Camp NaNo

BluesClues

BluesClues · Jul 23, 2017

Day 23: Book Man rewrites (1752 words)

Spoiler

Liza saw Rowan sitting somewhere ahead on the banks of the stream. It cut through the forest, quick and loud and colored with fragments of stained glass leaves shed by the glass trees. She’d been following it since she fell from the Smiths’ front porch, because it seemed like the thing to do. She didn’t much want to run into Rowan right now—she didn’t want to run into anyone, she hardly knew what she was feeling, everything was a jumble of cascading fear and despair and anger—but it was easier to keep following the stream than to turn aside. She tried to swallow the tide of emotion as she neared the ringmaster, but she couldn’t.

“That was a monumental disaster,” she spat. “Anyone else you want to introduce me to?”

Rowan looked up at her in confusion, and that’s when she realized it wasn’t Rowan. It was a woman who looked incredibly like Rowan—nearly a clone—but she had a birth mark on her lip and a monocle in her right eye, and her clothes, otherwise identical to Rowan’s, were royal blue instead of violet.

Liza stopped several yards away from her.

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” she said, confused. “I thought you were—”

The woman gave a smile that looked like Rowan’s but was much quieter. “An easy mistake to make. We are identical twins.”

Liza must have looked as confused as she felt, because the woman added, “Rowan? I presume that’s who you thought I was.”

She returned her gaze to the river. She had a fishing pole in her hands and a young boy at her side. He had flaxen hair and looked not unlike the little girl in the Smiths’ house. Embarrassed and not sure what else to say—was there no end to surprise relatives? She hadn’t even known Rowan had had a sister—Liza sat beside her and nodded at the boy.

“His name isn’t Tommy, is it?”

The boy rested his chin on his knees. The woman looked at him and patted his shoulder. “It is, in fact. D’you know his folks?”

“I don’t know anyone.”

“Shame.” The woman pulled in her fishing line and rebaited the hook. She cast it back into the water, and then held a hand out to Liza. “No time like the present. The name’s Finn.”

“Liza.”

The boy sniffed. Finn and Liza looked at him, but he wiped his nose on his sleeve and looked out over the glittering water. Liza waited, expecting Finn to say something, but Rowan’s twin sat in comfortable silence as though unaware of how miserable her two companions were. Finally Liza couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

“Ask what, my dear?”

“Ask—” Liza fished for words. “Ask—if you were Rowan, and I came upon you thinking you were you, and I said what I said, she’d want to know what was wrong and why and who and how.”

Finn chuckled to herself. “I’m not Rowan. Oh! Look out, chums, it’s a big’un!”

The fishing line had gone taut. She wrestled with it for a moment—Tommy, at her side, raised his head, looking mildly interested—the line spun out as the fish, a big one it must’ve been, thrashed and tried to swim off down the stream.

“Grab’er, my boy!” Finn cried. Tommy’s pale, grubby hands joined her immaculate brown ones on the pole. Together they reeled the fish in. It flashed in the sunlight, something like a rainbow trout with a lot more rainbow. Its scales glittered and glowed like jewels, sapphire, coral, mauve, emerald, with a pearly sheen so white it left imprints on Liza’s lids when she closed her eyes.

“Well done, Tommy, well done,” Finn said as the fish wriggled feebly on the store. “That’ll make a fine dinner for us, won’t it?”

She lifted a wicker basket out of the stream from beside her feet and slipped the fish inside. The basket was half full already, with gasping, wriggling fish, smaller than the latest one but no less colorful.

“Now, my boy, after dinner you’ll have to go back, you know.”

The mild excitement drained from the boy’s eyes. He nodded and put his chin back on his knees.

“They’re looking for him,” Liza said. She meant to say who “they” were, but the words “my in-laws” stuck in her throat. “The Smiths,” maybe, but to her that was her and Duncan. She still couldn’t take it in.

Finn seemed to know who she meant. “I’m sure they are. He’s already run off twice since last night, he’s told me. Never fear. I’ll make sure he gets back to them safe and sound. Sometimes a body just needs to get away.”

Liza could’ve put her chin on her own knees at that. She knew.

“Have you ever done?” Finn asked, indicating the fishing rod. Liza shook her head. “Like to learn?”

Liza took the rod and held the line still as Finn baited the hook. The fishing pole was like none she’d ever seen, with a glass rod and a line that seemed to be made from strong, thin strands of glass all woven together. Liza couldn’t imagine how it didn’t break apart in Finn’s hands, but she’d seen far more unbelievable things already.

“There, now, just cast it out into the water and wait for a bite! Might have to move up the bank a bit. I’ve been here all morning.”

But Liza had a bite within a few minutes.

“Pee-hoo!” Finn leapt to her feet, delighted, as Liza grappled with the fish. “Another big’un! My, my. Steady now, easy does it—”

An obsidian fish finally flew from the water and flipped about on the turquoise grass. In the background, Finn was saying something about grabbing it around the gills and removing the hook, but Liza barely heard her. The fish was like none she’d ever seen—as long as her forearm, black as a starless night, glimmering in the sun. Somehow it was even more beautiful than the trout with its rainbow scales.

Tommy had scrambled to his feet and came over to examine her prize. He was taller than she’d expected, beanpole skinny—not unlike Christian, she thought, if Christian were blond and a ten-year-old boy.

“’S’a pearler,” the boy said softly. He tugged at a fingernail with his teeth.

Liza was sure she’d misheard. “A what?”

“A pearler. That’un’s a pearler.”

She still didn’t understand, but Finn came to her rescue. “Black pearlfish, my dear. Tommy’s parents are pearl-fishers, among other things. It works quite differently back in Scotland, I gather, but here they catch pearlfish and harvest the pearls to sell to jewelers or at market.”

“Like this,” Tommy said. He crouched down, stuck his first two fingers in the fish’s gasping mouth, rooted around for a moment, and then pulled out a gleaming freshwater pearl. He wiped it carefully on his shirt and handed it to Liza. “Here y’go.”

It was smoky grey and pear-shaped.

“Oh, no,” Liza said. “You keep it.”

The boy pinkened slightly, shrugged, and stuck the pearl in the pocket of his trousers. Then he returned to his place and his prior position on the bank. The turquoise grass had flattened into the shape of his backside. Finn shook her head.

“What’s wrong with him?” Liza asked softly.

Finn picked up the pearlfish and removed the hook from its lip. “His folks never made it back from the park.”

Like Duncan. Liza went shivery and cold. “Are you sure?”

“The last he saw of them, his father had gathered the little ones and told him to bring them on through. Then he ran off to find the mother, and no one’s seen hide or hair of either one since.”

No wonder the poor children were staying with Duncan’s family. Liza gazed at the blond head, all she could see of Tommy with his face turned toward the stream. She wished she could tell him it would be all right: she knew what it meant to be the oldest, to have to care for a sibling when your parents couldn’t, the crushing weight of premature responsibility. Eventually you grew up and hoped your sister would appreciate it one day.

She’d hardly thought of Melanie since the first day Duncan hadn’t come home. Had her sister realized she was missing? Had she tried to call, in a tizzy about her daughter’s wedding plans? Would she even miss Liza if she did?

The pearlfish was safely in the basket with the others, back underwater. Finn resumed her seat and held the fishing pole out to Liza, who barely felt it in her numb fingers.

Finn glanced at her. “Someone you know?”

Liza didn’t have to ask what she meant.

“My husband,” she said, and in the same way she had with Rowan, she started telling Finn everything. Well, not quite everything. Not all the loneliness or the things that didn’t seem to matter here because they were too far away—her sister, her parents. But she told Finn all about Duncan, his disappearance, how close she’d been to finding him only to have hope of reunion snatched away, replaced with the fear that he may well be dead now.

“And now,” she said at last. She hadn’t started crying this time, at least, but her voice was hoarse. “Now—there’s a family. Sisters, brothers, cousins. Nieces and nephews. Not to mention the parents, and Isadora is—”

“Not kindly,” Finn said.

Understatement, Liza thought. “And I just—I didn’t even know—he’s lied to me, Finn, we’ve been married more than thirty years and he’s been lying to me the whole time. I don’t even know how I’d feel if I saw him now.”

That was it, she thought, that was the problem, the thing that had taken her out of the Smith-Pratts’ house, out of the fair folks’ camp, wandering dazedly along the stream. Because she didn’t know how to feel. Because Duncan was her husband, her partner, and because he was missing, injured, possibly dead, but he was also a liar.

“I don’t know.” She sighed and sat like Tommy, with her chin on her knees. “Maybe I don’t want to find him.”

Finn slipped the fishing pole out of Liza’s fingers; it had been dangling, useless, from her fingertips and was in danger of falling into the stream. “You’re only looking for him out of habit, is that it?”

[b]Day 23:[/b] Book Man rewrites (1752 words)

[spoiler]Liza saw Rowan sitting somewhere ahead on the banks of the stream. It cut through the forest, quick and loud and colored with fragments of stained glass leaves shed by the glass trees. She’d been following it since she fell from the Smiths’ front porch, because it seemed like the thing to do. She didn’t much want to run into Rowan right now—she didn’t want to run into anyone, she hardly knew what she was feeling, everything was a jumble of cascading fear and despair and anger—but it was easier to keep following the stream than to turn aside. She tried to swallow the tide of emotion as she neared the ringmaster, but she couldn’t.

“That was a monumental disaster,” she spat. “Anyone else you want to introduce me to?”

Rowan looked up at her in confusion, and that’s when she realized it wasn’t Rowan. It was a woman who looked incredibly like Rowan—nearly a clone—but she had a birth mark on her lip and a monocle in her right eye, and her clothes, otherwise identical to Rowan’s, were royal blue instead of violet.

Liza stopped several yards away from her.

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” she said, confused. “I thought you were—”

The woman gave a smile that looked like Rowan’s but was much quieter. “An easy mistake to make. We are identical twins.”

Liza must have looked as confused as she felt, because the woman added, “Rowan? I presume that’s who you thought I was.”

She returned her gaze to the river. She had a fishing pole in her hands and a young boy at her side. He had flaxen hair and looked not unlike the little girl in the Smiths’ house. Embarrassed and not sure what else to say—was there no end to surprise relatives? She hadn’t even known Rowan had had a sister—Liza sat beside her and nodded at the boy.

“His name isn’t Tommy, is it?”

The boy rested his chin on his knees. The woman looked at him and patted his shoulder. “It is, in fact. D’you know his folks?”

“I don’t know anyone.”

“Shame.” The woman pulled in her fishing line and rebaited the hook. She cast it back into the water, and then held a hand out to Liza. “No time like the present. The name’s Finn.”

“Liza.”

The boy sniffed. Finn and Liza looked at him, but he wiped his nose on his sleeve and looked out over the glittering water. Liza waited, expecting Finn to say something, but Rowan’s twin sat in comfortable silence as though unaware of how miserable her two companions were. Finally Liza couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

“Ask what, my dear?”

“Ask—” Liza fished for words. “Ask—if you were Rowan, and I came upon you thinking you were you, and I said what I said, she’d want to know what was wrong and why and who and how.”

Finn chuckled to herself. “I’m not Rowan. Oh! Look out, chums, it’s a big’un!”

The fishing line had gone taut. She wrestled with it for a moment—Tommy, at her side, raised his head, looking mildly interested—the line spun out as the fish, a big one it must’ve been, thrashed and tried to swim off down the stream.

“Grab’er, my boy!” Finn cried. Tommy’s pale, grubby hands joined her immaculate brown ones on the pole. Together they reeled the fish in. It flashed in the sunlight, something like a rainbow trout with a lot more rainbow. Its scales glittered and glowed like jewels, sapphire, coral, mauve, emerald, with a pearly sheen so white it left imprints on Liza’s lids when she closed her eyes.

“Well done, Tommy, well done,” Finn said as the fish wriggled feebly on the store. “That’ll make a fine dinner for us, won’t it?”

She lifted a wicker basket out of the stream from beside her feet and slipped the fish inside. The basket was half full already, with gasping, wriggling fish, smaller than the latest one but no less colorful.

“Now, my boy, after dinner you’ll have to go back, you know.”

The mild excitement drained from the boy’s eyes. He nodded and put his chin back on his knees.

“They’re looking for him,” Liza said. She meant to say who “they” were, but the words “my in-laws” stuck in her throat. “The Smiths,” maybe, but to her that was her and Duncan. She still couldn’t take it in.

Finn seemed to know who she meant. “I’m sure they are. He’s already run off twice since last night, he’s told me. Never fear. I’ll make sure he gets back to them safe and sound. Sometimes a body just needs to get away.”

Liza could’ve put her chin on her own knees at that. She knew.

“Have you ever done?” Finn asked, indicating the fishing rod. Liza shook her head. “Like to learn?”

Liza took the rod and held the line still as Finn baited the hook. The fishing pole was like none she’d ever seen, with a glass rod and a line that seemed to be made from strong, thin strands of glass all woven together. Liza couldn’t imagine how it didn’t break apart in Finn’s hands, but she’d seen far more unbelievable things already.

“There, now, just cast it out into the water and wait for a bite! Might have to move up the bank a bit. I’ve been here all morning.”

But Liza had a bite within a few minutes.

“Pee-hoo!” Finn leapt to her feet, delighted, as Liza grappled with the fish. “Another big’un! My, my. Steady now, easy does it—”

An obsidian fish finally flew from the water and flipped about on the turquoise grass. In the background, Finn was saying something about grabbing it around the gills and removing the hook, but Liza barely heard her. The fish was like none she’d ever seen—as long as her forearm, black as a starless night, glimmering in the sun. Somehow it was even more beautiful than the trout with its rainbow scales.

Tommy had scrambled to his feet and came over to examine her prize. He was taller than she’d expected, beanpole skinny—not unlike Christian, she thought, if Christian were blond and a ten-year-old boy.

“’S’a pearler,” the boy said softly. He tugged at a fingernail with his teeth.

Liza was sure she’d misheard. “A what?”

“A pearler. That’un’s a pearler.”

She still didn’t understand, but Finn came to her rescue. “Black pearlfish, my dear. Tommy’s parents are pearl-fishers, among other things. It works quite differently back in Scotland, I gather, but here they catch pearlfish and harvest the pearls to sell to jewelers or at market.”

“Like this,” Tommy said. He crouched down, stuck his first two fingers in the fish’s gasping mouth, rooted around for a moment, and then pulled out a gleaming freshwater pearl. He wiped it carefully on his shirt and handed it to Liza. “Here y’go.”

It was smoky grey and pear-shaped.

“Oh, no,” Liza said. “You keep it.”

The boy pinkened slightly, shrugged, and stuck the pearl in the pocket of his trousers. Then he returned to his place and his prior position on the bank. The turquoise grass had flattened into the shape of his backside. Finn shook her head.

“What’s wrong with him?” Liza asked softly.

Finn picked up the pearlfish and removed the hook from its lip. “His folks never made it back from the park.”

Like Duncan. Liza went shivery and cold. “Are you sure?”

“The last he saw of them, his father had gathered the little ones and told him to bring them on through. Then he ran off to find the mother, and no one’s seen hide or hair of either one since.”

No wonder the poor children were staying with Duncan’s family. Liza gazed at the blond head, all she could see of Tommy with his face turned toward the stream. She wished she could tell him it would be all right: she knew what it meant to be the oldest, to have to care for a sibling when your parents couldn’t, the crushing weight of premature responsibility. Eventually you grew up and hoped your sister would appreciate it one day.

She’d hardly thought of Melanie since the first day Duncan hadn’t come home. Had her sister realized she was missing? Had she tried to call, in a tizzy about her daughter’s wedding plans? Would she even miss Liza if she did?

The pearlfish was safely in the basket with the others, back underwater. Finn resumed her seat and held the fishing pole out to Liza, who barely felt it in her numb fingers.

Finn glanced at her. “Someone you know?”

Liza didn’t have to ask what she meant.

“My husband,” she said, and in the same way she had with Rowan, she started telling Finn everything. Well, not quite everything. Not all the loneliness or the things that didn’t seem to matter here because they were too far away—her sister, her parents. But she told Finn all about Duncan, his disappearance, how close she’d been to finding him only to have hope of reunion snatched away, replaced with the fear that he may well be dead now.

“And now,” she said at last. She hadn’t started crying this time, at least, but her voice was hoarse. “Now—there’s a family. Sisters, brothers, cousins. Nieces and nephews. Not to mention the parents, and Isadora is—”

“Not kindly,” Finn said.

Understatement, Liza thought. “And I just—I didn’t even know—he’s lied to me, Finn, we’ve been married more than thirty years and he’s been lying to me the whole time. I don’t even know how I’d feel if I saw him now.”

That was it, she thought, that was the problem, the thing that had taken her out of the Smith-Pratts’ house, out of the fair folks’ camp, wandering dazedly along the stream. Because she didn’t know how to feel. Because Duncan was her husband, her partner, and because he was missing, injured, possibly dead, but he was also a liar.

“I don’t know.” She sighed and sat like Tommy, with her chin on her knees. “Maybe I don’t want to find him.”

Finn slipped the fishing pole out of Liza’s fingers; it had been dangling, useless, from her fingertips and was in danger of falling into the stream. “You’re only looking for him out of habit, is that it?”
[/spoiler]

BluesClues

BluesClues · Jul 28, 2017

Oops. Yesterdays:

Day 27: Book Man rewrites (176 words)

Spoiler

Liza didn’t answer. Finn gazed at her for a moment and then returned to fishing.
At long last, she plucked her basket of fish from the water, arose, stretched, and nudged Tommy with her foot. “Up and at ‘em, my boy. We’d best get you back. I’m sure old Mr. Smith’s in a right tizzy.”
“Do I have to?” Tommy asked, but he stood up anyway.
Finn dug Liza’s pearlfish from the basket and laid it in the grass beside. “To get you started, my dear. I stow my pole and gear in the trees, there—”she pointed—“you’re welcome to use them if ever I’m not around and you need to catch something for your dinner. You might need to dig for worms. I don’t keep excess bait, of course. But there’s an extra basket to keep the catch fresh. And, my dear, you are of course welcome to fish with me any time you’d like a little chat.”
“Thank you,” Liza said. She marveled over how similar Finn and Rowan were, and how different.
Finn turned away with Tommy clinging to her free hand and then looked back once more. “And, dear, if Rowan should ask, you’d do best not to tell her I taught you.”
“Why not?” Liza asked.
Finn smiled slightly. “We don’t get on. Come along, Tommy-boy.”
And Liza was left in hurt confusion, her heart aching for Duncan and his lies, his family, and her own distant sister.

Oops. Yesterdays:

[b]Day 27:[/b] Book Man rewrites (176 words)

[spoiler]Liza didn’t answer. Finn gazed at her for a moment and then returned to fishing.
At long last, she plucked her basket of fish from the water, arose, stretched, and nudged Tommy with her foot. “Up and at ‘em, my boy. We’d best get you back. I’m sure old Mr. Smith’s in a right tizzy.”
“Do I have to?” Tommy asked, but he stood up anyway.
Finn dug Liza’s pearlfish from the basket and laid it in the grass beside. “To get you started, my dear. I stow my pole and gear in the trees, there—”she pointed—“you’re welcome to use them if ever I’m not around and you need to catch something for your dinner. You might need to dig for worms. I don’t keep excess bait, of course. But there’s an extra basket to keep the catch fresh. And, my dear, you are of course welcome to fish with me any time you’d like a little chat.”
“Thank you,” Liza said. She marveled over how similar Finn and Rowan were, and how different.
Finn turned away with Tommy clinging to her free hand and then looked back once more. “And, dear, if Rowan should ask, you’d do best not to tell her I taught you.”
“Why not?” Liza asked.
Finn smiled slightly. “We don’t get on. Come along, Tommy-boy.”
And Liza was left in hurt confusion, her heart aching for Duncan and his lies, his family, and her own distant sister.[/spoiler]

BluesClues

BluesClues · Jul 28, 2017

Today's:

Day 28: Book Man revisions (1926 words)

Spoiler

Sarah hadn’t been sure about it at all when Christian invited Narodnaya on their journey, but now she had to admit she was glad of the marsh-witch’s presence. No fork in the river, no rustle in the bushes caused alarm or hesitation; Narodnaya always knew which way to go and was (she said, somewhat proudly) bound to be the scariest thing they might come across.

Not that it stopped her from warning them off when they saw a hunting party in the distance. It was made up of fair-skinned people in silvery robes riding through the forest on small horses. Christian gave a strangled cry that sounded like “elves!” and they certainly looked Tolkienesque to Sarah. The two of them turned to plunge deeper into the woods and pursue the hunting party, but Narodnaya cut them off.

You would be wise not to pursue them.

“But they’re elves,” Christian had insisted. “They are, aren’t they? Just like in the stories! Come on, Narodnaya, just for a moment—”

Pursue them if you wish, but you will not find me here when you return.

Considering how much easier their path had been since she’d joined them, that was enough to convince them. They tried to pry a reason out of her, but all she would say was that the wood-elves were dangerous and untrustworthy. Sarah thought she might have a skewed idea of the matter, but the marsh-witch was adamant.

The forest grew greener and lighter the further they traveled. Sarah couldn’t stop looking at the trees. No iron lampposts, these, but birch and beech and sycamore spreading real leaves over the forest floor, which was mercifully carpeted in grass and moss. Sarah was glad they’d come upon such a soft carpeting after leaving their shoes behind. She blushed slightly, remembering how they’d both been naked and neither of them had even noticed. Of course, Christian had been a lot more embarrassed than she had. She’d always been more comfortable with nudity than most people thought she should be. But even so…

Not that either of them had seen anything they shouldn’t have. All she’d registered was a flash of pale skin, and he certainly hadn’t tried to sneak a peek at her.

Far more embarrassing were her assumptions about him, but she was pleased that he’d trusted her enough to correct her. As they wandered, she caught him sneaking a glance at her now and then. He pinkened every time it happened and whipped back around to face the forest. She didn’t know what he was thinking and wasn’t about to ask with the marsh-witch there, but she grinned to herself. What a charmingly shy, odd person he was.

Presently, perhaps to take his mind off whatever he was thinking of Sarah, he said to Narodnaya, “Can I ask you something?”

You may.

“Why did you agree to come with us? Not that I’m not glad you did—”as her thin eyebrows arched at him.

“It has been much easier going since you joined in,” Sarah admitted. Narodnaya turned cat-like eyes on her instead. “But I wouldn’t mind knowing that myself. You don’t exactly seem the social type.”

The marsh-witch fell behind as they kept walking; they stopped and turned to look at her. She sank onto the branch of a gnarled oak and sat with her bony fingers digging into the bark. If they didn’t know she was there, Sarah thought, they’d never have been able to tell. Her mossy hair and gown and grey-green complexion blended right in.

“…Narodnaya?” Christian said.

Her voice in their heads sounded melancholy.

Once, she said, hundreds of my kind lived on the marshes, caring for the trees and sphagnum and pitcher plants. No one intruded except the sirens, now and then, when they were hungry, but we did not care, for they threatened us little. We spent our days singing together as we looked after our subjects.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Singing?”

In response, the marsh-witch opened her mouth and let out an unmelodious wail that sounded more like the cry of a banshee than a song. Sarah shivered.

“That was—” Christian stammered hoarsely. “That was lovely.”

The marsh-witch gave her dry chuckle. Liar.

She sobered again and continued. My mother was the most fearsome of all of us. She could have been the matriarch of our clan, had she wished it, but she declined and instead taught my siblings and me her fearsome ways.

Her wild hair gathered about her of its own accord, swirling and bunching together until it hid her face.

That was long ago. I have been alone now these four hundred years.

“What happened?” Sarah asked, drawn into the story despite herself.

The marsh-witch’s hair unbunched enough to reveal one glimmering green eye.

They were destroyed. My mother, for all her fierceness, with the others. I have been alone the long centuries since.

Sarah found herself feeling sorry for the strange creature. She couldn’t imagine feeling so lonely. Work could be difficult sometimes, all those men eyeing her askance, but beside that… She’d never been without a boyfriend for long, she had enough friends to sustain her—though most of them were from university and far flung—and her parents…her parents. She thought of them for the first time since she’d come up with her stakeout and felt a pang. What day was it? Would they expect her to dinner? Would they worry?

Christian was staring at Narodnaya with an odd expression on his face, and the marsh-witch was staring back.

“It’s not four hundred years,” he said suddenly, “but I understand, you see.”

Her hair unbunched further, revealing her other eye. She scrutinized him for a long moment.

Yes, she said at last. I think you do.

Sarah had no idea what that was about, but she pushed away thoughts of her parents. She’d never see them again if they didn’t find a way home. For the first time, she realized what a monumental thing she’d done.

“We should keep going.” She turned away from them and kept walking.

There was the sound of bare feet tripping over grass, and then Christian was beside her, looking concerned. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

She’s not fine.

Sarah whirled around and found the marsh-witch right behind her.

“What would you know about it?” she snapped. “Keep out of my head.”

Narodnaya shrugged and drifted further ahead, looking supremely unconcerned. Sarah followed begrudgingly. All the green glory had gone out of the afternoon.

“Sarah,” Christian said tentatively. He touched her arm, but she flung his hand away. He didn’t try to touch her again. “Sarah—”

“Leave me alone.”

Had she really wanted this? Adventure had always appealed to her, but she was in a strange world, a different—planet? Solar system? Universe?—she’d lost the woman she was supposed to be helping, she didn’t know where she was or where she was going. And the thought of her parents waiting to start dinner on Sunday night until she showed up, waiting as it fell dark, feeling anxious—and if they called the station, MacDonnell wouldn’t be able to tell them where she was—

“What’s wrong?” Christian asked.

“Nothing!”

She felt ashamed at the look on his face, but she was ashamed of her feelings, too. What was that, compared to theirs? What was it to worry that your parents were worried about you, compared to whatever loneliness life had subjected the two of them to?

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. He had that panicky edge to his voice, and Sarah felt more ashamed than ever. She didn’t blame the marsh-witch for glaring at her. “Um. Narodnaya?”

Still glaring, the marsh-witch drifted over to Christian and stared into his eyes. After a long moment, his body relaxed.

“Thanks,” he said. His voice sounded steadier, too.
Now, thought Sarah, why can’t I do that instead of making it worse?

“You shouldn’t be sorry,” she mumbled. “It’s not your fault.”
They kept walking.

“It’s my parents,” Sarah said suddenly. “We have dinner every Sunday. And I just—I can’t imagine, I mean, if we can’t figure out a way back, if I don’t show up on Sunday—”

Christian smiled. It wasn’t really a smile, just that strange, sad turning-up the mouth sometimes does when you remember something suddenly—something good that also saddens you.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I just—I know what you mean. I have lunch with my mum every Sunday. Last Sunday—well, ah,” his ears turned red, “you, er, you remember the morning we met?”

Sarah chuckled, despite herself. She’d been so irritated at the drunk dial, as she’d thought it then. “How could I forget?”

“Er…”

“It’s all right. I know the truth now. To be honest, at this point I’d have a hard time believing you’d ever been drunk in your life. That morning?”

“Well.” Christian’s ears were still red. “After everything that had happened, I was exhausted, and I slept late, and I woke up to my dad calling to say mum had refused to eat because I wasn’t there. Moll couldn’t get her to take a single bite until lunch was almost over.”

“Your sister?”

“Mum’s primary caretaker.”

Oh. Sarah understood the implications of that and didn’t push, though she found it hard to imagine that his mother would need a caretaker. He couldn’t be an older than she was. How old could his parents be?

“So,” she said, to cover the moment, “so what happened?”

Christian seemed relieved, perhaps because she hadn’t questioned him further about his mother’s condition. “Oh, well, I was so late I missed lunch completely. And I’m just, you know, I can’t imagine how upset she’ll be, this will be the second week I’ve missed. And then Dad’ll call again, and he’ll be pissed, he was annoyed enough last week that I’d forgotten, only I won’t be there. Knowing Dad, well, honestly I could see him just sitting on his anger and then exploding at me if—I mean, when we get back, but I could also see him hopping the first train to East Knoweton and banging on my door, so he’s either going to overreact and gather a search party or he’s going to be really, really, really angry when I get back and finally call. And I won’t blame him if he is. Mum’s going to be so upset.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarah said, feeling red about the ears herself. “I…that’s so much worse. I’m. Like. I shouldn’t even be worried.”

Christian looked at her in surprise.

“What?” he said. “No! No, that’s not what I meant at all. No. No. You absolutely should be worried. No! I didn’t mean that—you shouldn’t be worried, everything’s going to be fine, we’re going to find Liza and get home and, and—”

She gave a wry smile. “Stop Goblin?”

Today's:

[b]Day 28:[/b] Book Man revisions (1926 words)

[spoiler]Sarah hadn’t been sure about it at all when Christian invited Narodnaya on their journey, but now she had to admit she was glad of the marsh-witch’s presence. No fork in the river, no rustle in the bushes caused alarm or hesitation; Narodnaya always knew which way to go and was (she said, somewhat proudly) bound to be the scariest thing they might come across.

Not that it stopped her from warning them off when they saw a hunting party in the distance. It was made up of fair-skinned people in silvery robes riding through the forest on small horses. Christian gave a strangled cry that sounded like “elves!” and they certainly looked Tolkienesque to Sarah. The two of them turned to plunge deeper into the woods and pursue the hunting party, but Narodnaya cut them off.

You would be wise not to pursue them.

“But they’re elves,” Christian had insisted. “They are, aren’t they? Just like in the stories! Come on, Narodnaya, just for a moment—”

Pursue them if you wish, but you will not find me here when you return.

Considering how much easier their path had been since she’d joined them, that was enough to convince them. They tried to pry a reason out of her, but all she would say was that the wood-elves were dangerous and untrustworthy. Sarah thought she might have a skewed idea of the matter, but the marsh-witch was adamant.

The forest grew greener and lighter the further they traveled. Sarah couldn’t stop looking at the trees. No iron lampposts, these, but birch and beech and sycamore spreading real leaves over the forest floor, which was mercifully carpeted in grass and moss. Sarah was glad they’d come upon such a soft carpeting after leaving their shoes behind. She blushed slightly, remembering how they’d both been naked and neither of them had even noticed. Of course, Christian had been a lot more embarrassed than she had. She’d always been more comfortable with nudity than most people thought she should be. But even so…

Not that either of them had seen anything they shouldn’t have. All she’d registered was a flash of pale skin, and he certainly hadn’t tried to sneak a peek at her.

Far more embarrassing were her assumptions about him, but she was pleased that he’d trusted her enough to correct her. As they wandered, she caught him sneaking a glance at her now and then. He pinkened every time it happened and whipped back around to face the forest. She didn’t know what he was thinking and wasn’t about to ask with the marsh-witch there, but she grinned to herself. What a charmingly shy, odd person he was.

Presently, perhaps to take his mind off whatever he was thinking of Sarah, he said to Narodnaya, “Can I ask you something?”

You may.

“Why did you agree to come with us? Not that I’m not glad you did—”as her thin eyebrows arched at him.

“It has been much easier going since you joined in,” Sarah admitted. Narodnaya turned cat-like eyes on her instead. “But I wouldn’t mind knowing that myself. You don’t exactly seem the social type.”

The marsh-witch fell behind as they kept walking; they stopped and turned to look at her. She sank onto the branch of a gnarled oak and sat with her bony fingers digging into the bark. If they didn’t know she was there, Sarah thought, they’d never have been able to tell. Her mossy hair and gown and grey-green complexion blended right in.

“…Narodnaya?” Christian said.

Her voice in their heads sounded melancholy.

Once, she said, hundreds of my kind lived on the marshes, caring for the trees and sphagnum and pitcher plants. No one intruded except the sirens, now and then, when they were hungry, but we did not care, for they threatened us little. We spent our days singing together as we looked after our subjects.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Singing?”

In response, the marsh-witch opened her mouth and let out an unmelodious wail that sounded more like the cry of a banshee than a song. Sarah shivered.

“That was—” Christian stammered hoarsely. “That was lovely.”

The marsh-witch gave her dry chuckle. Liar.

She sobered again and continued. My mother was the most fearsome of all of us. She could have been the matriarch of our clan, had she wished it, but she declined and instead taught my siblings and me her fearsome ways.

Her wild hair gathered about her of its own accord, swirling and bunching together until it hid her face.

That was long ago. I have been alone now these four hundred years.

“What happened?” Sarah asked, drawn into the story despite herself.

The marsh-witch’s hair unbunched enough to reveal one glimmering green eye.

They were destroyed. My mother, for all her fierceness, with the others. I have been alone the long centuries since.

Sarah found herself feeling sorry for the strange creature. She couldn’t imagine feeling so lonely. Work could be difficult sometimes, all those men eyeing her askance, but beside that… She’d never been without a boyfriend for long, she had enough friends to sustain her—though most of them were from university and far flung—and her parents…her parents. She thought of them for the first time since she’d come up with her stakeout and felt a pang. What day was it? Would they expect her to dinner? Would they worry?

Christian was staring at Narodnaya with an odd expression on his face, and the marsh-witch was staring back.

“It’s not four hundred years,” he said suddenly, “but I understand, you see.”

Her hair unbunched further, revealing her other eye. She scrutinized him for a long moment.

Yes, she said at last. I think you do.

Sarah had no idea what that was about, but she pushed away thoughts of her parents. She’d never see them again if they didn’t find a way home. For the first time, she realized what a monumental thing she’d done.

“We should keep going.” She turned away from them and kept walking.

There was the sound of bare feet tripping over grass, and then Christian was beside her, looking concerned. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

She’s not fine.

Sarah whirled around and found the marsh-witch right behind her.

“What would you know about it?” she snapped. “Keep out of my head.”

Narodnaya shrugged and drifted further ahead, looking supremely unconcerned. Sarah followed begrudgingly. All the green glory had gone out of the afternoon.

“Sarah,” Christian said tentatively. He touched her arm, but she flung his hand away. He didn’t try to touch her again. “Sarah—”

“Leave me alone.”

Had she really wanted this? Adventure had always appealed to her, but she was in a strange world, a different—planet? Solar system? Universe?—she’d lost the woman she was supposed to be helping, she didn’t know where she was or where she was going. And the thought of her parents waiting to start dinner on Sunday night until she showed up, waiting as it fell dark, feeling anxious—and if they called the station, MacDonnell wouldn’t be able to tell them where she was—

“What’s wrong?” Christian asked.

“Nothing!”

She felt ashamed at the look on his face, but she was ashamed of her feelings, too. What was that, compared to theirs? What was it to worry that your parents were worried about you, compared to whatever loneliness life had subjected the two of them to?

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. He had that panicky edge to his voice, and Sarah felt more ashamed than ever. She didn’t blame the marsh-witch for glaring at her. “Um. Narodnaya?”

Still glaring, the marsh-witch drifted over to Christian and stared into his eyes. After a long moment, his body relaxed.

“Thanks,” he said. His voice sounded steadier, too.
Now, thought Sarah, why can’t I do that instead of making it worse?

“You shouldn’t be sorry,” she mumbled. “It’s not your fault.”
They kept walking.

“It’s my parents,” Sarah said suddenly. “We have dinner every Sunday. And I just—I can’t imagine, I mean, if we can’t figure out a way back, if I don’t show up on Sunday—”

Christian smiled. It wasn’t really a smile, just that strange, sad turning-up the mouth sometimes does when you remember something suddenly—something good that also saddens you.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I just—I know what you mean. I have lunch with my mum every Sunday. Last Sunday—well, ah,” his ears turned red, “you, er, you remember the morning we met?”

Sarah chuckled, despite herself. She’d been so irritated at the drunk dial, as she’d thought it then. “How could I forget?”

“Er…”

“It’s all right. I know the truth now. To be honest, at this point I’d have a hard time believing you’d ever been drunk in your life. That morning?”

“Well.” Christian’s ears were still red. “After everything that had happened, I was exhausted, and I slept late, and I woke up to my dad calling to say mum had refused to eat because I wasn’t there. Moll couldn’t get her to take a single bite until lunch was almost over.”

“Your sister?”

“Mum’s primary caretaker.”

Oh. Sarah understood the implications of that and didn’t push, though she found it hard to imagine that his mother would need a caretaker. He couldn’t be an older than she was. How old could his parents be?

“So,” she said, to cover the moment, “so what happened?”

Christian seemed relieved, perhaps because she hadn’t questioned him further about his mother’s condition. “Oh, well, I was so late I missed lunch completely. And I’m just, you know, I can’t imagine how upset she’ll be, this will be the second week I’ve missed. And then Dad’ll call again, and he’ll be pissed, he was annoyed enough last week that I’d forgotten, only I won’t be there. Knowing Dad, well, honestly I could see him just sitting on his anger and then exploding at me if—I mean, when we get back, but I could also see him hopping the first train to East Knoweton and banging on my door, so he’s either going to overreact and gather a search party or he’s going to be really, really, really angry when I get back and finally call. And I won’t blame him if he is. Mum’s going to be so upset.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarah said, feeling red about the ears herself. “I…that’s so much worse. I’m. Like. I shouldn’t even be worried.”

Christian looked at her in surprise.

“What?” he said. “No! No, that’s not what I meant at all. No. No. You absolutely should be worried. No! I didn’t mean that—you shouldn’t be worried, everything’s going to be fine, we’re going to find Liza and get home and, and—”

She gave a wry smile. “Stop Goblin?”
[/spoiler]

BluesClues

BluesClues · Jul 29, 2017

Day 29: Book Man revisions (318 words)

Spoiler

What is this about Goblin?

They turned, surprised, at Narodnaya’s voice. She sounded agitated. Goblin is dead. What do you mean?

“He’s not,” Christian said. Sarah glanced at him, biting her lip.

“Yeah, I don’t really know much about it, either,” she said. “Just what Liza told me, and she…”

Thought you were nutty, she finished in her head, but she didn’t want to remind him of that now, when they didn’t even know where Liza was.

“Yeah, I know.” Christian sighed. Then he explained. He explained everything—better, though Sarah didn’t know it, than he’d explained to Liza, because he’d replayed the conversation in his head again and again since having it. As he spoke, Sarah grew more and more concerned—what had she gotten Liza into? Where was Liza’s husband, and was he all right? How would Liza feel when she found him? Were they going to be able to get back to Earth—and if they did, well, how much better off would they be? That portal would spit them right back out into the park, where Goblin and the beasts who had attacked them would be waiting.

Narodnaya’s green eyes seemed to widen until she looked quite mad, in every sense of the word.

This cannot be, she said when Christian finished. Her voice had gone deathly quiet. No. I cannot believe it. I will not. He’s dead. Those idiot wood-sprites killed him.

“…no,” Christian said. Sarah didn’t blame him for being so hesitant. The marsh-witch had been frightening before, but now—glad she’s on our side, Sarah thought.

Narodnaya drifted closer, until she was inches from Christian’s face. He gulped but seemed unable to back away.

Why did you come here?

“I told you, there was an attack—”

What do you intend to do?

Christian looked helplessly at Sarah. She shrugged. As far as she knew, they didn’t intend to do anything.

[b]Day 29:[/b] Book Man revisions (318 words)

[spoiler]What is this about Goblin?

They turned, surprised, at Narodnaya’s voice. She sounded agitated. Goblin is dead. What do you mean?

“He’s not,” Christian said. Sarah glanced at him, biting her lip.

“Yeah, I don’t really know much about it, either,” she said. “Just what Liza told me, and she…”

Thought you were nutty, she finished in her head, but she didn’t want to remind him of that now, when they didn’t even know where Liza was.

“Yeah, I know.” Christian sighed. Then he explained. He explained everything—better, though Sarah didn’t know it, than he’d explained to Liza, because he’d replayed the conversation in his head again and again since having it. As he spoke, Sarah grew more and more concerned—what had she gotten Liza into? Where was Liza’s husband, and was he all right? How would Liza feel when she found him? Were they going to be able to get back to Earth—and if they did, well, how much better off would they be? That portal would spit them right back out into the park, where Goblin and the beasts who had attacked them would be waiting.

Narodnaya’s green eyes seemed to widen until she looked quite mad, in every sense of the word.

This cannot be, she said when Christian finished. Her voice had gone deathly quiet. No. I cannot believe it. I will not. He’s dead. Those idiot wood-sprites killed him.

“…no,” Christian said. Sarah didn’t blame him for being so hesitant. The marsh-witch had been frightening before, but now—glad she’s on our side, Sarah thought.

Narodnaya drifted closer, until she was inches from Christian’s face. He gulped but seemed unable to back away.

Why did you come here?

“I told you, there was an attack—”

What do you intend to do?

Christian looked helplessly at Sarah. She shrugged. As far as she knew, they didn’t intend to do anything. 
[/spoiler]

BluesClues

BluesClues · Jul 30, 2017

Day 30: Book Man revisions (1718 words)

Spoiler

By early evening, they had left the forest behind. Spread before them was a clear lake, sitting beneath a cliff that reared up into a mountain range. The river ended here, as suddenly as the trees and the flat land. They left it all behind and began their ascent, although Christian was soon out of breath from the steep hike and Narodnaya seemed uneasy at leaving the water behind. She vanished frequently and reappeared without warning. Sarah thought she’d finally gotten tired of her human companions the first time this happened, but by the seventh time she stopped worrying.

“Why d’you keep doing that?” she asked the marsh-witch. They were squeezing through a rocky passage now, tripping on stones and tussocks in the dying light.

Rarely have I traveled so far from my lands. I do not like to leave them untended.

“How much farther is it to Glasswood?” Christian asked. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out, hiking up mountainsides.

Far. I could be there in an instant, but for you it would be a journey of several weeks.

Christian halted at that. Sarah, following, bumped into him. She’d been letting him set the pace.

“Sorry,” she said, but he didn’t hear her. Weeks! Weeks for a journey that would never have been, if the portal had only brought them where it was supposed to. His fists clenched until his fingernails dug into his palms. What havoc could Goblin’s army wreak in a week? What about—his heart pummeled his rib cage as he thought of them for the first time since falling into the bog—what about Moira? Mozun? They might be injured—they might be dead.

Dead, his brain taunted him. Dead, dead, dead and it furnished an image of Duncan the night it had all began, ashen and in pain, his leg leaking blood onto his trousers…

Narodnaya’s voice cut through the haze of panic sharply. Calm yourself. We are not going to Glasswood. I am taking you to Neva to see if you cannot get there faster. His home is only another day’s journey.

“Neva?” Christian asked dazedly. The name sounded familiar, but just now he couldn’t place it. He kept picturing Duncan’s blood, painted it onto Moira, Mozun, the fairies, Liza, the Blacks by turn. He leaned against the rock wall beside him and tried to focus on it: hairline fractures, the shape of the shadows on its uneven face. But he couldn’t stay focused on it.

“Christian?” Sarah touched his back gently. “Are you all right?”

He shook his head.

“Christian, they’ll be all right.”

He couldn’t explain to her. Perhaps they would be all right. He could see them right now and know they were all right, and it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t do anything to break the grip of the panic that had ahold of him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head again. He wasn’t sure he could speak just now. He’d thought—not that he was past it, exactly, but Narodnaya had been so helpful with…

Look at me.

He felt as if he couldn’t so much as turn his head. If he turned away from the rock wall, bad things would happen. His friends waited. At long, long, long last, he squeezed his eyes shut and turned to them. A deep breath. He opened his eyes.

“I’m okay,” he said shakily. “I, um. I haven’t had one that bad in a while.”

I could have helped you.

“I’m fine.”

They hiked onward.

“Who’s Neva?” Sarah asked a while later. She’d been chewing on her lip, and Christian could practically feel her gaze boring into the back of his head—whether out of concern or, despite her words the other day, annoyance at such a stall, he wasn’t sure.

He is Neva, Narodnaya said helpfully. We have no other name for him.

She gave it some thought and added, I think your kind would call him an angel.

She gave it some more thought. You might call him our king.

Now Christian remembered. Duncan had mentioned something about a king, a high king, a king of the whole world—however it was possible that someone could be king of an entire world—the person who had come to Earth to reward the fair folk for their part in fighting Goblin and his army.

It was the following evening when they approached the top of the mountain. Narodnaya had stopped disappearing as they traveled, although she’d popped back to the bog while Christian and Sarah slept, in a small and sandy cave partway up the mountainside. Now they could see a palace ahead of them, shining with gilt and marble. The fading sunlight glanced off a glass dome rising high from the center of the building, blinding them as they followed the marsh-witch farther up the mountain. The air was thin and cold. Christian’s lungs were bursting, his bare feet freezing and sore, his stomach whining in hunger though Narodnaya had brought them some fish earlier in the day. He had eaten little, feeling sick at the sight of her gnawing on a fish’s raw flesh.

They kept on as darkness fell. A chill wind blew about them. The palace blazed with light, reminding Christian of the Book House. He felt as if he had not been home in years. He missed the Book House, in that moment, more than he missed Liza or Moira or Duncan. He sighed without realizing it. Sarah looked sideways at him but said nothing.

The stars had come out and shone fiercely above them when they finally reached the palace. Sarah knocked on the golden doors. There was a moment’s pause. Then the doors opened, apparently on their own. A hummingbird hovered in the doorway, turning its jeweled head between the three of them expectantly.

He is one of Neva’s messengers. He wants to know why we’ve come.

“Oh?” Sarah said doubtfully. Christian felt just as silly talking to a bird, but at this point it wasn’t as if he could believe it wouldn’t understand him.

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “We’ve come to see Neva on a matter of some urgency.”

The hummingbird cocked is head at him. Narodnaya gazed at it intently, so much so that a crease appeared in her forehead.

He asks…who you think you are…that you should come to Neva’s doorstep without notice and summon him. I think that is what he wants. It is harder to make out the thoughts of birds and beasts than those of humans. They are not so simpleminded.

“Thanks,” Sarah said, a little sourly.

Christian decided to take offense on behalf of his species later and bowed—more gracefully than he was feeling—to the hummingbird.
“We, er, well, we’re humans from Earth, you know, which I understand is a matter of some concern for your master, or, at least, it was once. Goblin’s army attacked our, er, park, and—”

The hummingbird darted off through the palace. Christian peered after it.

“Are we…are we supposed to follow it?”

I cannot be sure. When last I came, I charged in to face Neva without invitation, to demand he stop the fairies’ attack on me.

“You did?” He couldn’t imagine charging in on anyone so important. He wouldn’t intrude on his barber unannounced—much less an angel.
“How did that go?”

“Sod ‘how did that go,’” Sarah said. “The fairies are good, aren’t they?”

The fairies are fairies, Narodnaya said dismissively. They fell silent.

The doors closed behind them; the sound echoed around the room. Gilt plated the walls. There were several other doors leading elsewhere in the palace, but the hummingbird had gone through none of them. Instead, it had zipped off through an opening at the far end of the hall. Beyond, a white light shone, but the entryway was lit only by candles glowing in brackets on the walls.

They may have waited only a few minutes, though it felt much longer to Christian, who had never been anywhere so grand. University had seemed grand at first, though of course that had rubbed off after a while, except for the feeling of achievement, the knowledge he had done what his father had not been able to, that he had risen above the grimy childhood in Broomhouse to the lofty halls of the university. This place was truly grand, gleaming, clean, and there was something about the light at the end of the corridor—

“Good to be indoors again.” Sarah’s voice echoed around the chamber. They listened to the echoes and again fell silent. But she was right. It was nice to be warm and dry and windless, and his feet had relief from the rough rock of the mountain.

At last the hummingbird zipped back, tossing its head with a peep.

Now we may follow, Narodnaya said. It was strange not to hear her voice echo as well, even though Christian knew it was because she hadn’t actually spoken aloud. The bird made its way back through the corridor at the far end of the chamber, slower this time so they could keep up. Christian and Sarah’s bare feet slapped against the marble tiles as they went.

The bird led them through corridors and chambers larger and grander than the first until they reached a glass door that opened into a steaming garden lit bright as day. Leafy plants towered over grassy walkways. Water was running somewhere, a fountain or brook or both, and unseen birds called to each other from their perches. The glass dome they had seen from outside arched high overhead; stars glimmered through the canopy.

Somewhere in the center of the garden was a round grassy area like the center of Mozun’s labyrinth, a clearing tucked in the middle of the towering, leafy plants. A plethora of tropical flowers also surrounded it: hibiscus, orchids, fuchsia, plumeria, and others Christian couldn’t name. The fountain he had heard stood in the middle, tinkling like a bell as water fell from the font to the stone bowl beneath. Two massive trees beyond the fountain and grown and twisted together into the shape of a throne with bougainvillea clinging to its back, arms, and legs. On the throne sat Neva.

[b]Day 30:[/b] Book Man revisions (1718 words)

[spoiler]By early evening, they had left the forest behind. Spread before them was a clear lake, sitting beneath a cliff that reared up into a mountain range. The river ended here, as suddenly as the trees and the flat land. They left it all behind and began their ascent, although Christian was soon out of breath from the steep hike and Narodnaya seemed uneasy at leaving the water behind. She vanished frequently and reappeared without warning. Sarah thought she’d finally gotten tired of her human companions the first time this happened, but by the seventh time she stopped worrying.

“Why d’you keep doing that?” she asked the marsh-witch. They were squeezing through a rocky passage now, tripping on stones and tussocks in the dying light.

Rarely have I traveled so far from my lands. I do not like to leave them untended.

“How much farther is it to Glasswood?” Christian asked. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out, hiking up mountainsides.

Far. I could be there in an instant, but for you it would be a journey of several weeks.

Christian halted at that. Sarah, following, bumped into him. She’d been letting him set the pace.

“Sorry,” she said, but he didn’t hear her. Weeks! Weeks for a journey that would never have been, if the portal had only brought them where it was supposed to. His fists clenched until his fingernails dug into his palms. What havoc could Goblin’s army wreak in a week? What about—his heart pummeled his rib cage as he thought of them for the first time since falling into the bog—what about Moira? Mozun? They might be injured—they might be dead.

Dead, his brain taunted him. Dead, dead, dead and it furnished an image of Duncan the night it had all began, ashen and in pain, his leg leaking blood onto his trousers…

Narodnaya’s voice cut through the haze of panic sharply. Calm yourself. We are not going to Glasswood. I am taking you to Neva to see if you cannot get there faster. His home is only another day’s journey.

“Neva?” Christian asked dazedly. The name sounded familiar, but just now he couldn’t place it. He kept picturing Duncan’s blood, painted it onto Moira, Mozun, the fairies, Liza, the Blacks by turn. He leaned against the rock wall beside him and tried to focus on it: hairline fractures, the shape of the shadows on its uneven face. But he couldn’t stay focused on it.

“Christian?” Sarah touched his back gently. “Are you all right?”

He shook his head.

“Christian, they’ll be all right.”

He couldn’t explain to her. Perhaps they would be all right. He could see them right now and know they were all right, and it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t do anything to break the grip of the panic that had ahold of him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head again. He wasn’t sure he could speak just now. He’d thought—not that he was past it, exactly, but Narodnaya had been so helpful with…

Look at me.

He felt as if he couldn’t so much as turn his head. If he turned away from the rock wall, bad things would happen. His friends waited. At long, long, long last, he squeezed his eyes shut and turned to them. A deep breath. He opened his eyes.

“I’m okay,” he said shakily. “I, um. I haven’t had one that bad in a while.”

I could have helped you.

“I’m fine.”

They hiked onward.

“Who’s Neva?” Sarah asked a while later. She’d been chewing on her lip, and Christian could practically feel her gaze boring into the back of his head—whether out of concern or, despite her words the other day, annoyance at such a stall, he wasn’t sure.

He is Neva, Narodnaya said helpfully. We have no other name for him.

She gave it some thought and added, I think your kind would call him an angel.

She gave it some more thought. You might call him our king.

Now Christian remembered. Duncan had mentioned something about a king, a high king, a king of the whole world—however it was possible that someone could be king of an entire world—the person who had come to Earth to reward the fair folk for their part in fighting Goblin and his army.

It was the following evening when they approached the top of the mountain. Narodnaya had stopped disappearing as they traveled, although she’d popped back to the bog while Christian and Sarah slept, in a small and sandy cave partway up the mountainside. Now they could see a palace ahead of them, shining with gilt and marble. The fading sunlight glanced off a glass dome rising high from the center of the building, blinding them as they followed the marsh-witch farther up the mountain. The air was thin and cold. Christian’s lungs were bursting, his bare feet freezing and sore, his stomach whining in hunger though Narodnaya had brought them some fish earlier in the day. He had eaten little, feeling sick at the sight of her gnawing on a fish’s raw flesh.

They kept on as darkness fell. A chill wind blew about them. The palace blazed with light, reminding Christian of the Book House. He felt as if he had not been home in years. He missed the Book House, in that moment, more than he missed Liza or Moira or Duncan. He sighed without realizing it. Sarah looked sideways at him but said nothing.

The stars had come out and shone fiercely above them when they finally reached the palace. Sarah knocked on the golden doors. There was a moment’s pause. Then the doors opened, apparently on their own. A hummingbird hovered in the doorway, turning its jeweled head between the three of them expectantly.

He is one of Neva’s messengers. He wants to know why we’ve come.

“Oh?” Sarah said doubtfully. Christian felt just as silly talking to a bird, but at this point it wasn’t as if he could believe it wouldn’t understand him.

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “We’ve come to see Neva on a matter of some urgency.”

The hummingbird cocked is head at him. Narodnaya gazed at it intently, so much so that a crease appeared in her forehead.

He asks…who you think you are…that you should come to Neva’s doorstep without notice and summon him. I think that is what he wants. It is harder to make out the thoughts of birds and beasts than those of humans. They are not so simpleminded.

“Thanks,” Sarah said, a little sourly.

Christian decided to take offense on behalf of his species later and bowed—more gracefully than he was feeling—to the hummingbird. 
“We, er, well, we’re humans from Earth, you know, which I understand is a matter of some concern for your master, or, at least, it was once. Goblin’s army attacked our, er, park, and—”

The hummingbird darted off through the palace. Christian peered after it.

“Are we…are we supposed to follow it?”

I cannot be sure. When last I came, I charged in to face Neva without invitation, to demand he stop the fairies’ attack on me.

“You did?” He couldn’t imagine charging in on anyone so important. He wouldn’t intrude on his barber unannounced—much less an angel. 
“How did that go?”

“Sod ‘how did that go,’” Sarah said. “The fairies are good, aren’t they?”

The fairies are fairies, Narodnaya said dismissively. They fell silent.

The doors closed behind them; the sound echoed around the room. Gilt plated the walls. There were several other doors leading elsewhere in the palace, but the hummingbird had gone through none of them. Instead, it had zipped off through an opening at the far end of the hall. Beyond, a white light shone, but the entryway was lit only by candles glowing in brackets on the walls.

They may have waited only a few minutes, though it felt much longer to Christian, who had never been anywhere so grand. University had seemed grand at first, though of course that had rubbed off after a while, except for the feeling of achievement, the knowledge he had done what his father had not been able to, that he had risen above the grimy childhood in Broomhouse to the lofty halls of the university. This place was truly grand, gleaming, clean, and there was something about the light at the end of the corridor—

“Good to be indoors again.” Sarah’s voice echoed around the chamber. They listened to the echoes and again fell silent. But she was right. It was nice to be warm and dry and windless, and his feet had relief from the rough rock of the mountain.

At last the hummingbird zipped back, tossing its head with a peep.

Now we may follow, Narodnaya said. It was strange not to hear her voice echo as well, even though Christian knew it was because she hadn’t actually spoken aloud. The bird made its way back through the corridor at the far end of the chamber, slower this time so they could keep up. Christian and Sarah’s bare feet slapped against the marble tiles as they went.

The bird led them through corridors and chambers larger and grander than the first until they reached a glass door that opened into a steaming garden lit bright as day. Leafy plants towered over grassy walkways. Water was running somewhere, a fountain or brook or both, and unseen birds called to each other from their perches. The glass dome they had seen from outside arched high overhead; stars glimmered through the canopy.

Somewhere in the center of the garden was a round grassy area like the center of Mozun’s labyrinth, a clearing tucked in the middle of the towering, leafy plants. A plethora of tropical flowers also surrounded it: hibiscus, orchids, fuchsia, plumeria, and others Christian couldn’t name. The fountain he had heard stood in the middle, tinkling like a bell as water fell from the font to the stone bowl beneath. Two massive trees beyond the fountain and grown and twisted together into the shape of a throne with bougainvillea clinging to its back, arms, and legs. On the throne sat Neva.[/spoiler]

BluesClues

BluesClues · Aug 1, 2017

Day 31: Book Man rewrites (1608 words)
(This is what I wrote yesterday, for the last day of Camp Nano July, but the site was down so I couldn't post it. Or maybe I could have, but for some reason the backup site wouldn't let me in.)

Spoiler

He was nine of ten feet tall, with skin as white as new snow, so white he fairly shone, and naked except for a kilt of palm leaves. Indigo hair fell to his shoulders and showed beneath his arms; his eyes were indigo, too, a paler shade than his hair. Thin indigo eyebrows stood out startlingly on his white face. Massive white wings draped over his throne, pinfeathers trailing in the grass. But there was something in the arrogant tile of his nose, the kingly thrust of one leg out in front of him, that rendered him not as enchanting as he might have been, not as gracious as Christian imagined angels out to look. But Neva was so glorious and so haughty that Christian didn’t feel equal to meeting his eyes.

The hummingbird darted ahead and hovered close to the angel’s ear as if whispering something into it. Neva nodded, his eyes glued to Christian and Sarah, and the bird settled on the arm of the throne. The angel’s expression was unreadable.

“You may sit, if you like,” he said at last. His voice was deeper than Christian had expected. “I’m afraid there are few chairs in my garden, but I assure you the grass is quite as comfortable.”

Feeling foolish, Christian maneuvered himself into a cross-legged sit on the grass. Sarah sprawled beside him, looking but more comfortable with wearing a look of distaste as she gazed at the lean white figure on the throne. Narodnaya drifted lower but remained in the air.

A dove flapped out of the trees with a small sack in its beak and dropped the sack into the grass beside Sarah. She opened it and pulled out an apple so richly red it was almost purple. The whole sack was filled with fruit—figs, more apples, mangos, papayas, plantains.

“Eat,” Neva said.

Sarah shrugged and handed Christian the apple. He bit into it and suddenly realized how hungry he was. He polished off the apple, reached into the bag, and grabbed the first thing he felt. Sarah fell upon the food with equal gusto. Christian felt incredibly rude for scarfing it down this way but was unable to stop himself. His stomach rumbled even as he ate.

“Raya tells me you are humans,” the angel said, as if this was a normal way to begin a conversation. The thin nostrils flared. “He seems quite sure of himself, and yet you—” leaning toward Christian—“don’t smell quite like a human.”

Christian swallowed a mouthful of food. “Why do people keep saying that?”

Narodnaya chuckled silently behind him, but Neva didn’t answer. “We are humans, at any rate, both of us.”

The angel leaned back in his throne and let a bougainvillea tendril wind around his fingers. “I have not had dealings with humans in a long time. What need have you of me now?”

Sarah folded her arms. “We just need to get to Glasswood as quickly as possible.”

But Christian wondered if he might not agree to help them more than that. He’d come to earth before, hadn’t he, to reward the fair folk for their aid in the fight against Goblin? He must care about Goblin’s defeat.

“We need help,” he said. “Goblin attacked the park—where that forest used to be, where he attacked before. Or at least his army did. It can’t be long until he escapes himself and attacks.”

Narodnaya drifted forward, looking uneasy. My lord, tell him. Goblin is dead. Goblin is dead, is he not?

The angel’s eyebrows contracted.

“They told me he was,” he said, “but I think it likely he is not.”

“He isn’t,” Christian said. “Duncan told me.”

My lord—

“Silence.” The marsh-witch fell back. Her lips pressed into a thin line. Neva leaned forward and frowned. “I thought he must be. Morrow and his army, the fae, they all told me he was dead. And yet, when I opened the portal to return home, the fae were unable to follow. I intended to end their exile when my brother was dead, but my spells held fast.”

Sarah looked at Christian and raised an eyebrow, but he was as surprised as she was.

“Your brother?” they chorused.

The angel’s frown melted into a look of supreme unconcern. He leaned back again and tried to resume an indifferent air, but Christian saw his fingers tighten on the arms of the throne.

“My brother,” he said at last, “was not born with the graces of our ancestors. He was an ugly creature from the moment of his birth. That is why he was called Goblin.”

Sarah looked horrified. “Your mother named him Goblin?”

“Of course not,” Neva snapped. “But everyone called him that from the time we were small.”

Both brothers, he said, were raised as befitted princes: learning the histories of their world and its peoples, the proper way to enter a room filled with nobility, how to be stewards of the land, the plants, the beasts. Neva was an early favorite with the people, because of his unearthly beauty, his talents for commanding a room and making guests feel at ease, and his charm.

“Charm?” Sarah repeated delicately.

Neva glared down his nose at her in a way that would have quite quelled Christian, but she gazed back with a studied look of innocence.

“Charm,” he said with finality, and continued. “My brother had no such gifts for sociability.”

Goblin’s talents were quieter, more in the way of growing things. He spent hours alone in the palace gardens from a young age. As tales spread about his frightful appearance, he spent more and more time in the gardens, in the forest and the mountain lakes, and less and less time attending balls and festivals.

“It grieved my mother, I know,” Neva said. “She would send me to look for him, though I admit it was difficult to convince him to return even when I could find him. More often than not, I returned home empty-handed.”

Still the tales spread. On the rare occasion Goblin did appear at a ball or venture into the realm’s cities, he found himself the center of unwanted attention. People whispered to each other, shuddered as he passed. Some fled as he approached. On the plains, beasts stampeded when they caught sight of him. He grew apt at disguising himself, but it was never enough, Neva said, in a tone that clearly said he thought it should have been.

“He began to lash out in the palace, in the villages east of the mountains,” he said bitterly. “Pranks, he called them. One such ‘prank’ resulted in an explosion that killed my mother and her young lady’s maid.”

As punishment, Neva imprisoned his brother in a tree in the heart of Glasswood, there to remain for eternity. The fae who dwelt there were tasked with guarding him.

Infuriated at his imprisonment, Goblin honed his magic until he was able to send his voice out into the land. His voice, memories, images—not unlike what Narodnaya was able to do, Christian thought, but across vast ranges and with more precision and dark purpose. Do not compare me to that—animal, Narodnaya snapped, but if Neva was able to hear her, he didn’t acknowledge either her comment or Christian’s thoughts.

“He made dangerous alliances in this way.” His indigo eyes looked past them, to a distant past where Goblin’s army of frightening creatures ran rampant. “He gathered to him all manner of dangerous creatures that roam our lands…night howlers, banshees, nightmares, firebirds and hags and giant spiders and furies and harpies and ilvan.”

Sarah drew her knees to her chest and hugged herself. She might not have had Narodnaya’s powers, but Christian knew exactly what she was thinking of: the attack on the park, the fire in the rose gardens, the wolves that leapt upon people or transformed into humans with wolf’s paws and fangs. He pictured the look on Moira’s face as she kissed his forehead and shoved them through the portal.

“You humans are such fragile creatures,” Neva said. “When the portal was discovered, when your world was discovered, I knew. I knew my brother would flee there if he could—I knew he would cause unspeakable damage if he could. I ordered the fae to strengthen the spells on his prison and double their guard.”

The memories of the attack were starting to bring on another panic attack. Christian fought it, swallowed it back.

“Why should you care?” he asked in a quavering voice. Focus, he told himself. Focus on him. Focus on the question. “If he escaped and went to our world, he wouldn’t cause you anymore trouble.”

A frown crossed the angel’s face. “I cared because he was supposed to have been imprisoned for the rest of time.”

“An eternity seems a harsh sentence,” Sarah said. Her voice didn’t quiver the way Christian’s did, but it had a weak quality about it that made him feel she had decided to take an interest for much the same reason he had.

Neva glowered at them. “He killed our mother. He killed Adrienne. Eternity was nothing. I ought to have killed him outright.”

And thus, when Goblin escaped—in a burst of violent magic that destroyed much of Glasswood and killed many of the fae—when he fled to earth, taking many of his allies with him, his brother determined that execution, not exile, should be his fate. Furious with the fae for allowing Goblin to escape, Neva banished them to earth and set spells that would not allow them to return until his brother was dead.

[b]Day 31:[/b] Book Man rewrites (1608 words)
(This is what I wrote yesterday, for the last day of Camp Nano July, but the site was down so I couldn't post it. Or maybe I could have, but for some reason the backup site wouldn't let me in.)

[spoiler]He was nine of ten feet tall, with skin as white as new snow, so white he fairly shone, and naked except for a kilt of palm leaves. Indigo hair fell to his shoulders and showed beneath his arms; his eyes were indigo, too, a paler shade than his hair. Thin indigo eyebrows stood out startlingly on his white face. Massive white wings draped over his throne, pinfeathers trailing in the grass. But there was something in the arrogant tile of his nose, the kingly thrust of one leg out in front of him, that rendered him not as enchanting as he might have been, not as gracious as Christian imagined angels out to look. But Neva was so glorious and so haughty that Christian didn’t feel equal to meeting his eyes.

The hummingbird darted ahead and hovered close to the angel’s ear as if whispering something into it. Neva nodded, his eyes glued to Christian and Sarah, and the bird settled on the arm of the throne. The angel’s expression was unreadable.

“You may sit, if you like,” he said at last. His voice was deeper than Christian had expected. “I’m afraid there are few chairs in my garden, but I assure you the grass is quite as comfortable.”

Feeling foolish, Christian maneuvered himself into a cross-legged sit on the grass. Sarah sprawled beside him, looking but more comfortable with wearing a look of distaste as she gazed at the lean white figure on the throne. Narodnaya drifted lower but remained in the air.

A dove flapped out of the trees with a small sack in its beak and dropped the sack into the grass beside Sarah. She opened it and pulled out an apple so richly red it was almost purple. The whole sack was filled with fruit—figs, more apples, mangos, papayas, plantains.

“Eat,” Neva said.

Sarah shrugged and handed Christian the apple. He bit into it and suddenly realized how hungry he was. He polished off the apple, reached into the bag, and grabbed the first thing he felt. Sarah fell upon the food with equal gusto. Christian felt incredibly rude for scarfing it down this way but was unable to stop himself. His stomach rumbled even as he ate.

“Raya tells me you are humans,” the angel said, as if this was a normal way to begin a conversation. The thin nostrils flared. “He seems quite sure of himself, and yet you—” leaning toward Christian—“don’t smell quite like a human.”

Christian swallowed a mouthful of food. “Why do people keep saying that?”

Narodnaya chuckled silently behind him, but Neva didn’t answer. “We are humans, at any rate, both of us.”

The angel leaned back in his throne and let a bougainvillea tendril wind around his fingers. “I have not had dealings with humans in a long time. What need have you of me now?”

Sarah folded her arms. “We just need to get to Glasswood as quickly as possible.”

But Christian wondered if he might not agree to help them more than that. He’d come to earth before, hadn’t he, to reward the fair folk for their aid in the fight against Goblin? He must care about Goblin’s defeat.

“We need help,” he said. “Goblin attacked the park—where that forest used to be, where he attacked before. Or at least his army did. It can’t be long until he escapes himself and attacks.”

Narodnaya drifted forward, looking uneasy. My lord, tell him. Goblin is dead. Goblin is dead, is he not?

The angel’s eyebrows contracted.

“They told me he was,” he said, “but I think it likely he is not.”

“He isn’t,” Christian said. “Duncan told me.”

My lord—

“Silence.” The marsh-witch fell back. Her lips pressed into a thin line. Neva leaned forward and frowned. “I thought he must be. Morrow and his army, the fae, they all told me he was dead. And yet, when I opened the portal to return home, the fae were unable to follow. I intended to end their exile when my brother was dead, but my spells held fast.”

Sarah looked at Christian and raised an eyebrow, but he was as surprised as she was.

“Your brother?” they chorused.

The angel’s frown melted into a look of supreme unconcern. He leaned back again and tried to resume an indifferent air, but Christian saw his fingers tighten on the arms of the throne.

“My brother,” he said at last, “was not born with the graces of our ancestors. He was an ugly creature from the moment of his birth. That is why he was called Goblin.”

Sarah looked horrified. “Your mother named him Goblin?”

“Of course not,” Neva snapped. “But everyone called him that from the time we were small.”

Both brothers, he said, were raised as befitted princes: learning the histories of their world and its peoples, the proper way to enter a room filled with nobility, how to be stewards of the land, the plants, the beasts. Neva was an early favorite with the people, because of his unearthly beauty, his talents for commanding a room and making guests feel at ease, and his charm.

“Charm?” Sarah repeated delicately.

Neva glared down his nose at her in a way that would have quite quelled Christian, but she gazed back with a studied look of innocence.

“Charm,” he said with finality, and continued. “My brother had no such gifts for sociability.”

Goblin’s talents were quieter, more in the way of growing things. He spent hours alone in the palace gardens from a young age. As tales spread about his frightful appearance, he spent more and more time in the gardens, in the forest and the mountain lakes, and less and less time attending balls and festivals.

“It grieved my mother, I know,” Neva said. “She would send me to look for him, though I admit it was difficult to convince him to return even when I could find him. More often than not, I returned home empty-handed.”

Still the tales spread. On the rare occasion Goblin did appear at a ball or venture into the realm’s cities, he found himself the center of unwanted attention. People whispered to each other, shuddered as he passed. Some fled as he approached. On the plains, beasts stampeded when they caught sight of him. He grew apt at disguising himself, but it was never enough, Neva said, in a tone that clearly said he thought it should have been.

“He began to lash out in the palace, in the villages east of the mountains,” he said bitterly. “Pranks, he called them. One such ‘prank’ resulted in an explosion that killed my mother and her young lady’s maid.”

As punishment, Neva imprisoned his brother in a tree in the heart of Glasswood, there to remain for eternity. The fae who dwelt there were tasked with guarding him.

Infuriated at his imprisonment, Goblin honed his magic until he was able to send his voice out into the land. His voice, memories, images—not unlike what Narodnaya was able to do, Christian thought, but across vast ranges and with more precision and dark purpose. Do not compare me to that—animal, Narodnaya snapped, but if Neva was able to hear her, he didn’t acknowledge either her comment or Christian’s thoughts.

“He made dangerous alliances in this way.” His indigo eyes looked past them, to a distant past where Goblin’s army of frightening creatures ran rampant. “He gathered to him all manner of dangerous creatures that roam our lands…night howlers, banshees, nightmares, firebirds and hags and giant spiders and furies and harpies and ilvan.”

Sarah drew her knees to her chest and hugged herself. She might not have had Narodnaya’s powers, but Christian knew exactly what she was thinking of: the attack on the park, the fire in the rose gardens, the wolves that leapt upon people or transformed into humans with wolf’s paws and fangs. He pictured the look on Moira’s face as she kissed his forehead and shoved them through the portal.

“You humans are such fragile creatures,” Neva said. “When the portal was discovered, when your world was discovered, I knew. I knew my brother would flee there if he could—I knew he would cause unspeakable damage if he could. I ordered the fae to strengthen the spells on his prison and double their guard.”

The memories of the attack were starting to bring on another panic attack. Christian fought it, swallowed it back.

“Why should you care?” he asked in a quavering voice. Focus, he told himself. Focus on him. Focus on the question. “If he escaped and went to our world, he wouldn’t cause you anymore trouble.”

A frown crossed the angel’s face. “I cared because he was supposed to have been imprisoned for the rest of time.”

“An eternity seems a harsh sentence,” Sarah said. Her voice didn’t quiver the way Christian’s did, but it had a weak quality about it that made him feel she had decided to take an interest for much the same reason he had.

Neva glowered at them. “He killed our mother. He killed Adrienne. Eternity was nothing. I ought to have killed him outright.”

And thus, when Goblin escaped—in a burst of violent magic that destroyed much of Glasswood and killed many of the fae—when he fled to earth, taking many of his allies with him, his brother determined that execution, not exile, should be his fate. Furious with the fae for allowing Goblin to escape, Neva banished them to earth and set spells that would not allow them to return until his brother was dead.
[/spoiler]

Camp 2017: Book Man rewrites

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