Two
That cloak, by the time Fleur made it across the river and to the docks, threatened to be another obstacle. Shivering, her jump-suit slick against her skin Fleur stumbled out onto the muddy banks between simple wooden docks.
Shit, shit…Hex…oh, Hex. They weren’t there for any jewels, gold or silver…but Hex, why? Fuck. I have to get to – to Braymon before I freeze to death.
The opposing banks of the river Tet were something Fleur walked on the occasion, but only with good reason. This particularly good reason happened to go by the name of Victor Braymon, her last living uncle as it happened. Fleur’s late father and Braymon hadn’t gotten on as well as brothers should’ve, this was true yet The Braymon had found a soft place in his heart for his gifted niece. Fleur as a young, naïve girl had asked her uncle plainly why his last name was Braymon and not La’Ramose. With the same, gentle blue eyes yet with a sharper point when he squinted, her uncle looked down on her and told her the simple truth that he was an actor. An actor whose name would change from day to day or from year to year, the same as the way his hair would turn from waves of silver to locks of gold but never the blades of bone or bullets of blood he could form at will. His own body, his very flesh was a weapon whether he’d wanted it to be or not.
He has to know something about this red thread. I felt it on the skin of my feet, felt it throw me across the room and watched it stab Hex right through his heart. It wasn’t the same as a Braymons’ thread of flesh, they don’t produce it that way and can’t even make enough to match whatever the fuck took over my chambers.
It was only two years ago that Victor had decided upon leading a relatively quiet life in a cabin by the river's edge, usually overly grumpy at any guests whether they be family or non-existent friends. With the nights’ howl whipping against her bare, river-soaked skin, Fleur bashed on the rickety door that barely served its purpose. Both mud and slime from the river stained her feet right up to her knees, threatening to stain her alabaster skin.
“Uncle?” Fleur called weakly. There was a moment of silence. Then, a lamp flickered on and from within, golden light poured from beneath the door and the echo and creak of footsteps followed.
“Fleur, child, is that you?” A familiar rasp called out.
“Yes, Braymon. P-please, I need your help,” She stood shaking, pleading at his doorstep as he opened the door to her.
“Oh, my dear,” He murmured, taking her into his arms.
Victor closed the door and took her straight to the fireside, rushing off to find a fur blanket. It was almost funny, seeing such a weathered man show such motherly concern, but such was his nature. He was tall and with a salt and pepper beard, the same her father had had. Despite the year of nothing, her uncle had remained as sturdy and lean as he had been for what Fleur could remember. He had tied his hair back and wore the same loose white shirts that most Braymons’ wore, with a faded sunflower tattoo on his neck. It was a marking or a branding depending on how much the Braymon cared for others knowing, most covered it up, but Victor didn’t seem to care. They worked the same way the White lilies did. Fleur had seen the flowers so many times, she almost felt sick of them. Each necromancer, for when they brought back a corpse, a white lily grew from the point of death. If they died from a heart attack, a flower would grow from the part of their chest just over their heart, just as if they were stabbed in the neck, a flower would bloom from the gaping hole when Fleur or another necromancer brought them back. Drying by the fire with a fur blanket around her shoulders, Victor stood, looking into the flames.
“What happened, child?” He said plainly, arms folded across his chest.
“We were attacked. Users of a different sort of thread, never seen them before. They…killed and took Hex. There wasn’t anything I could do but run,” Fleur explained, each word scraping across her tongue like sandpaper. Victor paused for a moment.
“Did you see where they went?” He asked, heading over to the closet by the kitchen table.
“No…there was a woman and a man, the woman killed Hex and used the thread to get out of there pretty fast. I tried to go after them but the man knocked me away so I just got out of there. Thought you might’ve heard something about a new group?” Fleur wondered, going over to the table. From the closet, Victor brought out a duffel back and unzipped it on the table.
“I’ve heard a thing or too but, haven’t needed to tap into any of my old connections for a while now. Thought it might’ve just been a Braymon with a big head leading a new pack of Vultures but obviously it's something new, another thread. Stands to reason, Braymons only turned up publicly seventy-odd years ago. The threads and necromancy are only what, two hundred years old? Makes sense that something new could turn up eventually," Victor shrugged, taking out a set of clothes from the duffel bag.
“Here, go get dressed in the room over there before you freeze to death,” He said, handing her the clothes with a nod. Fleur took the clothes and closed the door behind her, scraping her blonde curls back up into a high yet loose bun, a few curls falling onto her temples.
“What happened to those sixty guards protecting the estate day and night?” Victor sneered through the door. Fleur peeled off her jump-suit and slipped on the black under-shirt.
“The strangers came in from the balcony, they didn’t trip any of the sensors for the Golden Thread or Black Thorn so…fuck, I don’t know. I didn’t exactly have a lot of time, even now I’m going against the clock,” Fleur said, putting on a pair of light brown pants. A pair of thick black socks and grey boots came next followed by a maroon-red coat that reached the back of her knees. They were a tad loose but were most definitely better than the soaked, thin nothings she had before. Fleur left his bedroom and went back into the kitchen, adjusting her coat as she walked.
“The only ones who are gonna have any information on this are the originators, the Witch Queen and Atarius. Go to them, find out what they know and receive the threads,” Her uncle advised, fixing up two old looking walkie-talkies.
“I’m sorry, threads? Have you forgotten the fact only one person can wield one thread, it's kind of basic knowledge Vic," Fleur hissed, evidently perplexed.
“Precisely because it’s basic. And our family is anything but. Your uncle is a Braymon, your father was a Heavenly Artisan and you yourself are a necromancer, one of the most powerful in fact. You have a strange bloodline, but something that grants you the envious ability to wield both,” He explained, handing her a walkie-talkie.
“Powerful bloodlines doesn’t equal the ability to wield both threads,” Fleur replied, pocketing the walkie-talkie.
"Well, your sister could do it," Vic shrugged as if it was a simple thing he'd just let fall from his tongue, picking up one last thing from the duffel bag. Fleur…was not entirely sure what to say. Instead of attempting to string a single word together, she remained silent. The Braymon held in his calloused hands what by first glance would seem to be a masquerade mask, but knowing who it had belonged to and realising who's clothes this had belonged to, Fleur knew entirely what it was. She held it in hands that shook ever so slightly, examining it as it glinted in the ruddy lamplight. It was a mix of copper and gold, much of the body being copper to be outlined by gold. On the brows of the mask glass scales lined with thin copper spanned up and above where the forehead would be. On the inside at both points and both brows were a small series of clockwork devices sat, ready to move the multiple glass spectacles sitting with the scales, standing out with their multiple stained glass colours.
“Why’re you giving this to me?” Fleur asked quietly, locking eyes with the empty sockets of the mask.
“Because what the fuck else is it gonna do but sit here and collect dust? If you’re gonna save him and bring these red fucks to justice, then grow up even just a bit and take the mask. They know what you look like, they know who you are. So become someone else,” Vic said, holding nothing back.
To hold both threads. To manipulate both would let me take them on…but even then, I’m gonna need a hand.
“We’ll take my skiff out and I’ll drop you where you need to go then I’ll head back to the estate and get back to you on what’s happened,” He said, shrugging on a grey coat.
“Just get me back across the river and down a few, I’ve got a friend I need to ask a favour of,” Fleur said lowly, putting on the mask.
~
If it hadn’t been for the situation at hand, Fleur would’ve felt bad for waking her old friend at such an hour. The house itself was significantly smaller than her own, but to many on the opposite banks of the Tet, would only be something to marvel and envy at. It was a simple, wooden, three-story house so it proved to be simple enough to scale, using the trestle at the side facing the river.
He’s the only bedroom on the third floor if memory serves…Here's hoping he gets his arse into gear so we can get moving. There's every reason that they know Lucius as well if they knew every detail about my house…and Hex.
Scaling the house in the darkness of the night didn’t prove to be a problem, thanks to one of the glass optical settings, a green light reflecting against it so she could see into night, Fleur reached the top of the trestle and gently pushed open the unlocked, lone window. Hands on the wooden frame she swung into the room, expecting a floor to land on. Instead, Fleur landed on a sleeping friend.
“Agh!" He called out, push her off and onto the floor in his flailing.
“Lucius!” Fleur hissed, trying to calm him as she lay sprawled out on the floor. Pillow in hand as some sort of weapon, he flicked on the lamp on the bedside table.
“Oh. Uh, hey Fleur,” Lucius said almost casually with a small wave. Even in the strangest of moments and dimmest of lighting, it was always good to see an old friend. Despite the bed hair, his red-hair still looked sleek, almost brushing the nape of his neck with two small braids tied together with two silver bands. Despite the little light, his hazel eyes sharp face and slightly forever slightly parted lips remained, even from his teenage years. But Fleur wasn’t here for the handsomeness of his eyes, no, she was here for something far more valuable.
“Get up, get dressed and get the keys to your that old hunk of metal you call a Cadillac. I need your help. Hex was kidnapped and I’ve got say…ten days to get him back before the black rot sets in.” She got to her feet and from the knapsack at her back, tossed a folded-up piece of machinery onto the bed.
“What’s this?” Lucius picked it up cautiously, examining it in the faint light. Fleur switched on the light on the roof, revealing the device for what it was once he gave a small motion with his wrist. It unfolded, revealing a clockwork bow of metal and black string.
“Oh, very nice,” Lucius muttered, examining the brand-new toy.
"C'mon, get dressed, get the keys. Quick question, though – two actually?" Fleur asked, backing out the door.
“Uh, yeah?”
“Does Emma still dye her hair and um, does your mum still make those um, cloud puff sweets?” She asked, hesitant despite her hunger. Lucius took in a deep breath and with new found energy after his heart-attack style awakening he folded the bow and jumped out of bed to lead her down the hallway. In his sisters’ room, he pointed to the small bathroom.
“My family’s away at the moment so I guess I don’t have to worry about – well, worrying them. I’ll get dressed,” He said with a nod.
Thank you, friend. Fleur almost hugged him, but her hesitation caught hold and yanked her back.
I – I have to get the dye. She’s fifteen by now, she’ll have plenty of make-up. I hope…
Haphazardly Fleur flew through the glass cabinet and found the dye and then the bag of make-up.
Ok…Ok…keep calm. Remember what you were taught, sweet one.
If Fleur La’Ramose had been given a choice of how to learn to apply make-up, to speak the polite tongue of the lords and ladies of the river and to dress how they did, she might’ve thrown it all away. Maybe. But right now, those skills just might save her life. With hands that refused to shake, Fleur pulled out the brushes and the palettes. She filled the sink with hot water and put it in the stopper, using the water to soak her hair and poured four tea-spoons of the dye into the water. Fleur watched the dye and water mix, almost transfixed.
If only mother could see me now, ruining that perfect, golden hair.
With powder and dye, Fleur La’Ramose became someone she’d never give a single glance at. Perfect.
~
It was only in the car that Fleur explained all of what had transpired and where they were to go.
“Truly? The Heavenly Artisans?” Lucius exclaimed, adjusting beneath his red, leather coat.
“I don’t exactly have a choice. I can’t take those red weavers on by myself, even with your help. I’ll need both threads,” Fleur stated, staring straight onto the road before them. It was a simple dirt road that led out and around the houses bordering the low-land riverbanks, then up and out into rugged vast fields filled with nothing but grass and a few scatterings of trees that grew thicker until it became the forest that the Heavenly Artisans called home. It was only by dawn that they reached the forest, the car jolting over every rock and crevice, keeping both wide awake. Over the few hours, they munched on cloud candies, little cloud-shaped pieces of pink and blue fairy-floss.
"I don't think we ever ate anything else but these," Fleur said through a mouthful of a cloud.
“Nothing better than a chubby childhood,” Lucius chuckled.
“Didn’t matter how tubby your belly got, you had a sharp eye. I was – well, I was always jealous,” Fleur admitted, head rested against the seat.
“Of my tubby belly? Oh, how flattering,” He laughed at his own joke, as he often tended to. Fleur simply smiled and closed her eyes, attempting to sleep despite the rattling car.
When sleep proved stubborn and the dreams refused to come, Fleur would let herself drift in a shallow pool of her memories, or dreams of the future. Sometimes, the lines between the two would blur and would coalesce into a fever that would drag her into a nightmare. The same kind that threatened to grip her now. She had drifted into a memory only a few months old, one of Hex. It was the night of a storm, were both lightning and rain raged against the closed white shutters and balcony outside. Hex had moved all his paintings, brushes and tins inside and had stood there, staring at the canvases.
“What’s wrong?” Fleur asked, biting the golden silk sleeve of her night-gown. She stood beside him, head rested against the shoulder of his wool jumper. The painting was of his sister, ashen haired with the same hazel eyes as him. She’d been away for while now, so he’d wanted to paint her portrait as a reminder for himself and a gift for her.
“It’s too pale. The colours, all of it, they’re too…grey and sour,” He muttered, a hand wrapped around his own throat. He was so used to painting beautiful things, things of vibrant colour that almost seemed to dance off the canvas itself, this grey and sour thing would’ve been an insult to himself and to her. Despite the pale colours, it was still beautiful in Fleur’s eyes. And that’s why she felt that desperate tug at her heart when the paint began to melt from the canvas and onto the floor. Then the canvas itself began to melt, the floor, easel…everything melted into paint. Hex looked to her, reaching out. Fleur grabbed his hand, but it was no use. He was no better than the rest, melting into black, hazel and ash.
“Hex…” Fleur didn’t allow herself to weep. At least, not in her dreams. She awoke when a car hit a pothole. Lucius gave her a quick glance but didn't say anything as Fleur wiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks.
ns 172.70.131.199da2