing the enemy wants—death and destruction. Notice that verse says, “We come boldly where love is enthroned.” We receive the answers of His kingdom in His love. His answers are always built on the foundation of love, so why, under His New Covenant, would His answer for a sinful city be to destroy it? The same principle applies for people. This is why abiding in His presence is the foundation for the solutions of God. We must know His heart; we must be able to receive His love and His mercy in our own lives before we can adequately extend it to others and the world around us. His kingdom is both love and justice, but under the reign of the New Covenant, the cross and resurrection, the covenant of grace, mercy, and redemption, Jesus becomes the kiss of mercy to a dying and hurting world. He invites us to come and sit with Him at His mercy seat, and there we can boldly ask Him the answers that are on His heart for that which grieves Him. It is easy to look at a person, place, or situation through the eyes of judgement, but it is even easier to ask Him, “What do You see?” and partner with His heart, where His mercy triumphs over judgment (see James 2:13). Rather than praying over the problem and begging God for a solution or calling down His judgment, we get to boldly come before Him and have Him share the secret solutions that are stored up in heaven for the problems around us.

This is why in John 15:15 Jesus says, “I have never called you ‘servants,’ because a master doesn’t confide in his servants, and servants don’t always understand what the master is doing. But I call you my most intimate friends, for I reveal to you everything that I’ve heard from my Father.” In abiding in the habitation of God, we grow in intimate friendship with Him, and it is in this habitation that His secret solutions for the earth are revealed. When that secret is revealed, He doesn’t just show you to give you a piece of information, but He expects you to do something with it. This is where prophetic prayer is released. It is conceived out of intimate love and friendship with the King of all kings and it is birthed into the earth through your love for Him.

As I stood overlooking the sun-glistened city of San Francisco and feeling the grief of His heart, I quietly asked Him, “Father, what are You wanting to do here? What is Your heart for this city and state?” It was a quick moment, a glimpse of a second, because I was holding my wriggling toddler and trying to prevent her inquisitive little eyes and hands from climbing up and over the cascading rock face below us. As I set her back down, out of the corner of my eye I saw the edge of a giant brown wing. I flung around to see what it was, and as I looked up, not ten feet above us were three enormous eagles that had descended upon the area where we were standing. They were circling in perfect unison above the car park and were swooping down, almost as though in a dance, much to the initial delight, turned shock-horror for us and the tourists around us. People began picking up their children, including me, because the sheer size of these birds was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. I kept envisioning my little toddler being picked up in one of their talons and being carried off into the sky above. That might sound like an impossible scenario, but they were evidently hungry and I was not about to find out the likeliness of that imagination. Nate and I quickly made our way to our rental car with both girls in tow, and once they were both locked safely into their car seats with snacks to occupy them, I was able to sit outside the car door for a moment, taking in the beauty and sheer enormity of these eagles.

It didn’t immediately strike me that these birds were a prophetic answer to the question I had just asked God. Yet as I took photos, I knew something about this was profound as they continued to circle around and around, just above the Golden Gate Bridge. Sometimes, it felt as though they were close enough to touch, and after about five minutes, two more eagles joined the three. Something felt significant about this. All the tourists at this site were no longer looking out upon the views of San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge, but rather, their eyes like mine were to the sky, watching these five eagles encircle us. As we got back in our car and Nate drove us toward Redding, I browsed through the pictures of the eagles that I had just taken. Being from Australia, I wasn’t familiar with their species, so I zoomed in and began looking up their identifiable features. As it turns out, they were golden eagles, and I later had them con- firmed by multiple sources. When I realized they were golden eagles I recognized the profound, unmistakably prophetic place that we were standing. We were overlooking what is known as “the Golden City,” at the Golden Gate Bridge, in the “Golden State” with three and then five golden eagles encircling us. I began to take the pieces of this experience and ask the Holy Spirit what He was saying in response to what I had asked.

It is the Glory of Kings to Search Out A Matter

All too often, we write off moments like this as a natural coincidence. I want to encourage you that as you open the doors wide to the secret place of His presence, to also ask the Holy Spirit to open your eyes to see the miracles and messages within your day- to-day that many, otherwise, miss. God is always speaking. Always. We often think He is silent, but as I have learned, it is in the silence of familiarity where He wants us to discover other ways that He is already speaking to us. The Holy Spirit is fun and adventurous. Jesus said this important statement to His disciples in Matthew 18:3-4:

Learn this well: Unless you dramatically change your way of thinking and become teachable, and learn about heaven’s kingdom realm with the wide-eyed wonder of a child, you will never be able to enter in. Whoever continually humbles himself to become like this gentle child is the greatest one in heaven’s kingdom realm.

I love that phrase—“learn about heaven’s kingdom realm with the wide-eyed wonder of a child.” This journey of releasing the prophetic solutions of His heart into the earth is not meant to be a boring, serious one, but rather a fun, adventurous discovery of the Father, His purposes, and His ways. Have you ever had to get somewhere quickly with a child in tow? You will know that they don’t take the normal route that us boring adults usually do. They stop and find the details. They jump up on the sidewalk, they skip, run, and play to their destination rather than just walking in a stiff, straight line. I could be rushing to load groceries in the car to get back home in time for an important call, and my two daughters will notice the ladybug in the bush next to our parked car and cause me to stop and pause with them for a moment. They see the details of God. They stop and notice. I believe the Father is calling you and me to stop and notice His whispers. Remember the scripture we read in the first chapter:

God conceals the revelation of his word

in the hiding place of his glory.

But the honor of kings is revealed

by how they thoroughly search out

the deeper meaning of all that God says (Proverbs 25:2).

God conceals the revelation of His Word, which is the revelation of Jesus, in the hiding place of His glory. Here we have it confirmed again; the secrets and longings of His heart, the revelation of His answers, all that He is, and all that He has is revealed in the secret place of His presence—His glory, His habitation. When we begin to search out and open our eyes to what He is speaking, it becomes the honor of our life to find and release the answers of His heart into the earth around us.

With these eagles, I began to search out the scripture and found that the eagle can prophetically represent a prophet or one who prophesies the answers of God into a situation. “You yourselves have seen what I did to Egypt, and how I carried you on eagles’ wings and brought you to myself” (Exod. 19:4 NIV). This verse spoke to me of San Francisco and the Golden State of California, how it has been held in the grips of slavery (referring to the Israelites in slavery in Egypt) under the tyrant rule of the enemy. Next, I researched the Hebrew numbers of three and five, which was the number of eagles that encircled where we were. The number three in scriptures points to the Godhead, completion, perfection, divine fullness, and resurrection. Number five prophetically points to the grace of God, His abundance, His favor, and redemption.

What was God speaking through this encounter? As the eagles encircled, it was a picture to me of His Spirit hovering over the waters of the earth in Genesis 1:2. He was showing me He was hovering over the state of California and the city of San Francisco, waiting on the prophetic word to be released. He is longing to carry them on His wings and bring them unto Himself. Through prophetic prayer, God was going to encircle the two with Himself and bring them into a state of perfection, completion, divine fullness, and resurrection. His heart for California and San Francisco is to pour out His grace in abundance upon their wounds, revealing His favor and bestowing His redemption. This state, this city, was aptly named the Golden State and Golden City for a reason, it is the golden state in His eyes. I believe the California gold rush prophetically declares another gold rush to come—a weightier gold rush of His glory.

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[thedepthsoffandomminds]

The last of us - Broken together 8

You woke up feeling a warm body beside you. During the night Joel had fallen asleep and pressed his body to yours. Ellie was standing at the edge of the rocks holding his rifle. Joel jolted awake feeling your movements.

"you okay?" He asked, before realising where Ellie was.

"Still mumbling in your sleep," she stated. "I woke up early, you were both asleep, so I took second watch."

"you gotta wake me up if that happens. You can't do things like this." He grumbled as he stood up.

But I can, cause I just did." She smirked.

"I'm responsible for you, okay"

"then don't fall asleep." Ellie said flat. You couldn't stifle your laugh, which just annoyed him more. Ellie did a run down of her actions, proving she knew what she was doing. Conceding he had nothing to argue he took his gun back and nodded.

"next time you wake me up."

Ellie nodded.

"okay let's break down and get going." He turned to you. "You gunna be able to walk?"

"yeah, yeah." You didn't even convince yourself.

"we can help you." Ellie announced. You tried to help them pack up, struggling to roll your own sleeping bag. Joel stalked over to you and took it from your hands. He helped you to get your pack onto your back and got you to your feet. You took a few breaths before starting to walk. The pain caused you to limp slightly but you walked alongside them keeping up with their pace.

By midday you came up on a river, perhaps a second one or another part of the first one you'd crossed the day before.

Ellie was talking loads, most of it you'd drowned out but when she asked if this could have been the river of death you felt Joel's anxiety heat up.

Behind you, horses came over the hill and surrounded you. Joel grabbed Ellie's hand and tried to shield her. You had pulled your shotgun round pointing it at the men in front of you. Joel pushed it down then raised his hands.

"we're not looking for trouble we're just passing through." He called out to them.

"drop the guns." A man called back to you. "The women take five steps back."

"now let's just talk about this!" Joel argued.

"how about you shut the fuck up."

"okay, easy." Joel nods to you both, "it'll be okay" you each take five steps to either side of him. Your leg buckles slightly and you have to catch yourself. You hoped the men didn't notice.

"You been near infected?" The man asked.

"no infected around here." Joel said.

"the hell there ain't." The man whistled and a dog started barking, being let loose from a Leash. "Last chance for a bullet. Cause if you're infected he will smell and he will rip you up."

You glanced at Ellie as she took another step back. The dog ran forward to smell Joel, jumping up to him and sniffing his breath. A whistle called him back and the dog ran over to you. He sniffed you, nosed the wound at your side then licked at your hand. Satisfied both you and Joel we're safe he returned to his owner.

"now her." The dog moved slowly to Ellie, you held your breath, just waiting for Joel to do something. Ellie's giggles broke you both from your fears. She had dropped to the ground and the dog licked her face. Relief washed over you.

"you just bought yourself ten more seconds what are you doing out here?"

"just looking for my brother is all nothing more."

A woman rode in front of the others looking down at you all. "what's your name?" She barked.

"Joel."

She turned and lowered her bandana. "Get the spare horses." She ordered her men, "you can come back with us." Ellie rushed back to Joel's side, you moved slower. Joel watched you approach him. Silently asking if you were okay.

"Joel, I can't ride." You spoke low.

"ride with me." He nodded to you.

Two horses were brought round and Ellie climbed on to one at Joel's order as he helped you on to the other. Your wound screamed as you swung your leg over the animal. Joel got up behind you. His arms wrapped round to grab the reins.

"just lean into me." He whispered to you.

Though you tried to focus your eyes fell closed as you travelled with the pack to a fortified town. Joel's voice kept reassuring you that you'd be okay. You felt his breath change and he pulled the horse to stop. You missed his contact when he dismounted.

"Tommy!" He called out to a man on a building site. The younger man looked like he was seeing a ghost as he ran down to his brother.

You turned to Ellie seeing her face. It dawned on you that she would never know the embrace of a sibling. Your heart broke a little for her.

Joel jogged back to you.

"that's him." He beamed, helping both you and Ellie off the horses. Tommy led you to the eating house. You dropped into a chair allowing Joel to carry a plate of food over to you. Tommy sat beside you, Ellie opposite, Maria at the head of the table. Joel's eyes kept flicking to you as he began to eat. Knowing he would berate you later you took a few mouthfuls yourself. Ellie and Joel shoveled it into her mouth.

"there's more if you need it." Maria said.

"thank you ma'am. It's been a while since we had a proper meal." Joel said.

"I don't think I've ever had a proper meal. This is fucking amazing." Ellie announced.

"Ellie, let's mind our manners." He shifted his eyes between his brother, Maria and you. Never good with authority Joel grew frustrated with Maria and politely asked for time for just a family chat. You looked at him, wondering if you too should be leaving the table, or were you considered family in Joel's mind?

Tommy took hold of her hand.

"Maria is family, actually."

"oh shit, congrats." Ellie said cheerfully. "Joel say congrats."

"congrats." He said blankly.

"it's nice to have a little light in the dark." You interjected.

Tommy nodded.

"how about a tour?" He said.

You all followed him and Maria out into the street. Your legs were beginning to wobble as they showed you around the town. As if he sensed it, Joel slowed and pulled your arm around his. The gesture wasn't missed by Tommy, though he didn't say anything. You didn't really pay attention to the conversation until you saw the horses. Ellie had run over to the stables to stroke a foal. You smiled. Maria turned to her husband.

"well I'm sure they'd all like a shower, some new clothes. We can put them in the empty house across the street from us."

"yeah, it's a nice place, pretty much untouched since 03., But it's got the heat going it it. Could do worse."

"oh we have been." Ellie remarked.

"we've been doing fine." You rebuked her. An awkward moment passed between you all.

"well I can Take Ellie and y/n over if you two want to catch up?" Maria suggested.

"y/n's hurt, she needs a doctor." Joel felt you tense beside him. Maria nodded moving toward you. Joel gave your hand a squeeze as he unfolded your arms. Maria took his place and led you both to the house.

"stay here, I'll grab the clothes and get the doctor to come down." Maria said before leaving the house.