Imago Ch4: The River (Patreon)

<- previous


tik
tik
tik

Deirdre's eyelids flutter open. Dully, she notes that her ears twitch in time with the ticking of the clocks, a sound she’s finding harder and harder to pick out from the background.

It's just part of her world now.

A world that grows smaller each day.

She has the wall-less bedroom, but she hasn’t left the bed in… she can’t say how long. It's funny. She's surrounded by clocks, and yet time keeps slipping away. She’d laugh, if she had the strength.

Deirdre's hand closes over the emerald, shutting out the malevolent glow. It streams through anyway, turning her skin a sickly green. She shudders and pulls the covers up, concealing herself in the fabric.

Not that it does much to shut out the figure lying on the bed beside her.

Alastor O'Reilly lounges against a pile of pillows, as naked as she is, as quiet as he always is after his visits. He breathes in a steady, synchronous fashion.

She turns her back and stares into the darkness beyond. She could crawl to the edge of the mattress, collapse to the floor, drag her body into the endless void. Wherever that might lead, it surely it couldn't be worse than this.

Could it?

No. She isn't ready for that. And even so, he'd pull her back before she'd gone more than a few paces. Maybe when he leaves…?

But Deirdre hardly ever wakes when he's gone. It's so easy for her to fall asleep. Disappearing into a smaller darkness. Fading into the in between until he comes back.

"You have a lovely body, Deirdre.” He says, tracing his hand over her hips. “A shame you didn't embrace your nature before all this."

"Tiernan really missed out.”

Alastor chuckles. “Playing the bitter victim?”

She shifts enough to give him a long low glare, before pulling the sheets over her head. Alastor breathes out a plaintive sigh. “Oh come now, don’t be like that. I don't hate you, Deirdre. Circumstances have forced our hands, but I've never hated you."

She laughs, weakly. "Liar."

Alastor’s eyes flash, and he grabs her roughly by the upper arm, pulling her up at a painful angle. She lets out a cry of surprise, and her emerald flairs to life with a vicious flash.

"I am no liar!” He growls. “I hate your kind, not you. I could be cutting you open, couldn’t I? I could chain you with iron and take out your eyes, would you prefer that? Instead I indulge your inclinations, let you rest as you quietly slip into the dark. That’s a kindness, wouldn’t you say? That’s hospitality.”

His eyes seem to shiver with a bizarre desperation, as though the roles were reversed. After a moment, he releases her, and she falls back into the pillows. The springs of the mattress creak as he leans deeper against her.

“We are, each of us, slaves to our nature. Humanity to our destructive impulses. You fae to your deceit. I do not hate you, Deirdre. I fault you no more than I would a fox for raiding the henhouse." He says, playing idly with her fingers.

She lets him do it, pushing away the memories of how Tiernan used to do the same,. The mild revulsion of his touch washes over her, reminding her that for the moment, she is still alive.

Deirdre watches him from beneath half-closed eyes. His unsettledness, the agitation…it’s not quite gone. There’s something there, if she can just… pull it out.

“So why bother with kindness?” She asks, pulling her hand free of him. “Why not just indulge that destructive nature of yours?”

A longer pause. This time, Alastor answers her carefully.

"I know what you think of me, and I won’t deny it; I accept my own nature, just as many among you accept yours. If we kept to our places… only inflicted our cruelties upon our own kind, no animosity need be between us. In fact, we wouldn’t even know the other exists.”

Alastor turns to watch the circling mirrors, his blurry reflection gazing back at him.

"But that’s not the case, is it? Your kind is here, pillaging my world, and that is a kind of war. I didn’t start it, and neither did you. I don’t lay that guilt on you any more than I lay it on myself. You and I are just casualties.”

“Then why?” She asks, baffled. “Why do this? If we’re mutual casualties as you say, then surely the compassionate thing to do is let me go.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” He takes her hand again, squeezing hard enough to make her wince. “I need your help to bring this threat to an end.”

“What threat? Us fae?”

“The fae in MY world.” He growls. “The mixing between us. I am not seeking genocide, Deirdre. I just wish for your kind to leave! Return to your world. Leave us to ours.”

She starts laughing, hoarse, racking sounds that bring tears to her eyes. His expression hardens, but he holds his silence as she wipes at her cheeks.

"But you can’t, can you? You can't have a here and there without an in-between. My parents were of the wood. I was born in the city. Somewhere, at some point, one became the other. You can't pretend that one exists and the other doesn’t. Can’t pretend edges never change-"

Alastor lunges forward and grabs her by the throat, dragging her upright. "And you have the gall to name me a liar? You, glaistig? As if boundaries don’t exist, as if nothing could change back - ”

His hands tighten, cutting off her breath, and that part of her that wants, needs, to survive comes screaming back to life. She thrashes, clawing and kicking, struggling for air. Her gem sears, burning bright and illuminating Alastor’s malevolent smile.

He breaks his grip. She gasps, dropping back, racked with convulsive coughing and massaging her bruised throat.

“Why are…you like this?” Deirdre wheezes. Alastor leans forward, a glimmer in his eyes.

“Do you want to know? Does the fairy want a fairy-tale?”

She struggles to keep her focus, her head swimming. The room spins around her. She feels like she wants to throw up, or pass out.

But if she stays long enough to hear his story, understand him a bit better, maybe there’s… something. She tries to cling to it, even as the part of her screaming for her to stay awake, to stop sleeping away whatever time she has left, grows quieter with every

tik

She nods.

He smiles.

And begins a tale of his own.

+++

Once upon a time, there were two families who lived on opposite banks of a mighty river. Neither could stand the sight of the other. The family on the east bank said they’d settled the river first, which was true, and therefore it belonged to the east. But the family on the west bank said the king had made a gift of it to them, which was also true, and therefore the river belonged to the west.

If one ever caught sight of the other, they’d raise a hue and cry and chase them back where they belonged - but the river was wide, and the land was wider, and so this almost never happened. They kept to their own, and each was content with what they had.

But as time passed, the children of the east and the children of the west grew curious. They would sneak across the river to test their bravery, or play pranks, or spy on the other family. And soon, the youngest son of the east and the youngest daughter of the west discovered they loved each other. It was a secret they shared, for a time, until they could bear it no longer and demanded to be wed.

“He’s lying to you!” The west told their daughter.

“She’s bewitched you!” The east said to their son.

But the lovers would have none of it, and because each family loved their own, they agreed to the match. The youngest son and the youngest daughter were wed on a small island in the middle of the river, in view of each family’s home. They built a little cottage and lived happily, and in time they had a child of their own - a son, a grandson to both banks of the river.

It was thought fair that he would live, not on the river, but with each of his families in turn. ‘And then’, they each said among themselves, though they did not tell the boy’s parents, ‘he will surely love us best, and come to live with us, and forget those fools on the other bank.’

The boy grew strong and quick and clever, and to his relative’s dismay, he showed no favour to one side or the other. One week he could be found laughing and untangling nets with the east, and the next he would be singing and rowing a boat with the west.

At first they told themselves he would come to his senses, but as the years went by, the worry gnawed away at his aunts and uncles, grandparents and cousins, until each side spoke to him secretly and asked him to choose.

“Why,” he said to each in turn. “I wish to do no such thing. I have two families who love me dearly, and it seems foolish to give up one for the other.”

His relatives told him this was fine and sensible and went away more worried than ever. For they did love the boy, and as he was so clever it seemed strange that he could not see how wicked the other family was.

“They’ve tricked him somehow.” The east said.

“They’ve made a fool of him.” Said the west.

These worries gnawed away until one night, both families decided they would slip across the river, spy out the other family’s secret, and reveal it so the boy would know to love them best. The quickest way across the river was to row to the little island and creep past the cottage, and as the families were not fools they brought their nets and clubs and knives, in case they were discovered and forced to fight.

And so it was that that night, the eldest uncle from the east and the eldest aunt from the west surprised each other in the cottage’s vegetable garden.

“They’ve come to kill us in our beds!” Each cried, and at once the families rushed out of the bushes to set upon the other, each convinced that they had thwarted a murderous plot.

The boy and his mother and father awoke in the tumult, and tried desperately to put an end to the conflict. But when the night had grown old, and the silence grown long, and the river grown red, the boy found himself alone…

…and all who had once loved him were dead.

+++

Alastor’s voice has grown hoarse by the end. He laces his fingers together, squeezing his hands like he’s crushing between them.

"You were right to say that 'here' and 'there' must create an ‘in-between’, but I don’t need ‘there’ and you don’t need ‘here’, and without the ‘in-between’, there’s no reason for us to shed blood. Without the boy, the families would never have crossed the river. We can stop making monsters and start being stories. Doesn’t that sound better?”

She is quiet. The ache in her neck has passed, gone numb like the rest of her. Each of his words propel her into the soft embrace of the blankets.

"Just one more question, then." Deirdre whispers.

Her hand slips from the emerald, letting it spill pale green light across the bed.

"When are you going to kill me?"

Alastor's eyes glisten in the emerald's light. He reaches forward, pressing a finger against the jewel’s surface.

"I told you that this was feeding from you. That was no lie, but perhaps I should elaborate. The gem is a converter of energy, and your life is its fuel. The stronger the spirit burns, the faster it drains away. In service of that, I've been doing what I can to spark your emotions, pull out your fear and anger and anguish, force your spirit to rise so that it may be consumed more efficiently. “

He lets his hand fall, smiling down at her.

“So it would be most correct to say that I've been killing you from the start."

"Oh." Deirdre smiles faintly.

The world falls away, piece by piece. What's left is a perfect, terrible clarity, as sharp-edged as the shard of glass he'd drawn her blood with, as brilliant as Tiernan's eyes, as final as the door locking in her face.

"So that’s the story you’ve told for me, then."

The room pulls away from her. Minutes pass between each glance at this cold, enclosed world, the time lost in the incessant drone of the clocks. When she has the strength to see, she looks to Alastor O'Reilly. Her captor. Her killer. A madman trapped on an island all his own.

Her mind is too exhausted to see him as he is. His shape is blurry, a silhouette. Formless.

tik

Alastor slowly opens the boudoir.

tik

Alastor is fixing his belt, the last touch to his immaculate clothes.

tik

Alastor walks to the edge of the room with a long, purposeful stride.

tik

He puts his hand on a mirror. The glass begins to ripple.

"Sleep well, Deirdre.” He says, not turning around. The glass turns liquid, shining so brightly that she has to close her eyes. His voice ripples around her, changing and distorting, the words half snatched away by a sudden wind.

“It's almost time to cross the river."



"Geddout." Madeline huffs, menacing Astraea and Neith with a broom. She bars their way to the main floor of the Glade. Astraea still carries the briefcase. A few cats watch idly, lounging around the room.

"Yous ain't welcome. Only reason I tolerated ye so far is for the nymph girl’s sake, but - "

Neith pushes aside the bristles with a finger. "Not very hospitable to strike a guest, peppermint - "

"Yer no guest of mine." Madeline says, puffing up.

"I invited them…!" L calls from across the hall, half pulling on a dress, half fluttering down to the floor as Ian hurries down the scaffolding behind her. L attempts to land, but none of the cats make space, and she’s forced to hop and skip to keep from treading on their tails.

They clear an easy path for Ian.

"Mads, please let them in! Astraea said she learned something about a man who may be hunting me, it’s important -"

Madeline huffs, hefting the broom again. “Oh, and she’d know all about that, wouldn’t she?”

“You’re probably right.” L laughs nervously, reaching her. “Still…”

After what feels like an age, Madeline withdraws her broom and steps aside. "Arright. But don't let ‘er do nothin' dotty, ye hear? I’s a brownie. On my grounds, I'll be knowin it."

Madeline gives Astraea one last suspicious glower, then sniffs dismissively, turning on her heel and disappearing into the copperworks. Astraea watches her go, her expression distant.

"... I wish there was something I could do for her, too."

L looks down at the floor. She knows Astraea means it, but she also knows even just bringing the subject up to Madeline would end…poorly. She takes Astraea by the hand, pulling her attention back to the present. "I think it's too fresh. Maybe someday."

The little group settles in around the closest table. L pulls out a chair for herself, but immediately jolts upright. She hadn't seen the cat move, but one is now in her seat, staring up at her and kneading the cushion, its claws audibly digging into the fabric. She opts to stand instead.

"So what did you find?"

"That you've still got a few marbles rolling around in there, lolly." Neith grins. "That 'Bookkeeper' person you’ve been dreaming about? Is definitely real enough."

"We asked Cadogan.” Astraea explains.”I’m told he has the best…network, is that the term?”

"You went to Cadogan?!" L blinks. The last time Astraea had encountered Cadogan, L had to sweet talk him down from murdering her. “And you walked out alive?”

“He offered a trade.” Astraea deflates, self consciously collecting her hair. L leans forward, staring at her in concern.

“What did he want? Did he hurt you - “

Neith puts out an arm, pushing L back. “Allow it, lolly.”

L grits her teeth, then sits gingerly at the edge of her chair. She can feel the cat behind her give her back an offended flick of her tail.

"It doesn't matter," Astraea waves L’s concern away. "What does is that... the Bookkeeper… he…"

Astraea looks up, all set to continue, but instead slows to a stop. She goes to speak again, but after a moment her head lowers. Neith slides forward to finish the thought for her. "He disappeared the same night Lyra did. Not been seen for years."

Astraea withers, nodding. "I’m sorry, L. It’s another dead end."

“Maybe.” L frowns. “But where’s he gone? And why?”

“Could be dead.” Ian offers, tapping his arm in thought.

“Could want everyone thinking that.” Neith counters.

Astraea drops the briefcase heavily on the table and begins sorting through pictures. “There’s no way to know. This is all we have to go on.”

L leans forward to peer over them. The Bookkeeper’s impossible to miss. A tall, gruff man, built thick and sporting the long black jacket of the Market. He has neatly cropped facial hair, greying in even bands. She’s never met him before, but she knows him well. She’s seen him with his neck gouged open, gurgling and grabbing hold of her arm, nearly every night for the past month like clockwork.

Across from him is seated Lyra, gazing directly into the camera. It’s unclear if it was a coincidence, or if Lyra had spotted the photographer.

“Despite Lyra and the Bookkeeper working as partners,” Astraea says, flipping between the photos and documents, “There isn’t much else to go on. There’s no one who saw what happened the night of his disappearance.”

“I’m willing to bet there was.” L says, slowly. She lifts her wings, giving one a tap with her finger. There’s a moment of blinking unrealisation before it clicks. Astraea and Ian both begin objecting at once.

“You mean Lyra?”

“Mate, last time-”

L holds up her hands, forestalling them both. "I want to. I know what it's going to feel like. And maybe this time I can keep her from going into a blind panic.”

Ian crosses his arms, frowning. L gives him a sidelong smile. “Ian, we work in a bar that sells emotions. Tell me it isn’t worth a shot!”

“Wouldn’t she have already shared everything she could?” Astraea worries.

L shakes her head ‘no’. “I don’t think so. I think we should try to…bring her out more, go deeper - ”

“Deeper could be dangerous, L - ”

“Any more dangerous than you cutting deals with Cadogan? Or waiting in the dark? Or having Neith chase a trail almost as old as I am?"

“Found you, didn’t I?” Neith mutters under her breath.

Astraea frowns. “L… I don’t-”

Ian places a hand on Astraea’s shoulder. She looks up at him, and he smiles down at her.

"If L wants to do this, that’s her decision to make."

The others hold their peace for a long, long moment.

“When do we do it?" Astraea asks.

L looks around apprehensively, taking in the half-interested crowd of cats.

"Let’s try somewhere a little less cramped this time. Maybe we can get Hedrick’s permission to perform the spell out here.” L says, thoughtfully. “And maybe he can parlay with the King to have the cats clear the main floor, if only for a day. So maybe in a few days?”

"Suggest makin’ it a week, mate. By then you’ll be feelin' better."

L goes red faced, unable to meet anyone’s gaze. “G-good point, Ian.”

Astraea looks between them both, confused. "Are you sick?"

"No!" They say simultaneously, stepping away from one another. Astraea stares at them in confusion. Neith smirks.

And winks at L.

+++

"Nothing that might strain yer voice, got it?"

Hedrick hovers a step behind as L helps Madeline with the chairs. Given that the Glade wasn't open, getting Hedrick to agree to clear the space had been easy. L isn’t sure exactly what arrangement he’d offered the King, but she had a sneaking suspicion catmint was involved. Regardless, the various cats had retreated to the upper floor, watching her from the bannisters. Neith lounges among them.

"And this is important, right?" Hedrick follows on her heels as she carries a chair to the corner. "Not just fussing about because yer bored? Ya know you could be practising!"

"It's very important, Hedrick, I promise." She reassures him, the fifth time in as many minutes.

"Hmmmm..." Hedrick frowns. Madeline drops a chair with a bang so loud both L and Hedrick jump. "Oi. Oi! Watch it, Mads! Ye’ll scuff the finish!"

"Can’t ye see yer in the bleeding way?” Madeline says.

Hedrick’s eyes bulge and he marches over to Madeline. "In the way? In the WAY?!" He shoulders the chair away from her. "I’ll show YOU who’s in the way.”

“Gonna learn me, goblin?”

“Some brownies need learnin.”

“Goblin’s gonna teach a brownie how to brownie? What a laugh.”

“Gonna teach her how to care for my bloody assets.”

“Ye know how you can care for your bloody assets?” Madeline crosses in front of L. “By not browbeating her for every little thing.”

“M-mads…” L says, fluttering helplessly. But Madeline stands her ground, glaring daggers at Hedrick.

After a tense few moments, Hedrick backs down. “She thinks she runs the ruddy establishment..." he grumbles, stumping off.

Madeline goes to follow, but hangs back just long enough to wink at L. "I'll be sure to keep the lout occupied. Owe me another trip to Market once ye can, ye ken?"

"Soon as I can." L smiles gratefully, waving her off.

As Madeline withdraws, L takes in the space. They’ve cleared what she judges is a sizable enough area of the flooring. Satisfied, L trots over to the bar. "Anything else I can help with?"

"We're set here, mate." Ian holds up a bottle and Trystan adjusts the condensator. A stream of fluorescent indigo liquid bubbles and froths as it fills the glass. "Maybe check on Astraea? She’s tucked in the backroom."

L exchanges a quick nod with Ian, then hurries off.

+++

"Everything okay?" L knocks.

The door creaks open, and Astraea peeks out. "Oh L! Yeah, I..." She hesitates. "Actually, I may need you for something."

Astraea opens the door all the way and hurries L in, closing and locking it behind her. Her cheeks glow a faint rose-pink. “What’s up?” L asks.

"It’s the spell. If you want it to be deeper than before, we’ll need a…” Astraea rocks back and forth nervously. “...a touch of intimacy."

“A what?”

“W-well!” Astraea starts, looking up to the rafters. “If we’re going to be looking deeper into your past, we’ll need a strong connection to…you. It just has to be something personal that I can use to grow the spell. The more intimate the component, the stronger it will be.”

“Can you…give me an example?” L asks, not sure if she should be confused or suspicious.

Astraea fusses with her hair. “I can’t exactly tell you, silly. Only you know what you find personal. But if I had to guess…” she counts on her fingers, “you could sing a song, or share a memory, or confess a secret. If you wanted it to be extra potent, you could share a kiss!"

Her hair raises as she realises what she’s said. "B-b-b-b-b-but that last one is off the table of course. A-anyway, does that answer your question?”

“It does.” L nods, her own cheeks glowing pink. “And it can be anything…?”

“Anything personal.”

“Fine. My terrible secret is…” She pauses, letting Astraea lean forward to hear, “I’m part fae.”

“L.”

“I know, I know. Just…give me a moment.” She laughs, before thinking it over in earnest. Her antennae lift, then drop. When she speaks, her voice is distant. “... it’s a memory I’m not proud of.”

Astraea nods, stepping closer. L draws in a breath.

"I ran off, once. I was only six or seven. The leaves had just turned. My… secret was weighing on Mum and Dad, and they didn’t think I could tell, but I could. So I thought, I’ll go off on my own. Somewhere they wouldn’t have to worry.

“They found me outside the library, well after nightfall.I didn’t know they locked the doors at night. I tried to tell them my plan, but Mum was so angry. I think that was the first time she really got angry like that. It didn’t break until I could explain.”

L goes quiet.

“... Mum burst into tears. Scooped me up and brought me home, and told me never to do a thing like that again.”She shrugs, awkwardly. “Does that… work?"

When she looks up, she can see Astraea smiling at her. The dryad has something small and glowing cupped in her hands.

"Come here... you can feel it.” Astraea lifts the object tenderly towards her. It’s a tiny golden flower that smells like pages in a book and crisp fall leaves. L catches a shaky breath, drawing in the memory’s scent. It's almost like she’s back there, staring forlornly through the darkened library window. Something glows at the edges of Astraea’s eyes.

"This will work perfectly."

+++

L settles into the diagram across from Astraea. There are more crystals now, twice as many as before, interlocking in a brilliant star. She can feel how closely Ian's watching the proceedings.

"Don't worry." She reassures him. He responds with a queasy shrug.

Astraea raises her hands, gathering everyone’s attention. "Trystan, do you have the calming spirits?"

Trystan sets two bottles carefully inside the diagram. "The Satyr's Respite - that’s the purple - will help you to maintain your calm, and the White Stag's Requiem will numb any feelings you're having. It’ll leave you coherent, if a little emotionally flat.”

He meets L’s gaze with a long, meaningful look. “Good luck. I hope you find your answers.”

L takes the bottles, holding them close. Astraea kneels near to her and breaks the fruit open, plucking a single jewelled seed from the bunch and setting it before L.

"This is more potent than last time, so I offer you only one. Drink the Satyr's Respite, then take the seed. I’ll be here the entire time. We all will.”

One by one, Neith touches each of the catalysts. Ian watches, his face glowing in the light of the growing spell.L lifts the Satyr’s Respite, and takes a long slow drink of the indigo liquid. She sets it down, then takes the seed from Astraea's hand. It's almost too bright to look at. When she pops it in her mouth, it tastes richer than before. Still sweet, but bolder. More complex.

The dizziness hits immediately, followed by the sensations of her confessed memory. Fear for her parents. Her mother yelling at her. The scent of fall. The chill of night. The flight to some half-imagined sanctuary. One by one, she can feel them picking her apart, one strand at a time.

And slowly the world fades away.

Until nothing remains but darkness.

And in that darkness, something glimmers.

It's a nest...

No... a bed. Her bed from when she was a child.

L turns her head to regard it. The movement feels slow and liquid. She stands up, moving to the mattress. It creaks reassuringly, shifting under her as she sits down.

"L... can you hear me?"

It’s Astraea’s voice, sounding like it’s come from a long way off.

"Yes." L replies, her words echoing out into nowhere.

"Good. I'm going to wake up Lyra, but... you're still here, okay? You should be able to hear everything."

"Alright." L pushes her hand at the bed, watching the material warp and change, then settle back into its shape. "I'll say something if it goes wrong."

"Okay. You'll feel the pull, just like the catalyst. All you have to do is let it take you.."

"Alright." L repeats, rolling onto her side. It's hard to let go entirely. Something inside her wants to remain guarded. Just in case. But Astraea was quick enough to break it before. And Ian's out there too. If it gets out of hand, it won't last.

Slowly, she sinks into the bed.

Slowly, she opens her eyes.

The room is still. Even the mist seems to be settling. Her antennae taste the air, drinking in copper and cats, spirits and stale bodies. She breathes slowly, watching them all as they watch her. Her eyes water, but she won't blink first. She never does.

"Lyra?" The girl sitting in front of her asks. "Are you here?"

"Yes." She responds. Something flutters inside her. She takes another drink of the dark liquid.

“Do you… know where you are?”

"Yes."

“Good! That’s very good! And do you know why we’re here?”

"Yes." She feels herself stir again. Her wings part, flashing the red undersides. "You want to know where I've been."

She nods. Hesitates. "... and... do you know who... I am?"

"Yes." The word aches. She tilts her head, quickly looking to the stairwell so she doesn’t have to see the way Astraea’s face crumples. Dozens of eyes meet her own. She stares back.

"I went here." She says abruptly. "But not here."

"... do you remember anything of your time here?" Astraea whispers, forcing her voice to steady. Ian leans forward. Trystan watches from a distance, but can't help but keep close tabs on her every word. Even Neith is rapt.

She closes her eyes. Nods. And dives.

"I was alone."


continue reading ->


Patreon is having some issues this morning so we get some classic text base with no images :relieved emoji:. Whenever or if ever they solve the issues on their end, I'll update the post \o/

I'm not going to say it's GOOD to see Alastor again, but at least Deirdre is still (sort of...?) okay. TT^TT Poor thing.

Imago Ch5: The Bookkeeper is set to post Friday April 12th at 12p EST!
See ya'll then :3

-Rin