In the Fangs of the Court
Rook took in a greedy gulp of air when he woke. The web strings tangled around his legs and chest were tight – and strong, refusing to budge even a little against his struggles. And they were cold, too. In fact, the whole cave was freezing. Shit…that spirit, it must’ve taken me back to its lair. He struggled again, but to no avail. From the small amount of movement he had, Rook got a look at his prison. It was cold, cramped with a few mops and brooms scattered about on the floor just below him. The entrance was a splintered door leading into what looked like…a throne room, covered in patches of snow and ice but not completely frozen over like his prison-cave was. It was deathly quiet, every small gust of wind coming from the open roof of the chamber outside or his ragged breath seemed to be a hundred times louder. Two sets of foot-steps sounded, echoing about the frozen throne, one of them being much heavier than the other. Despite the panic making his heart flutter, Rook slowed his breath and breathed in only through his nose, quiet as he could. At a crooked, upside-down angle, Rook watched the two. The smaller footsteps looked as though they belonged to the same spirit that he’d met in the cabin that looked like a young, white-haired man. Despite his ghostly-pale skin tone, he appeared incredibly human for a spirit. It was possible that he had died recently and still retained his original form, but that was highly unlikely. The spirit towering over the other however looked its age. Its head was that of silver bird-skull, black horns curling upwards. The rest of the tall yet hunched over beast was covered in a black cloak that remained unnaturally still despite the draft.
“Have you spoken with all of them, my prince?” The Bird-woman asked, her sickly, tar-black hands curling and uncurling. Her voice sounded as gnarled and yellowed as her claws were. The young man folded his arms over his chest. “I’ve spoken to Ivan the Wicked of the Mez, Yoorun-Garnoth of the Shatterpeak Ghost Wolves and Ellia of the Scholars. They all say the same. It is inevitable.” The Bird-Woman took a moment to consider this. “All the leaders…but not the Hunters?”
The prince snorted in contempt. “They will go to war regardless of who urges or attempts to persuade them otherwise. They’ve always been independent of any goings on outside of their own clan.”
“I wouldn’t presume to elect to ignore the Hunters. A single Hunter is worth ten of any Mez, ghost wolves or Silver Skulls. They may not fall into line as any soldier, but appealing to them won’t hurt.”
Rook tensed, eyes narrowing. The Scholars? What do they have to do with any of this…? And these ‘Clans,’ they’re talking about, they must be the groups of spirits that inhabit the mountain, if the Scholars are included…Could it be that Ellie and our guide tricked us and knew about the dangers of the village?
“Fine. Fine. Who do we have so far that have openly pledged themselves to the March?” The Prince asked with a wave of his hand.
“The Cro’ a Silver Skulls are loyal to you and the Spiders of Mez have pledged alongside the Shatter peak Wolves,” the Bird-woman replied.
“And not the Scholars?” He said, slowly.
“…No. The Owls have always maintained a stable, friendly relationship with humans. If they were to openly join the March it would cause a great disconnect and thus, a grand part of their culture would die.”
The prince gritted his teeth at that. “We need as many of the Mountain spirits to March as we can, or it may be all in vain.”
The two eventually left the room, all the while never noticing the silent, but awake, Knight.
Fuck. I need to get out. Wolves, spiders, Hunters…Silver Skulls? And what is this March they’re talking about? I need a way out of this web, to find Elaine and find out more about what this…unification, is all about.
Rook looked around again, searching for something or anything that could get him out of the webbing holding him at an awkward angle. Summoning his shield would be useless and almost impossible in these bindings. Despite his gifts and strengths, Rook couldn’t help but feel his own heart begin to race. For the most part, the three Knights took pride in their ability to remain calm and collected under pressure. But at this moment, Rook was simply a tiny bird caught in a web he didn’t have the means to escape or understand. And his heart simply beat faster and faster…until the tiny pitter patter of feet sounded. What the…?
What Rook had thought may be his oncoming death, turned out to be a rather cute, fluffy spirit, his ears tall and pointed. It looked almost like a white, fluffy mouse, with the way it wriggled its nose and flicked its long tail about. “Uh. Hello, little one,” Rook greeted it. It gave him a tiny wave. “You’re a friend of Elaine’s tall man?” The spirit asked.
“Uh…yes?” Rook said. At that, the Little Spirit leapt up and onto the webbing, nibbling at it with an odd amount of ferocity for such a creature.
“Elaine sent you?” He asked. The spirit skipped down to hang by a thread by his face. “Elaine is my friend. She asked that I come in here and make friends with you,” It chipped.
Oh Elaine, you are a blessing.
“Yes, yes, let’s be best friends,” Rook said, feeling the bindings becoming looser and looser as the little spirit worked. It was the gift of the Knights’, their affinity with spirits. An ability to step over that boundary that always rested beneath the surface of the interactions between humans and their spirit counterparts. But Elaine had always been especially gifted. As the little spirit destroyed his bindings, it gave Rook a moment to reflect. That is, on the irony of their tied tongues. Even when he was a boy, Rook hadn’t truly felt the divide. In fact, one had been his first, and only friend for the longest time.
Rook’s first few years in the Church were spent alone. He had only six or seven, and spent most days playing in the overgrown gardens, hunting crickets and building forts of mud and rocks. For all the fun it had been, the loneliness had always been one step more powerful. Even after stuffing his face with the baskets of berries and honey-cakes left as offerings, there was still no one to play with. No one to ask questions, or to help him draw chalk scribbles across the obsidian Church floor and walls. Until a spirit stumbled into the Church one day, curiosity overriding any of the warning sigils carved into the trees and the outside walls. He’d appeared as a white fox, his icy fur glinting with every glance of light. And he had been just as curious as young Rook, but with the knowledge from his life as a human. Because that was just it. Every spirit, from the city, the mountains and countryside. All of them had once been human. And then in death, they walked again. Some changed in their form, usually into an animal or something akin to an animal. And the older they became, the more power and knowledge they gathered. But the fox that Rook befriended seemed just as young in death as Rook was in life. They would play about in the gardens, hunting crickets and butterflies as a team. And by night, the Fox would teach his young friend how to read and of the stars and their constellations, his own past passion as he was once an astrologer. And even as they grew older and Elaine and Grifftec moved in too and they were able to form human connections, the three all found they could always bond and understand spirits that much easier.
Which was why the possible betrayal of the Scholar’s stung that much more. They were always so peaceful, inter-weaving their culture with their human visitors. Polite, kind and always willing to share their customs, songs and sacred lands. But if such an ancient, wise culture was involved in this…March, then Rook had to find out what he could about it. The little spirit completed his work and let Rook tumble awkwardly to ice and snow below him. “Oof!”
The creature scampered up and sat on his chest. “Are you alright friend?” It asked. Rook rolled his neck and sat up on his elbows. “Yeah I’m – I’m fantastic. By the way, what’s your name little guy?” He gave it a small scratch on the ear. “Nami!” He chirped with a wave of his tail.
“Well, Nami, my name is Rook,” He offered a finger that Nami shook with his two paws. “Can you help me?”
“What with?” Nami asked. Rook sighed. “Well, a few things actually. I need to know what this March is all about and to get out, find Elaine and get back to the Church. We can’t exactly go back to the lodge with the Scholars there…we’ll have to go back on foot. Nami, does Elaine have her satchel with her?”
He took a moment to think and then nodded. Good, good. “Did she maybe have another satchel, a blue one with white strings?”
“Hmm, sorry friend, I don’t think so,” Nami said. Damn. Well, at least she has her own supplies with her. Not sure how long it’ll last the two of us, but hopefully long enough to make it to the farming steeps. And that’s if we can manage to make it past the clans.
Rook got up and sat into a crouch, shaking off the snow from his coat. From the hallways across the throne room, a skittering sound echoed, like that of some kind of creature with a hundred tiny claws gliding over the ice. At that, Nami flattened his large ears and shuffled behind Rook. With two gentle fingers Rook petted his head.
“It’s alright, little one. My job is to protect, and if you help guide me through this place I’ll do just that, okay?” He assured his friend. In his way of a promise, he went to summon Ocarys…but the shield did not answer his summons. Again, her urged the shield to form. But it did not.
An odd sense of coldness formed in the base of his stomach. Something Rook had never felt so strongly before. This was…unnatural. It felt as though a limb had been ripped from him, a key part of his own body being removed entirely. It filled him with the kind of panic that had attacked his chest before. A kind of panic that felt like a poison that made to cloud his mind and fog his eyes. So, Rook took in a deep breath.
“Nami…I can’t summon my soul-weapon. Is it a ward, or something about this place?” he asked in a breathless murmur. “That’d be Mr. Whispers man. He likes to steal any soul-bits from the humans and keep them, like ah, paintings,” Nami replied.
“Can you…take me to where he keeps them?” Rook asked, holding out his hand. Nami jumped into his palm, curling his tail around his fingers. “I’ll point the way friendo,” Nami promised.
And so he did. Keeping low to the ground. Rook kept to the snow and moved Nami into the hood of his coat. There in the fur-lined hood, Nami held the his dreads, cleaning the little clumps of snow from his hair as Rook crossed the throne room. Despite the sense of emptiness it gave him, it was undeniably beautiful. In an ancient, frozen way. It was as if the collapse of this once great court had been captured within winter’s death grip. The stone throne was broken, crowned with white light pouring down from the open roof. Dead weeds entangled themselves into the stone and snow on the raised platform on which the throne sat. From the open roof, the same weeds and a type of moss that resembled crystals hung, glittering and winking at every slight touch of the draft that flew through. Even the circular courtroom that Rook crossed, was engraved with the symbols of the people that had once reigned in this kingdom of ice and silent spirits. I wonder what kind of people lived here, once. Are the spirits that live here now the spirits of this lost kingdom…? Maybe that prince was truly a prince, once.
Nami showed him through the small hallway, directing him out an open window and onto the spiral ledge that wound up the body of the tower. It was here, Rook was able to get a partially good view of where in the mountainous regions they were. The Mountains Where Ghosts Play. Before they’d embarked on their mission, Rook had spent the night pouring over the maps of the region. Perhaps from a vantage point, he could gain an understanding over where it was they were. With Nami clinging firmly to his jacket, Rook pressed himself against the outside of the tower. Even being at eye-level with the forest, the haze of fog and the snowfall clouded any other landmarks that could identify exactly where they were. Torrus had taken them to the lagoon, a short flight south-west from the Schooling Lodge. And then, gone north-west to the abandoned village.
“Rookie, go up the tower. In the tippy-toppiest room there’s a pretty picture on the wall. That’s where your stab-me-not should be,” Nami tugged at one of his dreads.
“Thank you, Nami,” Rook replied, palms flat and gliding over the cold stone, boots shuffling as the incline became steeper and steeper. Even if he couldn’t see the surrounding land very well, the angle and height gave him an idea of the lay out of the shell of what seemed to be a palace. What he was climbing up along now was one of three spires bordering the circular palace. More than half of it was collapsed and broken, laying beneath a grave of snow and black roots. What was once probably the moat, was now an empty ravine filled with thorns and the few remains of a bridge. Despite himself, with his heart in his throat, Rook continued to climb around and up.
“Nami – tell me. First off, what exactly is this place?” Rook asked.
“Well…it was a palace for a very, very, very, very, old court. A very long time ago. Anyway, all that’s left now is the ruins, so a lot of old spirits moved in. Most of the time they just painted, sang sad, pretty songs and slept…but now they’re all really mad. Young-old spirits started coming here, and they called it the Court of Whispers. It’s right in the heart of the Spider-Witch Woods. I used to really like it here, Mister…do you think you could make it like it used to be?” Nami explained with a squeak of hope. It’s my job to maintain the harmonious relationship of humans and spirits…but it’s always really been between the peaceful spirits of Valyrdonn, the humans and Witches. The mountain spirits have always been a different breed, but I thought we could handle it…a simple task of putting a poor girls spirit at ease, and keeping two kids safe. Doesn’t matter. I’ll get my shield back, I’ll find Elaine and together we’ll put these spirits at ease and puzzle out whatever this March is.
“Nami, of course I will. Elaine and I will help you. We even have another friend who can help. Do you know what the March is – what that Prince was talking about?” Rook asked, letting out an audible sigh as he reached the window of the towers chamber, finding no-one inside. Nami leapt out of the hood of his coat and onto his shoulder as the Knight climbed inside. “Mr. Whispers is real mad, cause he thinks that a Witch stole a young mountain spirit. Now all the other clan leaders are mad too, so they’re gonna do something about it.”
Rook peered about the small, even modest chamber. A bookcase, a single bed and a nightstand. Nothing that caught his eye, save for the elaborate tapestry that hung on the wall. Instead of paying mind to Nami’s words, Rook’s hopeful eyes were fixed upon the tapestry that seemed to call to him. “It’s this one…isn’t it? Ocarys is in here somewhere, I can feel it,” he murmured, running his hands along the threads. “N-Nami, how do I find Ocarys?” Nami looked to the threads and back at Rook, an unsure look in his small eyes. “Um, I’m not sure Mister.” Rook gritted his teeth. With a cold anger swelling in his chest, he ripped the tapestry from the wall. Even there bundled up in his hands, Rook felt the pieces of souls writhing, rippling – all of them struggling to find some way to the surface, back to their body. In their own haunting way, they whispered to him in no human language. They were inaudible whispers that Rook could only understand as the pleas of the lonely, of those who had been separated from people long dead. With a deep breath, Rook pressed the tapestry against his face and mumbled something along the lines of a promise.
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