stretching the creaking writing muscles, posting bits of the original fic stuff (that slush pile of ideas and AUs for canons I don’t want to officially play with, so I blend them into a more ‘generic fantasy’ world,

master-tagged: that dumb rose story

).

Tried to make it more or less understandable as a standalone, but is a bit of a sequel to this bit with the werewolf boy. Story within a story, hopefully funny towards the end. It’s long, so breaking it into parts.

…

“Boy, get up here!”

The stretch of road ran through semi-arable land, too dry for crops and only a few scattered trees, but the barrier-markers were well-tended and thick with green moss, so towns could not be far off if the cleansings were applied so frequently. There were the sounds of bleating goats in the distance, even if the animals or their shepherds were not visible, and at least one bird hidden in the grass or perched in one of the distant trees was making a valiant effort to fill the quiet with song. Aside from their party, the road was deserted. The sense of calm isolation fit their mood. Gael was asleep in the cart, covered in a blanket that covered all but the top of their head and one pale arm curled around in the pose used for sculptures for displays of extreme grief. With the bandages around their fingers and the lingering scent of the poultices that Great Lady Manon had applied to their wounds, it was a disconcerting image, but Gael’s sleep seemed untroubled, and with their injuries they needed the uninterrupted rest for healing. Rohese knew her feelings of guilt were excessive, and Gael would be the first to reprimand her for them, but of their group, one needed more reassurance.

Amabel called Gislin to climb up onto the gently rocking cart, patting at the cleared spot she made for him on the chest in the back of the vehicle. “Come talk with me, boy. Rest your feet.” The young man dropped his eyes, mumbling some unintelligible words about how unnecessary it was for him to break from walking, even if the rest of their party was riding astride a horse or on the cart. He pulled at the corners of his mouth in what was intended to be one of his customary blindingly wide smiles, but the effort failed. Amabel tapped again the seat next to her, calling as one did a cat. “Get up here, Gislin.” The tapping gesture definitely transformed into a pounding noise. “I shan’t shout to you, and I’ve not the leg strength to walk this awful road. Why ever did I think it a good idea to come this far into the Rim? Aie, the words I would yell at my younger self – I thought I left such stupid decisions behind me two hundred years ago. Now stop skulking and join me. I have a story to tell you.”

Gislin hesitated. “Gael is the one to like stories. Perhaps you can wait until they wake and tell them.”

“No,” Amabel snapped. “This is for you.”

At the front of the cart, Urwin snorted and pulled at the large straw hat that he had taken to hide his facial scars, flicking the reins. The irascible cart horse ignored Urwin, making no effort to increase its pace.

Gislin sighed and jogged up to the cart. With a lurch he pulled himself up to sit next to Amabel, accidentally stepping on the hem of her long gown and skinning his elbow against the wood. As he hissed and inspected the red welt across his arm, Amabel swatted him. “That will heal quick if you let it. Especially if you transform.”

“I don’t want to,” Gislin muttered, leaning away from the woman.

“It’s not a taint-gift, not as you humans understand it. Not like Urwin’s houndfeet or all the gifts of your friend Tadeo. Not the bear-strength or cat-quick wits. Not even the greensleeve summoning.” Amabel spoke with the firm confidence of a village grandmother, one who would never be cowed or convinced of their error, the type of old woman that was the terror of all her living relatives and feared by those dead for the inevitable day when she would reunite with them. Gislin could easily imagine a mass of wrinkles across her face and her chestnut hair turned gray. It helped that Amabel’s accent was faintly old-fashioned, her vowels periodically different enough to confuse what word she meant to say. “I saw the color of your fur and tasted the scent of star maidens when you transformed, and that means the Mirror Realm, boy, and not just the byproduct of tainted land magic. Not with that cinnabar shade. Stop your shame; you have no call for it. Godswolf on one side you must be, and from what you’ve shared of your history, likely it was your mother. That’s common enough, though people be surprised, how often one of the Wolves go looking for a lover or companions out in the Rim. Part of their nature, it is. One of the reasons the gods’ voices stopped sending as many envoys to this mortal side, to halt the influx back. Oh, the priests say otherwise, and there’s been some horrible complications and unintended consequences.” Here was where Urwin made a dreadfully prolonged choking noise, and Amabel turned around to glare at the ex-priest. “I’m talking to the boy. Listen in if you must, but stay quiet,” she snapped.

Urwin whispered the phrase ‘Pure Ones’, which scared Gislin, but then Amabel grabbed the young man’s hand and pulled his attention back to her.

“Let me tell you of the first family I worked for, before I joined my apostate lady and got banished.”

Rohese interrupted with a shout, “But you are no longer banished, correct? Lady Amabel?”

The older woman turned around in her seat to holler to the riders leading the cart. “I’ve made my amends, fret not. I’ll take you all the way to the Sun Throne and the Door of the Rat Queen myself with clean credentials if we need you, as long as you don’t lose that Key.”

“But we won’t need to go that far,” Gislin said nervously. “Not even all the way to the shore, if we can find the right help.”

“Yes,” Amabel said. “And if that Key is what I think it is, a GodsWolf has already been dispatched to fetch it. So likely soon you’ll meet one of the real ones, and know what a runt you are.”

Gislin’s four-legged form, when he allowed the mercury-bright feeling under his skin to come forth and his bones to twist, was only a foot or so shorter than an elephant, so this statement was not reassuring.

“You worked for a family?”

“As well, much like an apprentice and a housemaid for a princess. Training to be a proper travelling companion for a star maiden, the highest of the Thrice-born. Oh, they have nobles just like you have on this side of the Mirror Sea. Not exactly the same, and some choose to stay on this side, just ocean-side, you see…ah? You know my true nature, Gislin?”

“Mermaid, you showed us back in the river. Though you didn’t have any fish scales on your tail, not at all like the images in the books. And I still don’t understand how you can also be one of the winged messengers.”

“Because we are. Not all. But when we cross the barrier, it is wings on one side and flukes the other. Most that prefer flying stay in the Mirror Realm, and those that like swimming stay in the ocean around the barrier to guard it. It’s part of the reason we call that the Mirror Realm, for all that becomes inverted when you cross without using the Doors of the Rat Queen. Rarely do my people like both forms, so we choose one or the other. I cannot stand not having fingers, even temporarily, so I’m glad my family was one that stayed on this side of the barrier, even if the air stinks of corruption, and it’s more dangerous a home to make. But when I was your age, my family sent me to study. It was a very prestigious opportunity for me.” Amabel smiled, and the hint of condescension that she showed to even Great Lady Manon in the corners of her grins and upturned eyes was beginning to display its roots.

“So, boy, this lord of the family I ventured forth to serve, under great effort from my family to afford my introduction and passage, was one of those fair powerful enough that you’d call him a king. He ruled over many of the islands closest to the barrier circle, on the side compass-aligned to this shore. It’s near impossible for your ships to reach these islands in the Navel of the World, unless they have greensleeve pilots, so I have no reservations telling you of their secrets. There are multiple kingdoms out in the ocean, especially since the Thrice-born felt it best to leave this world and people to their own devices and rarely venture outside of the Mirror Realm. Foul business that has caused- though listen to the old stories and see how the alternative was not much an improvement. Fewer dust armies, for one. But my king- a great man. More worthy of respect than the human emperor you lot have. And if you count the seas around his islands, as we do, and not just the islands, he ruled more than many of your Great Lords, if not the number of people. And his terrority had long been rivals with a smaller group of islands further north. Disputes over trade routes – don’t be surprised! People are people everywhere, even in the Land of the Dead. So, King Isore, he was like you, Gislin. Half. Father was human, some fisherman or shoreman, and his mother of the highest nobles of my people, one with more than a little Godswolf in her heritage. We will intermarry, though they’re such a pack of pricks I don’t see the appeal. You’re sweet though.” Amabel patted Gislin atop his head. “She took her son back, after he had grown, and he inherited the islands and the surrounding oceans. You’d never know he wasn’t full, unless he crossed the barrier and didn’t transform. Could only will forth the tail flukes, but he got some of those forest-taint powers so he was frightfully strong. That scared the warlord neighbor – now there was a bastard that delighted in sinking your human ships. A treaty had been brokered back before Isopa scampered off to betrothe their daughter to her eldest son, and was kept even after Isopa was forced to return to take over duties from her father when he died and the one warlord of the Seal Rocks was deposed by one of his warriors. Nivel didn’t want to lose that opportunity, so he kept old Rosser’s daughters as wards.” Amabel paused. “You look confused.”

Gislin shrugged his shoulders. “You are using these names; I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“And yet you can name the six families that hold electorate privileges to chose your Emperor, if that is not confusing enough,” Amabel said with an eyeroll.

“And two votes held by the priesthood,” Gislin chimed.

“Of which my family had been one,” Urwin almost said, but held his tongue, pretending that he was not closely listening along to this conversation.

Amabel sighed and shoved out her gown with spayed fingers. Looking down at her lap, she began to draw a map with the gestures of her fingers across the taunt blue wool. “In the mists of the ocean near the Navel of the World are the island chains of my people, atop mountains that rise from the ocean floor. Greatest of these is Iro. A string of islands clustered like grapes. The wind is constant above the water, and the trees that grow are small and with wood soft and white. Nothing like your home. Coral of every color grows in the shallows, and the weather is always warm. The sand is multicolored against the black of the stone, glittering like jewels. No kingdom of the sea is more beautiful than Iro. The palace is on the largest island.” Amabel ran her thumb in a tight spiral shape and tapped back and forth, as if she was drawing the shapes of mazes and towers in a bed of sand.

“Now, Isopa was the king’s only daughter, and she had a son with a human who found her washed on the mortal shores after a great battle in which she defeated a sea serpent that was terrorizing his village. He nursed her back to health, she gave him a son to raise; that son was Isore. A very romantic story, the tale was popular in ballads in the shore regions when I first came ashore. Gael might still know of them.” A sly look Amabel gave to Gislin, analyzing his face for any shifts in expression. “Familiar this sounds to you?”

“A bit,” Gislin mumbled. He had never learned the story of how his father, a fisher of shrimp on the flat beaches of his birth town, a peasant with a horse, net, and a single room hut, had attracted a wife that could turn into a wolf.

“But Isopa’s father grew ill, and she had to return to Iro to rule, though she wished not. Her people and king demanded that she marry and produce an heir. They would not accept her bastard child. Isore was left behind, and he grew believing his mother had undesired him.” Amabel balled her hands into fists, the nails of her uncovered thumbs thickening into the yellow claws. Gislin wrinkled his nose at the sharp transformation of her scent. “She had to marry a foul man named Courmene and bore a second son, Res.”

“It troubles me to hear the behavior of forced marriages is in practice even among the messengers of the gods,” Manon said gravely.

Amabel shrugged. Her hands had returned to their soft skin, her scent human-like once more. “It is not common, not as it is for you human nobles. Now,” Amabel jabbed a finger into her lap, “to the northwest is the Seal Rock Islands. Barren islands for the most part. Rosser was ruler when Isopa was crowned, and he had two infant daughters, a pair of twins. Gartrite and Hirie, but everyone called them Gara and Hira. Or Garabel and Hirabel. Garabel was the elder, and the one promised in treaty to marry the heir of Iro to broker a peace treaty. The Seal Rocks is no better than a pirate den, and back when my ladies were only a few years old, Nivel usurped rule of those islands. Because the conflict limited itself to short internal strife, and how it is common for the Seal Rocks to replace their warlord in duels every few years, none of the other islands got involved, and Garabel remained betrothed to Isopa’s son.”

“Which would have been Res, not Isore?” Gislin asked to clarify.

“The wording stated that it be Isopa’s heir, and she always maintained that was her eldest son. Which pleased not her husband, and they fought often. Isopa had not been popular, not in Iro. Famed for her physical beauty, admired for her one action of physical strength. But not listened to, not thought of as clever or considerate or dedicated or strong. Finally the worst happened – though I confess to you that I learned the family secret and it was not Isopa who killed Courmene, though most would believe it of her. Not the final blow. This was when Res would have been but twelve. She took her son and fled to her human lover and first son. There was civil strife throughout Iro. Another family attempted to consolidate control in the islands and only succeeded in ruling half of them. The Seal Rock Islands under Nivel were tempted to invade, but Garabel was still a hostage in the royal palace. Ah, you see, Isopa barely escaped with her one son; she could not have taken the girl with her and succeed in escaping the islands, plus Garabel was surrounded by household troops with her from her homeland. The squabbling leaders of Iro could not dare allow harm to come to their most important bargaining chip. I was not born yet, but my parents remember these events. Nivel did not wish the marriage to go through, and that is part of another secret I shall impart, but the promise of alliance was popular in the Seal Rocks. And Rosser was remembered fondly, so his legacy still protected his daughters.

“I am from the Blue Island.” Here Amabel pointed to the outside of her left thigh. “It is just within territory claimed by Iro, but escaped any of the fighting. Nothing but seaweed farmers. Inconsequential. Other places were not so fortunate. The civil unrest grew so terrible that it attracted the attention of the lords in the Mirror Realm, who were most displeased. Isopa and her sons were recalled, only another…ah, partisan force found them first, ugly business occurred, and there was …a small war. Very small. Only one hurricane hit your shores.” The smile that Amabel gave was as false as those Gislin had offered today, but for a highly different reason. “Garabel had been the one to find her wayward betrothed as he searched the seas with his brother in revenge, and she helped to get him on the throne. Many ballads about that journey, also romantic, a little more violent. The Navel of the World was not safe for human ships to sail upon, more so than the norm, for those few years until Isore and Garabel were enthroned on the Pillar of Iro. And much of the credit must go to Queen Gara. She would approve of Rohese. They are kindred spirits.”

“What of Res?”

“Prince Res idolized his older brother, and the two were very protective of each other. What resentment they might have felt for the other’s existence was played up for outsiders. That in fact is part of my story. But by the time I came to court in Iro, King Isore’s rule was well-established, and a cornerstone of that rule was the army led by his younger brother. Even in the Blue Island we knew of fierce Res, as vicious as the sea wolves. And the Good King Isore who mended peace with the Mirror Realm and had friendship with the fleets of the greensleeves, so that we could have safety above and below the waves, and Queen Garabel, who could handle the magic that is so thick at the waters close to the barrier. There the way that magic pools and twists means that your priestly chants and cleansing rituals would never hold. It is not tainted with void-malice as it is the further you travel from the Navel, but the mists…” Amabel trailed off, sucking in a deep breath through her open mouth. Her eyes unfocused as she stared into something that was not on their horizon. “I do not miss it, Gislin,” she said softly. “As dry as these lands are, and as much woe and pain as humans have caused me, as wretched as it can be, I love them more than the sea. Unsteady ankles and all.”

The cart hit a rut in the road and jolted, knocking Amabel out of her glum spate. With revived false cheer she slapped her lap and turned brightly to Gislin. “And your pigswill roads! Enough! Back to my story!

“Promising children were often sent as students, as you send your children to the priesthood. Like your adopted father, Tenny. I was one such, and partly because of a shipwreck bounty, I was sent with a token of apprenticeship, brand-new belongings, cobbled-together lessons on etiquette, and high hopes. A whale pod escorted me to Iro, but it was a little passed the middle of the night by the time we reached the shoreline of the main island. It was just as beautiful in the moonlight as the dawn. Palace guardsmen recognize who I am and bide me follow them to the palace to meet with King Isore. Formality is different when solely among my kin, and Isore was raised a peasant. Truly you are alike, Gislin. If you were a little lighter, older, and not skinny as a great crane. Still, some propriety should be observed, and…” Amabel trailed off in her story, “ah, remembering this. Listen, I was mortified when while it was occurring, but it is quite funny to look back on.”

“One of these stories,” Gislin said with a drawl.

“Yes, Boy. It’s one of these stories.”