Chapter 9
Previously: Obsidian: Ash and Moonbeams – Chapter 8
Day 152; approx. 14 Jan 1900
It’s day he-fucking-doesn’t-care-anymore and of course it’s hot as… Caliban snorts. Hot as fucking Muspellheim. Not like there’s any place that’s more of a hot, stinking armpit of a world in Yggdrasil than this. Though, given where it is, geographically, maybe it’s more of a hot, stinking foot- armpit’s more expressive, though, he decides as he finds himself a good, heavy, fist-sized rock. And it’s not like he’s a bard, so not like he needs to care about the sophistication of his similes.
Also not like there’s anyone to share any of his observations with.
He hauls the rock through the heavy air, and it hits the spiny-armour thing with a satisfying crack. The animal stops its lumbering progress between the pitted boulders of the old lava field, settles down with a thud- dead or stunned.
Caliban strides over to it, puts his boot against the side of the shell, and kicks it onto its back. He makes sure it’s dead with a quick twist of its stumpy, retracted head, rips its soft belly open with his teeth, and settles in for breakfast.
It tastes like ass. Everything here tastes like ass. Okay, strictly, it tastes like sulphur and bitter metal- happens when that’s what everything eats, breathes, lives in. He lifts his head and bares his bloodstained teeth at the sky. “Fuck you, Heimdall!”
The sky is streaked with black and grey smears of clouds and ash- or clouds of ash- as it always is. Layers and layers of it, higher ones lit orange by distant volcanic eruptions. He’s been here some 150 days or so (long, slow Muspellheim days), and he’s only seen the sun a handful of times, as a pale, glowing disk floating in a grey haze, small and far away- what counts as clear weather in this place.
You’d think at that, day or night wouldn’t make a big difference here- volcanoes don’t care. But oh, no- away from any seismic activity and the heat from the core of the planet, nights are freeze-your-balls-off cold. Abysmally, miserably cold. So cold there’s caps of dirty snow on any mountain peaks that haven’t recently blown up. Freeze or fry and not much in between, that’s Muspellheim.
And he has no idea how to get off this rock. Not like he can get himself onto the leylines by himself- he’d need a lot more than those miserable few drops of winter fae blood he has.
As he’s staring at the slow boil of the filthy clouds, something breaks through them. Something small, and it doesn’t look like a rock, or like it’s on fire. Also, he hasn’t heard any major eruptions nearby. And also, it’s alone.
That’s weird, and he has nothing better to do, so he keeps his eyes on it as he jogs in the direction it’s coming down in.
It’s close, too, rapidly falling closer. And as it does, it looks like it’s… fluttering? Yes, he’d almost say that looks like fabric. Bits of white and is that… pink?
Then it vanishes- he’d swear he’d kept his eyes on it, but the ground is rough and he’s reached what qualifies as a forest here- thorny, grey-scaled twisting plants with no leaves. Because, what would they need leaves for, with no sun? He’s not sure what they live off of, but it certainly isn’t sunlight and water.
He doesn’t hear an impact, but he does hear a crackling and scuffling as he makes his way between the trees, and stops as he catches sight of what’s got to be the thing.
It’s a little girl.
It’s a fucking little girl.
Red hair, pink dress, about the size of a good roast, and she’s climbing to her feet, freeing her hair and dress from the thorns they snagged on instead of being a splat on the ground. Then she lifts her head, screams at the sky, and… starts marching.
With all the grace of a bull.
And since that’s by far the most interesting thing that’s happened in the last 150 or so days, Caliban follows her. Quietly.
~
This blasted…!, no, this needs one of John’s words, this motherfucking!, okay, now she’s blushing, but still: This motherfucking fae! Trying to trick her! How stupid does he think she is?!
It was right there, right in front of her. He wanted to steal her love. As if she’d let him! Her love belongs to Quincy, her own fae! Her so-much-better fae, and she needs to get back to him! And to John! To her men!
Where even is she? And why is walking this hard? Also, ouch. Okay, in all fairness, falling from the heavens kind of was a real kick. She wasn’t sure she’d survive that, her dhampir urges are still tingling all over, but still, she’s glad she turned bat. Even with that, it felt like her wings didn’t do much.
She thinks her leg is still broken. The rest must have healed over mostly, which, great, she’s hungry! And it stinks here! How is she supposed to smell her way back home like this? It’s all ashen and volcanic, maybe she’s on Iceland… or maybe Stromboli like in one of her favourite books. One of Papa’s books. He’ll be so worried for her.
Right, she has to get home! She’ll skin Llew alive when she gets her hands on him. This is all his fault!
Her nose twitches.
Wait, there is something alive here, somewhere close, she’s so hungry…
Right, the leg fixed itself. Yes, hungry. She can feel her fangs and the lack of care, yes, very hungry. Where is it?
Where is it?!
The hunger gets worse, there is probably stuff on her inside still knitting itself together… She better eat now.
Lifting her head into the air doesn’t help much. She needs a better nose so she turns wolf, sniffs more, then jumps as the soft pads on her now naked feet feel the vibration she overlooked before.
Underground!
Oh no, you don’t!
Hammering her paws into the hard earth, she tries to dig it up, but the thing has different plans, bursts free of the earth, claws and open maw aimed at Darcy.
She snorts.
Slow. She’s dodged bullets.
It still leaves a bloody trail on her flank, but she just whirls, bites down and hits skin as hard as rock. Blast!
The world around her starts being red-tinged as her healing sees to the new wound. She’s so close to the edge and she needs her wits about herself. She doesn’t know what that thing is. It kind of looks like an animal.
She likes animals, but it doesn’t react to her. Her night friends react to her, so this is… food! No mercy!
Changing back to her human form for just a moment before turning mist, she hovers around the thing as it frantically searches for her.
Then she’s underneath, imitates the “claws and fangs first” approach. It’s softer underneath! And her claws find a ridge, yes, she can get in!
Her claws sink in, her fingers follow before she strains, throws the thing over onto its back, jumps on top of it and tries to hold it down with her weight. The plate won’t come off!
Neck! Always go for the neck!
Ripping her hands out of its belly, she darts for the neck. It’s also armoured there, but with smaller plates. She finds the ridge again, and this one comes off, with a disgusting crunch and a fountain of, yes!, blood! Instincts end up taking over after all, her fangs find the artery and she clamps down.
Her magic activates and the thing stops struggling even while she drinks and drinks and drinks. She’s still hungry, but now it’s manageable.
When she pulls back, there’s a green flicker following her.
What is going on?
She killed it, she thinks she killed it. Leaning in again, she listens. No heartbeat. It’s not moving, not breathing, either, but the green flicker has vanished, and she feels better. Must be the blood.
Alright. Onwards, she still has to find a way back, and she doesn’t know if there are more of these things.
~
Oh, well, Caliban thinks, finds himself grinning. Well, well!
The little girl has fangs- and claws. Shapeshifting, too.
He’d just about felt the tell-tale tremor when the undergrounder already jumped her- except she made a meal of it, not the other way around. The size of her, and of that wolf shape, makes him think Midgardian- and he thinks he remembers some vague mention of an indigenous blood-drinking species. Something about some rogue Alfr king keeping them as pets? Anyway… he gets back to stalking her, this time minds wind direction, too.
This is fun!
~
For how long has she been walking?! There’s no end to this blasted ash! Or to the things that are trying to eat her.
But… the walking got easier. Maybe it’s not the blood she gets from each of the things. Why is she still hungry? Why are none of them filling her up? And worse, why is there always that weird green flicker?
With the bigger ones, it’s gotten so bad that she tried dodging it, but it’s always there when she kills something. And they die quick, should things die that quickly? She hasn’t ever drunk somebody to death… Quincy wouldn’t like that thought, so she shoves it to the side.
She’s just trying to get home. She’s trying to get back to him, she has to get back to him, he needs her, he calls her his queen! And they started a blood bond! They’re married, John married them, and he makes her so happy, so she doesn’t care where Marcas put her and if she has to kill lots more.
She wants Quincy and John back. And Arthur and her papa! And Daddy, too! She ignores the tears running down her cheeks, marches onwards.
Eventually, there must be something, somebody. The sky is still covered, she can’t see any stars, she can’t navigate by them, she doesn’t know where she is, but she will get home!
~
She certainly is stubborn, Caliban has to give her that. Half a long Muspellheim day later, she’s still going. And killing- pretty efficiently. Lavaworms eat rocks, not flesh, as far as he’s been able to tell, but they don’t like little fleshy things wandering around their rocks. And seeing as they eat rocks, they’re strong and tough and have really sharp teeth. Raspy concentric circles of them.
But the little girl dispatches them without much trouble- and makes a green glow rise and flicker and flow into her for a moment as she does.
He’s no mage, of course, but green makes him think Helheim energy. The source of which they’re as close to as you get in Yggdrasil without stepping foot on Helheim itself.
So it seems whatever Midgardian magic she has, it’s doing interesting interacting things. He itches to test it out- see how tough she really is. Find out what her claws and fangs feel like, if they make as short work of demi-Aesir skin as they do of Muspellheim wildlife. To see how she’d react to an attack by something that’s not a simple animal.
Also, she’s liable to taste a whole lot better than the locals, and it’s lunchtime. But if he breaks her, it’s back to the dull boredom of the last 150-or-so days. No, she’s too interesting to waste on a single spot of fun.
Of course, if she keeps going the direction she’s heading in, she’s going to walk right into the treacherous lava fields. And he doubts she can survive a molten rock bath.
Also, if he wants to get back to his campsite before nightfall, he’s got to turn around right about now. And despite her determined marching, he’s pretty sure by this point that she has no idea where she’s going.
So he vaults on top of the boulder he’s used for cover, crouches on it with his hands loosely draped between his knees- ready to move if she jumps him, but not aggressive himself.
“I wouldn’t keep going that way if I were you,” he calls to her.
~
Finally! She knew she’d eventually find somebody! She doesn’t even care that she’s really not fond of people, she immediately turns in the direction of the voice and… blushes.
Great, dhampir brain!
But what can she say? It’s not every day that you come face to face with the definition of a pinup model… She wonders if he smells as nice as he looks.
Slapping both her cheeks with her hands, she tries to get her mind to the much more important thing but runs towards him, lifts the hem of her by now ruined dress, more out of habit than anything else.
Unless of course that’s her dhampir brain at work again. She’s so weirdly hungry still, and she knows that she gets flirty when she’s hungry, so now she wonders if she’s flashing ankle… Darcy Ruby Seward! Focus! For night’s sake!
“I am so glad to see you! Please, where am I?”
~
And once more, she’s being interesting– looks like a little girl, marches through Muspellheim and kills things like no tomorrow, and then runs towards the stranger, which kind of fits with the second, but in a decidedly non-predatory way- blushing and lifting her skirts like domesticated courtiers the worlds over, rather.
“Muspellheim,” he tells her, and watches to see what she makes of that.
~
She tilts her head at the word, right, what he had shouted over sounded… Well, she got what he meant, but it sounded a bit off. Accented, maybe? But not accented like Radu…
Brain, really? Focus!
She got what he said, or at least she thinks he answered her question, but the answer doesn’t mean anything to her.
“I’m sorry, I don’t believe I know where that is. Could you maybe tell me the country?”
~
That makes him laugh- meaning his little investment here has already paid off, because there’s been not much to laugh at here before. And she’s definitely Midgardian- he recognizes the sounds of her language, probably would even understand it without the Allspeak that’s about all his fae blood is good for. It doesn’t seem like English has changed beyond recognition since the last time he visited- which probably was a while ago for these short-lived little Midgardians. “Muspellheim is this world, little girl. And it’s not one given to having sophisticated things like countries- there’s rather not enough people or resources around to bother.”
She blinks at him once, twice, and then she turns and screams at the sky. (Fierce- he understands that urge.)
“Marcas! You… you… bastard! Shove that contract where I should have put my foot!” With a growl that shows fangs, she turns back to him, crosses her arms and pouts at him. “Okay, no countries, there still has to be somebody living here. I need to get back home. Please, could you point me to… um, the nearest kingdom, or fae court, or something of the sort. I’ll do whatever silly quests they give me for passage.”
That has him laugh again. “Quests and kingdoms? You think if it was that easy to get off of this rock, I’d still be here?”
“I didn’t know you don’t live here. Sorry.” Turning slightly, shoulders hunching, she scoffs. “Talking’s not what I do best. But… it sounds like you also need to leave, so.” Unfolding her arms, she reaches out a hand. “Work together?”
He jumps off of the boulder to land in front of her, straightens up and looks down at her. She really is small, barely comes up to his chest. Clearly fearless, though. So he takes her hand, which all but vanishes in his. “Keep being fun, and sure. Otherwise I might get bored and eat you.” He tightens his grip on her hand enough that she’ll have to struggle to break free, and bares his teeth at her in a grin- his real teeth, not the polite illusion of blunt Aesir edges.
~
What kind of teeth are those? Darcy thinks through her books on animals and ooh, ooh, dogfish! Which kind of fits for him. She likes dogs, she so hopes her puppies aren’t missing her too much yet. But she just found help, not human help, so it will be fine! He’s clearly not fae, that’s also good. Yes, he’ll be nice! He smells good and he has dogfish teeth, she likes him!
So she chirps with delight, shows her fangs, and extends her claws right in his hand. “Same to you!”
~
Feeling her claws, he can’t resist squeezing her hand a little tighter to drive them into his skin- they don’t quite break through but the prickle feels nice- before he lets go, chuckles. “You are one gutsy little… vampire, was it?”
~
“Dhampir! What are you? I like your teeth!”
She freezes.
Did she really just say that out loud?
Her brain is clearly insisting on being single tracked in the gutter… At least she’s too hungry to feel really embarrassed, so she sighs.
“Sorry. My inhibitions are bad when I’m hungry.”
~
He chuckles- and can’t remember anyone ever complimenting his teeth and then apologizing for it.
“Inhibitions are for boring and weak people. If you’re hungry, how come you didn’t eat those lava worms back there?” He waves a vague hand the way they came.
“Not human hungry, I mean… Although, I didn’t think those things were edible. And I shouldn’t be hungry. Everything here tries to eat me, so I got plenty of blood. Maybe I was hurt worse than I thought? Maybe I’m constantly healing and that’s why I’m still hungry?” After a moment of pouting and declaring none of this makes sense, she shrugs. “Anyway, where to next? My men and Papa… oh dear, and Arthur, too, are likely really worried about me, so I want to get back as soon as possible. It’s not so important if I’m hungry or hurt, I need to get back!”
“Better stretch your definition of ‘edible’ here,” he recommends. “And your expectations on how fast we’ll get off this rock. The only way off is the way we came: the ley lines. Not a lot of winter fae around here to make deals with, and I’m no mage. No idea whether the local jotunn have any mages with the skills or the interest in it, but it’s our best bet. Except I haven’t found any yet. And maybe Muspellheim blood isn’t compatible with your magic?
Oh, right, as for what I am: half-Aesir, half-thing-that-eats-Aesir.”
She pouted only harder at his words up until the last sentence. That one makes her look at him with big eyes, then grin brightly.
“That’s why I immediately thought you aren’t scary! You’re like me!” Bouncing lightly, she climbs up on the rock he was on and looks around. “Okay, if I can figure out why my bat wings didn’t seem to want to work earlier, I can get us up and that should help with finding somebody!”
“You have an interesting definition of what’s scary,” he observes, amused. “Bat wings earlier?” After following her since she landed, he’s not sure what she means.
“Yeah, when I came down from up there. Ley line, you said, right?” Pointing up, she declares she’ll just show him and jumps, turns into what he assumes is a bat, a small, winged animal he vaguely remembers from Midgard. She flaps hard, but doesn’t manage to stay in the air. After turning back to her Midgardian form, she gets up from her knees. “Walking’s hard; flying seems to be even harder. That’s just mean!”
That must’ve been why he’d lost sight of her on the last bit, he realizes. She must’ve turned into this small form and been lost between the trees to his sight. Her pout makes him smile.
“It’s the gravity. Muspellheim is a good bit larger than your Midgard,” he tells her.
“Oh! Maybe that’s why I’m still hungry; my body is trying to keep up with the higher gravity! Well, that’s silly. Fine, better keep up with snacking, the gravity isn’t going to change any time soon.”
Then she seems to realise something and begins to squeal.
“I’m on another planet! That is so amazing! Tell me everything! Um, while we keep going, I mean.”
He snorts, heading them back the way they came. “I’m not a planetologist, either, I only know very basic things. But yes, you’re on another planet- I take it Midgard still hasn’t developed that kind of technology?”
~
“Well, I read Papa’s story books about it, and he even got me a telescope, but that’s sadly science fiction only. Although, I’m a Draculesti, so I should eventually be able to turn into a dragon, and once I’m dead, I won’t have to worry about breathing, so maybe if I jump really hard and keep going, I could get there!”
Trying to keep up with his much longer strides, she pouts because it’s hard, but she refuses to slow him down.
“And it’s okay if you don’t know everything… It definitely beats just stomping through this ash silently, missing my men and being angry at that blasted Marcas and, worse, Llew!”
“No air to fly in, either, in space,” he points out. “And it’d probably take you a couple centuries or millennia to get anywhere interesting that way. Got fucked over by some fae, I take it?”
Chuckling, she shrugs. “Hey, it was a first draft, and if that ley line thing is a fae thing, I’ll just ask my husband to take me.”
She stops in her tracks. “Of course! I just need to let Quincy know somehow where I am and he’ll come over to pick me up once he’s figured this ley line thing out. You can come, too! And then he’ll obliterate those other fae, because really, Llew can go…” She blushes and grumbles, but mumbles through it: “…to hell. And Marcas trying to trick me with a contract, stealing my love. Quincy will be so irate.”
That makes him raise an eyebrow- as if anything of what she said was anything but the truth!
“You’re married to a winter fae? On Midgard? Also, last I checked, your part of Midgard’s conception of hell is pretty much this.” He waves an expansive arm at the roiling sky, the stifling air, the rubble-laden slopes of the volcanoes rising to their left. “Though with a lot more torture- more’s the pity.”
Lifting her chin as high as it will go, she knows she sounds completely smitten and terribly proud. And she likes it that way!
“Not a winter fae, the only fae-dhampir there is, the best fae of them all!”
Following his gesture and taking a look at their surroundings, not that she’s seeing anything new, she ends up giggling because torture, please, not her Quincy’s concern with how competitive he can get with John to make her happy. “He’d be more shocked about how dirty he’d get here, torture he can do.”
~
With the giggling and the blushing and what half a day ago was a pretty dress, Caliban would swear she was nothing but a soft, wealthy little girl, like soft, wealthy little girls the worlds over… but then she goes and tears lava worms to bits. She bounces up to a stranger four times her size with all the naiveté of a puppy, but when he tells her he’ll eat her, she returns the favour. It’s an intriguing mismatch. Like someone raised one of Odin’s wolves as a lapdog, and now he’ll get to see how it does in the wilderness. “If he’s part-fae, he’ll still need that part to be winter fae or no inborn leyline travelling,” he points out.