Somnium {Part One}

[afterandalasia]

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Prologue

"I dreamt of fire again last night," Aurora said.

She was still pale, a little gaunt, deep shadows beneath her eyes. Her companions looked round to her uncertainly, one still proffering a bowl of porridge. She took it, cradling the warmth like all of hers had been stolen away, and bowed her head slightly to inhale the scent of honey.

"How widespread?" one of them finally asked.

"Like the whole world was burning," she replied, voice growing hoarse for a moment. Her hand trembled as she raised the spoon to her lips, almost gulping at the hot food. "We need to return to the towns. Shang will be waiting for us."

The others waited to see if there was anything more to come. Aurora did not look up, her eyes fixed on her food, and she seemed to eat as quickly as she could bear. Finally, though, she paused, spoon almost touching her lips, and said in a voice that was almost a whimper:

“I felt the fire myself. Like it was me ablaze.”





 
Chapter One

They rode into the town without ceremony, as was their wont. After weeks in the deep woods they looked much as any other travellers, especially with their hoods drawn low over their faces and their shoulders bowed in tiredness. It had begun to rain, a seeping drizzle that chilled to the bone and sent homeowners scurrying for the shelter of their houses. Aurora led the way, her fingers twined in Samson’s mane rather than needing to touch his reins, with the other two following behind and to either side of her on the gloomy streets. Finally she stopped, abruptly, outside a dingy inn, and when she glanced up the rain fell against her face for a moment before she nodded.

“He is here,” she said simply.

There was a groom at the rear of the inn, but he was hiding beneath the stables, and looked utterly disinterested until Aurora threw back her hood and let the long blonde curls of her hair fall freely. Then he started to attention and rushed out into the rain, helping her alight at the mounting block and not commenting on her bare, mud-caked feet. Samson snorted and shuffled away slightly as the second figure drew up alongside the block, dismounting nimbly and handing the reins to the groom as well. He looked surprised at the feminine hand, more so at the feminine features which he glimpsed beneath her hood.

Before he could begin to speak, the third figure had dismounted in the middle of the yard, keeping a tight hand on their horse’s reins.

“I will stable Khan myself,” they said. “Tell Shang that I am here.”

“We will,” said the second figure, taking Aurora’s arm and steering her back towards the inn. The rain became heavier, rattling down on the streets and rooftops, muting the rest of the world beneath its hold. They stepped inside, shrugging water off their shoulders, and finally the second figure threw back her hood to reveal red curls of hair, green-blue eyes, and a silver scar that cut across her right cheek. They glanced around the smoky interior of the inn, then with a sigh of relief from Aurora wove between the tables to a quieter corner, almost hidden behind the fireplace, where the man sitting alone kept his threatening air.

He looked up as they approached; his features were foreign to this land, high cheekbones and golden-tan skin, but the broad set of his shoulders and the sword at his side could speak in any language.

“Hǎojǐu bújiàn¹, ” he said as they approached, a touch of humour in his voice though his eyes were still dark. He nodded to Aurora, then embraced her companion warmly. “Where is Ping?”

“He is just with the horses. I fear he does not trust the groom.”

Shang chuckled. “Sometimes I fear that he trusts no-one. Come, sit down. You look cold. The stew here is not good, but it is better than nothing.”

“I will order,” said the red-haired woman, gently guiding Aurora into a seat before turning and flitting off to get the bartender’s attention. Shang watched her go with a faint smile, then turned back to Aurora once again.

“You always know where I will be,” he said softly. “And when. I... must thank you, for helping Mulan.”

“The others help me greatly,” Aurora replied, her eyes still fixed upon the table. She had grown pale, Shang noticed, even more so than when he had last seen her; there was a translucency about her now. “I would not be able to be without them.”

Shang nodded. “Even so. I know how much you mean to them both.”

She did not reply, and he lapsed back into silence. Barely a moment passed before the door opened again and the third member of their party walked in, a young man with the same cast to his features as Shang, hair pulled up into a bun at the back of his head and a sword at his side to match the green breastplate that he wore. He crossed to the table and nodded smartly. “Captain Li.”

“Li Ping,” replied Shang with a nod, but his eyes were warm and relieved.

The young soldier sat down beside Shang, face still calm, but beneath the table his hand came to rest on the Captain’s thigh.

“Duō xiǎng nǐ yā,²” he said, very softly, and for a moment his expression softened. Then he laid both hands on the table again, and turned to Aurora. “Where is Giselle?”

“She is getting food for you,” Shang replied. Aurora remained still, hands in her lap, the back of the chair that she was seated in seeming to enfold her. “How has time been?”

Ping shrugged. “Cold. Wet. It seems that this land never can manage good weather. But at least it is now safer with Prince Ferdinand and Eirlys’s Kingdoms joined together.”

Shang nodded. He knew that the battle haunted them still, the poison that had twisted the trees of the land against them still coming to them in their dreams. He had been there when they had smashed into the crystal coffin that Queen Grimhilde had laid Snow White into, when they had drawn her out as cold as death and with her fingernails worn down to blood, and when they had pressed her into the crying Ferdinand’s arms for him to awaken her with his kiss. Snow White knew nothing of ruling, but Ferdinand would unite both Kingdoms in peace now, they were quite sure.

“How are your scars?” Ping asked, this time with a touch of tenderness.

Without thinking, Shang raised one hand to the scars that raked across his chest, the dragon’s mark that he would bear until the end of his days. “They are healed now,” he lied, thinking of the times that they had awoken him in the night with burning pain.

“Good,” said Ping softly.

They were interrupted by Giselle’s return, with a tray covered in hot soup, thick bread and chunks of cheese, as well as flagons of ale. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, perhaps with the heat of the inn, as she pushed the tray into the centre of the table and then sat down next to Aurora, brushing the younger girl’s arm softly to get her attention before handing her a bowl.

“There are rooms free as well,” she said, looking up. “I booked one for myself and Aurora, I thought...”

“Thank you,” said Ping abruptly, the slightest of blushes on his cheeks.

Giselle smiled and nodded. “Well, yes. Shang,” she said, turning to address him directly, and he was caught off guard by it for a moment. She had changed since they had last talked, that much was immediately clear. “Aurora said that you would have news for us. From the south?”

He hesitated for a moment, confusion crossing his handsome features. “I have heard rumours, nothing more. And none dangerous. Things are strangely quiet in Agrabah, that is all.”

“Agrabah,” said Ping softly. “I have heard of it.”

“Another of the city-states,” Shang replied with a wave of his hand. “They produce cloth, some spices. Their army is small, so far as I know; they do not make war, and are not rich enough to be attacked. None would have noticed their silence were it not for the fact that it came right at the time that the Princess was supposed to be wed. There was not half the ceremony that would have been expected. Are you certain that there is to be trouble there?”

The others looked to Aurora, who nodded. “A land of gold and silk. I have dreamt of such a place.” Shang looked unconvinced, but the others had trusted Aurora on many an occasion and he knew that she had never failed them.

“There has been silence for almost three years now,” Shang said. “People are just beginning to take notice.”

“Then it is time for us to take notice also,” declared Ping. “We should start riding out tomorrow.”

“The General does not know that I am here,” Shang admitted. A look of pain flickered across Ping’s face, and unconsciously he moved his hand to curve around Shang’s. “I will not be sought out for another two days, I hope, but I will not be able to go with you. I am sorry.”

A momentary pause, and then Ping nodded, the movement strained. “Very well. Then we will wait here as long as you are able, then ride out. I do not want to waste this time.” 





¹ - "Long time, no see."
² - "I've missed you so much."


Chapter Two

Aurora did not sleep well that night. She rarely did, Giselle knew, but this night was worse than many and she tossed and turned, murmuring in her sleep. Some semblance of peace came only when Giselle sat up, drew the younger woman onto her lap, and stroked her hair over and over. By the time that the sun started to rise, faint and strained through white clouds, Giselle had also fallen asleep again, seated and leaning against the wall.

“I’m sorry,” Aurora whispered as she awoke. Giselle hushed her.

“No, Rose, no. It’s nothing. Come on. What did you dream?”

“I ... cannot remember clearly.” She shook her head, curls tousling around her face. “It was all fire and violence again.”

As always, Giselle thought, but did not say anything. They dressed and breakfasted, knowing better than to disturb Shang and Ping, and made their way out into the quiet streets of town. The rain had stilled by now, though not for long, still dripping from gutters and forming shallow puddles in any hollow on the street. The town seemed cleaner than many in which they had been, but more withdrawn, the shutters of windows drawn tightly closed and no people on the streets. Much of the thatching on the roofs was still a dark brown-grey, not yet greening or blackening with age, but there was a shadowed time to them.

More than once, Giselle caught sight of someone out of the corner of her eye, but before she could fully turn they would have disappeared from view again. She wondered if they were running. The mill on the edges of the town turned steadily in the wind, and she could see the large buildings of the blacksmith, and yet no people to complete the image. Finally, with a shake of her head, she suggested that they return to the inn to see to their horses, and Aurora agreed almost naturally.

There was no sign of the groom from the previous day, but the stable looked to have been mucked out and none of the horses but Khan was shifting impatiently. Seeing as that was his usual state, Giselle simply chuckled and withdrew the curry comb from the bag of kit in the stall with Destiny. Aurora produced an apple and a small knife from her pocket and began to cut it into pieces; their usual treat for when they were not riding and there was not much opportunity for the horses to get exercise.

She had been surprised, at least at first, at how many looks Destiny had gained. Apparently white horses were rare in this land, not to mention that her mane had been unusually long at the time. Trimmed, it tangled far less easily, and earnt fewer strange looks. Destiny gently headbutted Giselle’s side, which earnt a laugh but also a click of the tongue to still her before starting to make smooth circular motions with the comb.

“Good morning, Samson,” Aurora murmured, taking a second comb from the bag and following Giselle’s lead. Giselle looked up and smiled faintly, but did not say anything as Aurora stood where she could look into Samson’s eyes. “How are you doing, hmm? Was that a nice apple?”

She continued the gentle words as she worked, through dandy and body brushes, and soft cloth around the eyes and ears. When both were finished they turned their attention to Khan, knowing that Ping would rather they check him over than a stranger, and though Khan huffed and pawed the ground a bit he calmed when Aurora began to hum a distant tune.

“Check the hooves?” Giselle suggested.

“I think so.”

There were no problems with any of the horses’ hooves, and the women talked sweetly to all three of them for being so good. Ping usually laughed when they did so, but then was just as sweet with Khan anyway that he could hardly talk. Checking the hay, they declared it acceptable and, with just a pause for Aurora to kiss Samson’s nose and earn a flick of the ears in response, they let them be.

As the sun crested in the sky they returned to their room once again, this time with cold meats and some rounds of unleavened bread from the kitchens. Giselle added wood to the embers of the fireplace and coaxed it back to flame, then retrieved from her bag her sewing kit and took to the windowsill to work, whilst the light was good, on a shirt that had been torn some days before. Seated before the fire, Aurora looked through a bundled collection of drawings which she had made before, most in charcoal but a few in ink, more vivid reminders of her dreams than could be held in words. Some of them she crumpled up and gave to the flames; others she lingered on a little longer, and then slipped back into their leather binding.

After a while she took out fresh parchment and thin charcoal sticks, and Giselle could see her posture relaxed as she continued her work. Often Aurora’s attempts to speak of her dreams failed her, but when Mulan had pressed an ink-brush into her hands – perhaps meaning her to write – she had fallen upon drawing with a look of beauteous relief. Giselle’s hands fell still for a moment as, from where she sat, she watched forms grow: a giant mouth that seemed to be made up of the ground itself, fire glowing from the centre of it; a smoky figure coming forth from the spout of a lamp.

It was only moments before Aurora’s hands were marked with dark smudges, on the pads of her fingers and the base of her thumb as she smoothed the charcoal into place. It did not take much longer for her to touch her cheeks or nose without thinking and leave marks there as well, and Giselle smiled at how young they made her look. Calm came over Aurora as she flicked her hair over her shoulder and tilted her head to regard another drawing and, wishing neither to disturb nor intrude, Giselle drew herself back to working on her sewing once again.

The day passed with a dull sense of waiting, until evening when a knock came at the door. Giselle rose to her feet with a look of alarm, drawing a knife from where it had lain in her lap. She crept over to beside the door, raising it, as Aurora slowly backed away.

“It’s me,” came the voice from outside.

With a sigh of relief, Giselle opened the door and Ping stepped through. The shadows beneath his eyes had disappeared, though they were now slightly red. She said nothing, sheathing the knife again, and Ping slowly closed the door behind him, letting the latch fall into place.

“A messenger came today,” he said, “earlier than expected. Shang had to go back.”

“We can leave tomorrow morning,” said Giselle. “I’ll get some supplies tonight.”

Ping nodded, reaching up to let his hair loose. It fell almost to his shoulders, thick and black, and then after a moment with a sigh Mulan came back to them. “I wish I could spend more time with him. These days...”

All the words that Giselle could have thought of had been said before, and she patted Mulan’s arm instead. Mulan gave a wan smile, then shook her head as if recalling something. “I have left my things in Shang’s room. I should get those back. Will you be all right for a moment, Aurora?”

“Of course,” Aurora replied softly.

Mulan nodded, and patted Giselle’s hand absentmindedly. “Very well. I will see you later this evening, then. Take care.”

“I always do.”

~

In the end, they left before dawn. Mulan had slept deeply, on the floor, a frown on her face even in sleep; Aurora had twitched and cried in her sleep, but had seemed to find at least some peace whilst she was in Giselle’s arms. The air seemed to have emptied itself of rain, and the sunrise was clear and pale as they turned their horses south, not needing to speak nowadays to know what was meant with the slightest of hand movements.

They did not need to keep their usual formation, and allowed their horses to find their own pace, stopping for breaks to water them regularly. It was a companionable silence, though Giselle disliked it in comparison to the laughter and talk that they had shared, on rare nights, some time ago now. The leagues blurred beneath their feet, the woodlands that had once been home, at least to Aurora, giving way to more open grasslands.

Here at least, they were less known, and could barter for food in the towns, and trade. Where the villagers would not deal with women, they would send in Ping to barter with them, but often Giselle was better at gaining peoples’ confidence with her bright smiles and occasional gifts of flowers. Though the weather was turning colder in the north, here it remained bright, and as the sun rose higher in the sky day by day it became fiercer also, and Aurora and Giselle were both forced to cover their skin for protection from the sun.

The grasslands became finer and scrubbier, and they took shelter where they could in the hottest part of the day and travelled later into the night. Mulan and Giselle took to keep watching into the night as they moved further still from the lands which they knew, though Aurora was in no fit state to as her sleep became worse and worse with time. More than once she awoke screaming, her eyes open but seeing nothing, and both would come scrambling to her side.

Eventually they reached the edge of the northern lands, the sharp plateau that marked the end of their world. The world fell away sharply beneath them, boundless-seeming sand stretching out beneath them, heat making the horizon shimmer.

“The dead lands,” said Mulan, and then with a shift of her posture and the tilt of her head it was clear that Ping was back. A faint smile crossed his face. “It’s been a long time.”







 
Chapter Three

It was dangerous, Ping said, to travel outside the trade roads across the desert. The people of the sand knew it as if it flowed in their blood, and though they did not often take well to outsiders, they would accept one who spoke their tongue. The women veiled themselves with clothes bought from the last of the towns they had passed through; thin gloves on their hands, abaya to hide their forms, and bushiyyah covering their faces, turning them into black ghosts against the bright desert sky. Ping walked freely among the men, gossiping in their native tongue, bartering to share food or chewing tobacco with them, and in return helping them with the fire or carrying water for the horses and camels that made up the mixed train.

They were laughed at for the horses, sometimes, but in general the men seemed to take Ping’s presence with good humour, all roaring at jokes together and slapping their thighs in amusement. It did not take long for Giselle to learn a little of the language as well, and to be able to communicate with the women between a few words and a lot of hand gestures. Aurora kept to herself, frail and fragile and still, and slept curled up closely against Giselle at night despite the heat that left her covered in a sheen of sweat, shaking, and clutching at the water skins that were pressed to her lips each morning.

They passed through a few oasis-towns, mostly tent dwellings clustered around the waterholes with camels nearby and people flitting to and forth between the shade of the trees. It was almost two weeks before Agrabah came into sight, a great walled city rising out of the desert, the golden onion domes of the Palace rising above the walls. The whole city seemed veiled by the heat; Ping exchanged significant glances with his companions and fell back to ride alongside them as the great wooden gates came nearer.

The white walls of the city had grown taller; it could faintly be seen that there was a division in the walls where the walkways had been removed and then more bricks added. Faint white lime dust made it look powdery and soft against the red lacquer of the doors, the blackened iron that held them up. The gates stood wide open, but guards milled around outside, wearing black armour and red turbans, and with gleaming sabres at their sides.

They were shouting in their own tongue, waving some people through. The heat rolled in waves through the air, reflected off the white city walls and the glinting metal; the air throbbed with the voices of the men and women shouting at and to each other. Aurora seemed to waver in her saddle; Giselle drew closer and put one hand on her thigh comfortingly, seeing the bow of her head beneath the black fabric.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “There will be shade inside.”

Aurora did not reply, and turned her head away as Ping leant down in the saddle to speak to one of the guards, gesticulating expressively. Sweat was beading on his forehead with the weight of the armour he was wearing to meet with the guards, rolling down the back of his neck and glistening in the sun. One of the guards, tall and thin with gold earrings glinting against his sun-darkened skin, swaggered along the line and paused, looking over the horses upon which the women rode. For most of the distance they had ridden astride their horses, the broad legs of their pants shielding even the form of their legs from view, but as the city had neared they had moved uncomfortably to being seated sideways, legs pressed piously together and heads bowed, not speaking and imitating the postures of the other women.

Giselle watched from beneath the shadow of her veil as the guard neared, her hand tightening on her horse’s halter. His eyes were narrowed, a thin moustache shadowing his upper lip, then he stopped beside her and grabbed her wrist without warning.

She screamed, tried to wrench her hand away, but he pulled down again, almost dragging her off her horse with the awkward angle at which she was sitting. She felt the dagger on her arm slip, sheath and all, against her sweaty skin, and was on the verge of jumping down altogether when she heard a whinny of protest from Khan, the sound of sharp movements.

“Qef ya jundi!³” Ping snapped, hand going to the hilt of his sword. The soldier spun in shock, snatching his hand away from Giselle’s wrist as if he had been burnt, and mumbled something without meeting Ping’s eyes. “Raddidi,” Ping added, in the voice of a commander, and the guard said it again, but louder. There was a painful moment, then Ping settled for a look of sharp scorn and jerked his head for the others to follow him into the city.

Not far beyond the walls they slowed, then stopped, dismounting so that they could lead the horses to a fountain for their water. Many of the people who moved through the streets did so in rags, or at least worn and patched clothes; even Giselle knew poverty when she saw it. There was a menace also to the guards, who stalked the streets in pairs or groups of three and sent people, adults as well as clusters of children, scattering before their step.

“What happened at the gate?” asked Giselle quietly as they reached the fountain, the words almost lost beneath the chatter and the sounds of the nearby market. “Should we worry?”

“He said you did not carry yourself like a woman of these lands, and wanted to see if you were a woman at all.”

“Woman or no, I would have had his guts,” she said angrily. Her hand tightened unconsciously in Destiny’s mane, but she caught the uneasy shift and slackened her grip again.

Ping snorted. “And were the law of this land what it once was, I could have had his hand for touching you at all. I am sorry that it seems you and Aurora are to remain in Ping’s shadow.”

“Sometimes shadows are harder to see into,” Giselle replied, and to that at least Ping nodded acceptance.

As the horses slaked their thirst and flicked away flies with their tails, Giselle allowed her eyes to wander – without a movement of her head to give her away – across the sight before her. It was so wild, so alien; she could think of a time when it would have terrified her, and a time before that when she was too afraid to feel fear even when she should have done. Her childhood had been lush trees and laughing woodland streams, where even the winter cold had been beautiful, snowy, not something to be feared. The death of her mother had been before she could remember, and though she remembered it with a distant sadness it had never truly stung.

Perhaps when her father did not come back from the hunt she should have known fear rather than just the aching sadness. Known anger. Known despair, even. Known anything but sadness, when sadness was such a wilted half-emotion to feel.

“Should we move?” Aurora said, startling Giselle though the words were clearly meant for Ping. He paused with a frown, then glanced up to the city walls still within view, a pair of silhouetted figures walking along it.

“Yes,” he replied. “We should get a feel for the city, perhaps see if we can find the Palace. Come, we can walk, give the horses a rest.”

With bridles in hand, they could not walk as close together as they usually would, and Giselle could see from a glance around that women were not expected to walk at the sides of any man who might have been with them. She found herself holding Destiny’s bridle in her left hand and letting the fingers of her right brush against the hilt of the dagger she carried, appreciating at least that the clothes she wore hid her wariness.

The Palace rose up above the skyline, but the streets that might have led towards it twisted and turned, some turning so narrow that the horses could not go down them, some sweeping away in the opposite direction than they had started. It was frustrating, especially as the heat seemed to grow drier around them, and Giselle could see annoyance written on Ping’s face.

Eventually she stepped forward, letting Destiny walk freely for a moment, and touched his elbow lightly. He cocked his head in her vague direction without looking round. “Yes?”

“There’s a tavern there,” Giselle said, pointing to a building emanating chatter and laughter, though more muted than they had seen before. “Perhaps you could speak to some people.”

“You would need to wait outside,” he replied.

“Then we can see some people.”

Again, a cautious nod; she could read easily enough that he some fear of this place had crept into him. She knew that it would not be the foreignness of the land, not for him; there was no reason this land would be any stranger than Aurora’s, or Eirlys’s, or any of the others in which they had found themselves over their time together. But there was something that unsettled him all the same, and his uncertainty did not help her own unease.

They tied off the horses in the makeshift stable to the rear to the tavern, little more than a wooden lean-to with a long tray of greyish grain at the bottom. It seemed dry enough to the touch, with no sign of disease, but Khan turned his head away with an emphatic snort and the others followed suit.

Giselle had said that they would watch people, and for a while they did, sitting in one of the shadowed alcoves in imitation of the other few women in the yard, who sat in small clusters and talked between themselves, occasionally going over to the well for water and bringing it back in pottery jugs and cups. From where they sat they could see one of the more main roads, with people walking – or occasionally running – back and forth along it: a group of children, barefoot and ragged but laughing still; a veiled and robed woman with exotic patterns on her clothes carrying a tall water-jar on her head; a young man with a basket under his hip calling for custom as he proffered the seeds within for sale.

Her mind, though, did not take long to wander. Perhaps it was the heat, she decided; normally she found it easier than this to focus, to learn to read a city and its people. When she had first found herself in this world she had not known it – then again, finding herself suddenly below water and struggling to the surface, she had found no-one at all. Her heavy dress, sodden and muddy, was like dragging wood through the snow as she had tried to find someone, anyone, even a path, in the dark quiet wood in which she found herself.





She had wandered, far and long as she would have put it then; for too long, she would say now. Eventually, a little frightened but sure, quite sure that things would turn out well in the end, she had managed to wriggle into the hollow of an old, dead tree and arrange her dress in such a way that she could sleep. The cold had become a lull by then, comforting, almost welcoming, and in hindsight she was astonished that she had awoken at all after giving in so utterly to it.

But still she had not recognised the world.

Yes, it was a forest, but it was not of the sort that she had known. The animals did not come when she sang, and those birds which she even came close to did not speak, but flew away with unintelligible twitters. It had not been bright and sunny, but shadowed and cold, and she recognised few of the berries or mushrooms that she had eaten in Andalasia, in the place she had called home.

Finally she returned to where she had first stumbled into the world, and found a stream, and on the stream a village, a cluster of maybe fifty or so houses with a watermill, a small wooden temple, a handful of tradesmen who served the needs of the surrounding farms as well. It had felt as if it had taken forever, though it had been only two days, but finally she found people again and almost cried with gratitude.

First she had asked for help, but had been turned away. Then she had begged, and had been laughed at. Finally, steeling herself, she took apart her beautiful dress and managed to produce from it something more wearable, mostly white again after being washed in the river, serviceable and with an apron to protect herself. On the third day she went to them humbly, and offered service in return for food or a bed for the night, and though sleeping in haylofts or wrapped in a blanket on kitchen floors was far less comfortable than she had imagined, it was more tolerable full than hungry, easier slaked than thirsty, safer warm than cold.

But winter was closing in, and in the words of the people in the village she heard a fear of the cold. In their words she discovered a winter that froze, that hurt, that killed the weak or poor or just plain unlucky to be caught in its grasp at the wrong moment. She thought of the glittering frost fairies she had seen in her childhood skating feathers of ice onto the water, and wondered how winter here could be so different.

She had never stopped thinking of Edward, never stopped singing to him as she looked at the unfamiliar stars in the sky, alone at night. She simply became used to coping without him.
Soon there was no spare food, even for a girl willing to work, and though families would still offer her places to sleep they had no bread, no fruit, no wine to offer her. Finally, beneath the light of a full moon and with an ache in her belly, she turned determined steps back along the stream in search of the magical door which must have bought her to this realm.

In the light it was less frightening, though the trees were bare with the winter as they clustered around the welling spring at the head of the stream. It formed a pool, perhaps five feet in diameter, but when she found the longest fallen branch she could, it did not reach the bottom of the pure black circle. The sensation of drowning washed over her in a wave of memory, and a trickling fear took hold of her, but she did not even have time to pull the branch away before it was ripped out of her hands.

Stumbling back, she had cried out, but by then the water was whirling, bubbling, steam coursing into the air even though there was no heat to accompany it. Giselle shielded her eyes, fearing what might rise to meet her, until-

“Giselle?”

She had looked around in astonishment, for a moment utterly unable to speak.

“Giselle!”

Arms wrapped around her, drew her to standing, and then spun her into the air before she could catch her breath. The movement made her giddy, even sick, and she staggered back as soon as she was released to see Edward looking at her in joy that was turning quickly to confusion.

“Giselle, my love, what is it?”

He was still wearing white. His wedding clothes. But it had been almost two months, such time that they stood below a full moon that echoed the one Giselle had found herself beneath the first night that she had stepped out of the same pool.

“You’re here,” she said weakly.

“Why yes, of course! Your chipmunk friend told me that you had fallen into this well-” something in her mind said pushed, but she could not remember why “-and I came to rescue you. Come, we shall return to Andalasia!”

He had grabbed hold of her hand before she could say a word, protest or gratitude either, and leapt with both feet back into the pool. Now, though, it reached only to the middle of his shiny brown boots, and he looked down in bewilderment.

“It’s magic,” said Giselle, without even having to think this time. “It must have closed again… oh, Edward…” worry had filled her, more focused on the thought of returning him to Andalasia than getting back herself; after all, he was the prince. “Wait – Pip! You said that Pip told you!”

“Why, yes,” Edward had replied, finally looking up from his muddy feet where he stood, still, in the middle of the pond. “I told him that if I did not return immediately, he was to inform my mother-”

“Your mother…” something tugged at her mind, like a song almost forgotten, but still she could not place it. A face that had held echoes of another face, a voice that held echoes of another voice. Before she could even think further, though, the water beneath his feet began to darken and stir again, and she pulled him out of the spring with a cry. “Look out!”

He clutched her to his chest, and even then a whisper in the back of her mind had asked what he thought he could protect her from by doing so, and then with a ripple of something that she felt as much as saw, something the colour of a starling’s wing and as cold as a final breath, Queen Narissa rose elegantly out of the pool, her perfect gown not even damp around the edges.

“Oh, Edward,” she said, sounding more disappointed than anything else.

His face split into a wide grin. “Mother! I say, I told that chipmunk to wait a while…” he tried to tug Giselle by the hand towards the Queen, though she resisted. “Come, I have found Giselle. We should hurry, or the priest will leave!”

Queen Narissa’s eyes, though, were fixed on Giselle. They were dark, almost black, but something seemed to stir deep within them that Giselle felt like a tremor in her bones. “Of course,” said the Queen, drawing from behind her back a shining apple, one side red and the other green. “Before we go back, though, we need to each… take a bite. The journey is dangerous otherwise.”

“I’m sure that I’ll be fine,” Giselle began. “I came here without…”

Without even looking round, the Queen raised the apple to her lips, sinking her teeth into it with a crisp, sharp crunch. Giselle fell silent as Narissa chewed on the apple, then swallowed, leaving a perfect white bite mark against the green skin. She held it out. “Here, child. You should go next. I wouldn’t want you to be at risk…”

Still she hesitated. Her stomach ached so badly that when she had first felt hunger this bad, she had not believed it. Slowly, Giselle had held out her hand, feeling the apple roll into it, the juice running from its split skin on her fingers. She could smell it against the forest, sweet and ripe, and it made her mouth water. Never had she known such hunger…

“Come, my dear, I will go next if you are unsure.” Edward plucked the apple from her hands and produced his pocket-knife, slicing off a neat circle, half-green half-red in his gloved hand. It happened in an instant; she saw the flesh beneath the red, as white as bone, crystalline, heard Narissa cry out and try to snatch the apple from her stepson’s hand, but the piece was already in his mouth, between his teeth, in his throat-

Time slowed. The knife fell from his hand, sinking blade-first into the thick black mud around their feet. The apple went next, rolling from his limp fingers, almost reaching the water before he began to crumple at the knees, eyes falling closed as if he slipped into sleep.

Narissa screamed, a sound that turned into a roar and left her with soap-bubble iridescence flashing in her eyes. Edward keeled into Giselle’s arms, suddenly boneless, and she staggered under his weight before falling, gracelessly, onto the muddy bank with the unconscious prince still lying across her lap.

“You forest rat!”

Giselle looked up with astonishment and horror coursing through her. They felt strong, hard, like nothing she had ever felt before. Even happiness or joy had never felt these strong, reverberating in her bones, aching in her head. Narissa was pointing at her, furious, her teeth gleaming white and longer, somehow, than they had been before.

“All you needed to do was stay in this world, but no, he comes looking for you… and now he has eaten your poison!”

“I did not do this.” Giselle had replied, her voice shaking but not small, not any more.

“You started it all,” Narissa sneered. “One month here is but an hour in my land! You should have been long gone before he even realised… your pet will pay for this.”

She struggled out from beneath Edward’s form. Her once-white dress, long since faded to dove grey, was now matted with mud and clinging to her skin, but despite the cold there was something hot boiling in her veins. She thought that it was anger. “You did this. You tried to kill me, and instead you have killed your own son!”

“My son? Ha!”

Giselle opened her mouth to argue further, but before she could speak Narissa struck her across the cheek so hard that she almost fell again. There was a stabbing to the pain that was worse than a blow, and when she held her hand to her cheek blood was dripping from it. She glanced down to see the talons on Narissa’s hands.

“You, you… witch!”

The water beneath them seemed to boil, erupting into clouds of steam once again as Narissa gave an inhuman hiss, her eyes gold with slit pupils. The air crackled like static, only a thousand times more powerful, but then Giselle felt her hands wrapping around Narissa’s wrists, the Queen’s skin as cold as the air and as rough as scales to the touch, and something like heat burst forth from her.

“You will not harm him.”

She had never spoken so fiercely, never with such conviction. Her eyes met Narissa’s, and then there was fire, but it was contained, somehow, boiling beneath Narissa’s skin for as long as Giselle’s hands stayed, clamped, white-knuckled, in place. Narissa screamed again, animal, terrified, but then her eyes filled up with fire and with a noiseless explosion that sent shockwaves through the air, she was gone.

The world rocked, or at least it had seemed so until Giselle had realised that it was she who was rocking, and dropped to her knees because it seemed like the only thing she could do. She picked the apple from the water, and felt somehow the magic in it, though she had never so much as seen magic before. She turned back to Edward again, his placid face and splayed hair; he slept, but did not quite sleep, caught just on the brink of death by the mixed magic he had consumed. She shook his shoulder, dragged him upright to hit him between the shoulderblades, but the apple had been eaten, not merely lodged in his throat, and there was nothing to shake it loose.

Night began to fall as she turned back to the springhead once again, tears in her eyes. “Please,” she whispered. “I only have until midnight.”

The water did not answer her. She wondered why she had expected it to.

The tears began rolling down her cheeks, hot on her almost-numb skin. “Water, water under sky,” she whispered, more from instinct than knowledge. “Part your waters, let me by.”

Ripples started in the centre, the muddy clouds disappearing to leave it as dark as ink once again. Giselle drew in a shuddering breath and looked down at Edward, draped gracelessly over her lap. He looked pale, almost blue in the moonlight, but she could remember how he had glowed with life when they had met.

“Water, water under night,” she said, voice wobbling but firmer now. “Give unto my Prince respite.”

The ripples seemed to turn, become a whirl, and then they faded as a flat whirlpool opened up within the water itself, the central cone reaching down into blackness. She struggled to her feet, hands under Edwards’s armpits to try and move him as well, and turned him in the mud so that his feet were pointed towards the spring. If nothing else, this should have been more elegant than this; he should have slid gracefully beneath the water with song and flashes of light, not been pushed with numb hands and accompanied by words which she knew without being taught, understood without being explained.

“Water, water at my feet,” she finally said, voice rising to become perhaps something like a command. “Protect him; this I thee entreat.”

Now there was smoke, and flits of blue-white fire that burned without wicks in the air. Edward slipped from her hands, taken effortlessly, and she watched the water fold itself around him and draw him down into its depths. It lasted for an interminable moment, and then the water became smooth again, and she watched him slip like a ghost beneath its surface and into darkness. A blink, and then the depth was gone, and all that was left was a gently stirring spring, pooling at her feet and running into the darkness.

“Take care of him,” she begged, not sure why she was begging the water but unable to find herself doing otherwise. “Until… until I know how to save him.”

She never had been able to remember how she made her way back to the village, remembering clearly only the fact that she did so and the fact that she arrived with the apple still clutched in her hand. She managed to struggle through another month, not on the kindness of the people but certainly with their help, and hid the apple in her apron and was not sure whether it filled her with more hope or fear as it did not wither.

When the next full moon came, winter’s bite had become heavier, and there was snow on the ground as she struggled back to the spring once more. She spoke to the water, and again for a moment glimpsed Edward’s face, held in sleep and waiting for an answer which she did not yet have. Her footprints in the mud revealed a glint of metal, and she dug down to find his knife, now rusted and muddy, from all those days before. For a moment Giselle weighed it in her hand, then cut a thin slice and threw the apple into the pool. It sank into invisibility, the knife following it.

She was about to leave when a sharp snorting noise caught her attention, and she spun on the step to see a white horse, picking through the snow with tentative steps. For a moment, recognition stirred but could not rise, and then she recognised Edward’s horse.

“Hey, boy,” she said softly, walking round. The horse shied back a step, tossing its head, but she waited patiently until he regarded her with one dark eye and then stepped closer again. “You come looking for your master?”

He huffed slightly, nostrils giving a puff of smoke, as she reached out to stroke his nose. The name rose a moment later, from when Edward had spoken about him.

“Destiny,” she said softly. The horse nudged against her palm as if expecting food, and Giselle realised with a wince that she had no way, in this village, to look after him. Perhaps it was time to turn her feet south, and find something more like a town, where she might have more luck with work. “I’m afraid Edward isn’t… here, right now. Looks like you’ve got me instead. You going to be okay with that?”

Destiny gave another snort and a toss of his head that might almost have been a nod, and Giselle managed a weak laugh in response. She didn’t bother with goodbyes before leaving the village, turning further west towards the town that she had heard of, but had been too afraid to go to – too afraid of newness, and yet not afraid enough of staying still, she supposed.

The cut on her face healed, but turned to a silver scar that clipped off the end of one eyebrow and ran down almost to the corner of her mouth. The inn who took her in as a servant seemed more annoyed about Destiny’s presence than hers, though she supposed that a human body took up less space than that of a horse. It took her a while longer to understand what the magic she now found herself with could do, and to learn that it was stranger in this land than it had been in hers.

After a while, she placed the never-withering slice of apple in a vial, and closed it with cork and wax. Every time that she looked at it, she remembered Edward, the apple on his lips, the poison meant for her that left him sleeping. She promised herself that he would not die for her; that none would die on her account.





³ - "Stop, soldier!"

 
Chapter Four

The air was warm and still, with the merest breaths of wind, as if the heat made it heavy. The innkeeper had looked at them suspiciously, but then again it had seemed that all of Agrabah had, and they had borne it much as before.

As Ping closed the door behind them, Giselle ripped her veil from her face with a gasp for air, wiping first her forehead and then he nose with the back of her hand.

“How can they bear it?” she declared, throwing the black fabric down upon the low bed. “In the desert it was bad enough, but the city...”

Ping shrugged. “Like any clothing, I suppose you become used to it.” He reached to unbuckle his armour with a groan. “Still, at least now we are within the city...”

“But not the Palace,” said Giselle. She looked around for something of a seat, then gave up and lowered herself down onto the bed. Aurora had already taken the windowsill, peering out through the fabric shades to the city below as she carefully unwrapped her own bushiyyah, not disturbing the chignon of hair beneath.

“This city is so quiet,” Aurora said softly, the others turning to look all the same. “It reminds me of Waking.”

Rarely had Aurora spoken of those dreadful days that had formed her, though occasionally she had spoken with a faint wistfulness of her childhood. It had been one night when she had awoken screaming that she had told them through tears some of what had passed: awakening in a kiss only to have Philip slip to death in her arms, the castle silent and sleeping, none reacting to her cries or pleas for them to awaken.

She had not spoken of what they had seen over and over in her pictures: the green-skinned body of a woman whose draining blood had seemed to spring back from the ground as thorns; the three statues of women pleading with the air with their torn, stripped-to-bone hands. They had never asked, even when she burnt the pictures and the flames guttered before her kneeling form. It had been enough.

In those days, she had said once, was when she first began to dream as she did now.

“I talked to people once who spoke of Agrabah as a thriving place,” said Ping with a frown, tearing his eyes away from Aurora. “This was some years ago, they said, when the last Sultan was still upon the throne. Now it keeps almost to itself.”

“How can they survive?” asked Giselle. She pulled her abaya over her head, revealing a sweat-streaked white tunic and dark grey pants that tucked into her boots. “This far from the sea...”

“Trade,” said Ping, “and agriculture. If they irrigate the land, they can probably produce enough food to feed themselves. There must be some source of water here, after all. Or perhaps there is some magic at work; there is enough fear in these lands that there might be.” He crossed to the window as well, leaning close to the sheer fabric to look out over the streets below. As night fell, the world was painted in blues and greys, torches lit at the corners of the streets seeming to do nothing to bite into the dark. “We need to reach the Palace. If this has come since the new Sultan took the throne, the answers will be there.”

“It’s all very well saying that,” said Giselle darkly. She ran her hands through her hair, tousling the thick waves, then twisted it back into a braid once again. “But how are we supposed to do so?”

“A gift for the Sultan,” came Aurora’s words, and as so often she caught the others by surprise. She was looking down into her lap where her fingers toyed with her veil, the fabric black on black and nigh invisible. “From your Emperor, Ping. In exchange for gold, or silk.”

“My land has enough silk,” he replied, the words a little too sharp.

Aurora shrugged mildly, one errant strand of her hair slipping down alongside her face. “In any case, this is how it is done. Produce a gift for them, an official-looking scroll, and all will be good.” An orange glow filtered through from outside, brushing against her skin but not seeming to warm it, then whoever was carrying the torch passed on, and she fell into shadow again. “I cannot imagine that much changes from my land to this.”

Ping’s response was a grunt, a frown, as he lowered piece after piece of armour to the ground and stretched his neck from side to side. Aurora did not respond, but Giselle watched carefully, used to the changing opinions of their older companion, the way that his jaw would tense when he was displeased with something that he had heard. That same expression was hardening on Ping’s face now, the concern that must have come with more time with a sword in his hands. “A good plan, perhaps, if we had a gift for them. “

“Then offer me,” Aurora said. She turned, settling upon them the clearest gaze that Giselle had ever seen upon her face, the sharpest use of those bright blue eyes. She rose to her feet, standing with her shoulders back, posture elegant even beneath the swathes of cloth that she wore, and tilted her chin. “A seer – surely that is a worthy gift?”

“Aurora, no,” Ping said flatly. “You are no thing to be given away! I will not risk you like this.”

“I trust you enough that there will be no risk,” came the soft reply. Aurora crossed to Ping, placing her hand on his shoulder, then turned to look to Giselle with her expression soft and piercing both at the same time. “I have dreamt this.”

Rarely did Aurora say something with such certainty in her voice; whenever she did, she said that it came from her dreams. Once, and only once, Giselle had wondered whether each dream passed as she said, but such thoughts had passed in a moment at the memories she had of Aurora waking from her nightmares, her visions, sometimes with blood in her mouth from biting her tongue in her sleep. She could not believe that Aurora would conjure things.

“You are sure that there is enough to be gained by this?” said Ping, before Giselle could even reach for words.

“Yes,” Aurora replied, her voice falling to a whisper. “And there is much danger if we do not.”

“Very well then,” he said. “After all, we always do what we must.”

Part One | Part Two | Part Three