Post by Crow • ᚴᚱᚬᚴᛦ on Aug 15, 2024 13:55:13 GMT
(Following the events of Stolen Moments of Borrowed Time.)
Mirabel quite likes the courtyard outside of Daring Academy. The quiet bustle of academics discussing their latest research. The excited new students, giddy at the thought of what they might learn, what they might be able to do afterwards.
Many stories, many threads, many fates.
Today, she wears a wide brimmed sun hat that flops over her eyes, keeping her from squinting in the bright light of the afternoon. And, keeping the prying eyes of the Collector’s Club away, though they would know better than to move on her here, now.
And it is under this brim that she sees two familiar faces. Familiar, of course, as they are faces she has known in some way for nearly all her life.
She quickly raises an arm to wave. “Rosemary! Crow! Over here!”
The Wanderer ambles towards her, his ashwood staff making a rhythmic tap-tap-tap on the courtyard floor as a pair of wolves, one silver and one black, pad along behind him. “Sæl, Mirabel,” he greets fondly.
Rosemary keeps pace with him, waving in greeting. “Good to see you. I was gonna say long time no see, but…let’s just say it’s been a weird Time day.”
“Time is always a bit weird, isn’t it. Come, have a seat!” Mirabel gestures towards the open chairs, a grin on her face. “I take it you have seen me more recently than I have seen you?”
“Aye. And we had the pleasure of meetin’ thy parents.”
Mirabel raises an eyebrow at the man, her grin turning into a crooked smile. She sits back in her chair, for a moment somewhere else, before she looks at them both again. “Lovely people, aren’t they? Eleanor loved talking about you, by the way. ‘The five from Out of Time’. Almost as much as she talked about Simon.”
The crows flutter around and above the courtyard, croaking in a language that only the man understands.
“Ooh, she’s excited, isn’t she?” says Miss Silvia. “She’s positively buzzing!”
“Aww, she misses her mum,” sighs Sherah.
“And she can’t wait to meet her da,” Bob chimes in.
“She seems relieved. Perhaps because she need not keep up the pretence any longer,” observes Father Jonathan.
The man known as Crow merely smiles, a faint, old twinkle in his dark eye, and half-turns in his seat to feed his raven and wolves bits of jerky.
“And we saw you, of course! You were the cutest baby.” Rosemary almost bounces back out of their taken seat with excitement. “But yes, your parents were so nice. We only saw Simon briefly, and in such a rush. But we saw him!”
“And I’m glad you did. It will make what comes much easier.” Mirabel smiles through a sigh, sitting forward again with her elbows on her knees. “You found The Man but he is not yet returned to the fold. Still lost in time. But we’re close, I think.”
“Show her the book,” the one-eyed man urges Rosemary.
“I agree, it does feel like the ending is certainly drawing near. But yes, yes, hold your horses, cryptic Crow.” With a flourish, Rosemary brandishes The Ballad of Simon and Eleanor towards Mirabel. “Have you read this one before?”
She accepts it carefully, flipping through the first few pages, her eyes dancing across the page. “No, I hadn’t. Funny, Eleanor never knew how she arrived in the Harbour, and here she is falling through a door in Simon’s dilapidated cottage. Fate works in funny ways.”
She flips to the end, just to see her name, before closing the book and handing it back. “The Acolytes always kept it safe. A book that hadn’t finished writing itself was deemed too important to let out. They’d rest easy knowing that you’ve completed it.”
Rosemary tucks the book in safely on their person, right next to their spellbook. “Ah, if I had realised, I would have let her read it in the brief time we saw her. Or maybe Fate didn’t want that…”
They wave a hand as if to physically dispel their drifting thoughts. “And perhaps the book is finished, but the task of finding Simon is still at large. You mentioned what comes next. Does that mean you have an idea of what we can do to help? So sorry for all the questions, Mirabel. Once us friends get focused on something, it’s hard to stay calm on the subject.”
“It’s alright,” Mirabel says with a small smile, holding out a hand to Rosemary. “As for what comes next — you will find him at the end. And you’ll know when you’re at the end when you find him.”
She turns her head to look at the man, her eyes flicking up and down, as though looking at him for the first time. She returns her gaze to Rosemary. “And you have all done more to help than you know. I only regret that I must ask more of you before this story is complete.”
The man adjusts in his seat so he can look at Mirabel fully. “And what dost thou require of us?”
Mirabel waits for a moment, a second lost in thought. “The Sea has long receded. It has forgotten the story it is meant to tell. You have travelled deep, but you have a long way still to go. You will need to reach the bottom, find the Bees, and finish the story.”
“And commence the deluge, the sinkin’ of the world?” He strokes his hoar-dappled beard in thought. “We had discovered what remained of the Sea in our last venture, and I had drank from it, as thou mayst well have guessed. But no bee did we see. Only owls.”
“What you found was a tidal pool; all that remained as the Sea retreated. You have much further, much deeper to go. But yes: to do such a thing is to bring about the end, to sink this Harbour beneath the waves.”
“I see. But thou knowest, ere the comin’ of the flood, that there shall be a time for swords. The hour of the wolves. Bræðr munu berjask ok bǫnum verðask…”
Lying on the ground behind him, Greedy and Hungry’s ears prick up at the sound of true, ancient Giant-speech, and they lift their heads to howl at the sky, before the man shushes them quiet.
Mirabel nods, her lips pursed. “Such are endings. Many things will come together, and difficult choices will be made.”
“It certainly follows the ends I've witnessed,” Rosemary says. “But the bottom, huh. Even with some apprehension of the challenges, I’m intrigued to witness exactly what that entails. So don’t regret asking more, we’re eager to be involved after all!” She quietly taps the pocket holding the compass a few times. “I just do hope it’s me that’s around when the expedition is made.”
“Surely all four of ye could come to witness such a magnificent occasion, eh?” says Greybeard.
“You know how it is, it’s so hard to get us all gathered in one place. But we’ll certainly try for such an occasion.” Rosemary’s smile doesn’t quite meet her eyes as she looks at him.
“I know. ‘Tis a shame that we’ll never see all of you in the same room.”
“Yes, it really is.” The smile saddens just a touch. “I’m surprised you keep asking, considering you know the situation. But anyway! The task at hand, lest we forget, is endings and not calendar organisation.”
The man glances first at Mirabel, examining her facial expression, to discern whether she is in the know. Mirabel returns the searching look with a smile. “At least the other three will be there in spirit.”
Satisfied with this answer, he turns back to Rosemary with a smile, leaning back lazily in his chair. “Jæja… I shall speak plainly. Víðarr — or rather, whatever remained of him in this body that you came to know — bore some disdain toward you ever since he found out. Such was his suspicion for those who change their form. Although ‘tis not somethin’ we share; my oldest friend is himself a shapeshifter. The petty pleasure that I take from teasin’ you is…merely a residue from the boy.”
Rosemary blinks twice very slowly as they process this information. “I’m used to people being wary, very used to it. But let me understand that you’re not the original soul of this body? The one I would call Crow?” Confusion is now forgotten as they lean forward keenly. “That would explain why you seem so different. Did ‘the boy’ let you take over peacefully? So should I call you something different now? I’m glad you have no problem with me, but the teasing is fine. Honest. Especially if it's something that keeps his memory alive.”
The man chuckles at the mention of a soul. “Víðarr er dauðr,” he says simply.
“Whatever. Keep your secrets, cryptic Crow. You can’t blame me for getting the questions in when I could.”
“No, I cannot. I am of the same mind.”
She chuckles at this. “Yes, it seems so. Well, I’m grateful for what honest information you did tell me.”
He tips his hooded head in acknowledgement, before regarding Mirabel again. “Dear Miri, what things must be done afore our journey into the deep?”
“The same things you do before any ending: reflect on the journey and prepare to take the plunge.” She smiles, and there’s a tinge of sadness — at endings, at the unknown to come. “I know that when the way opens, you all will find a way to do what I cannot alone.”
The old man rises to his full height. “Then let us prepare to welcome the twilight of the Harbour. There shall our fates converge, and sad as we are to see this saga end — remember that for a new world to be born, the old one must die. Pray to mighty gods that we may see through the end and the after-end; that when the dust has cleared, we may stand in a hall fairer than the sun, thatched with the gold of honey.”
From his shoulder, Memory crows thrice and flaps its wings. He picks up a glass of tea to raise in a toast, then scowls at it. “Shall we find somewhere we could get a proper drink?”
“The tea is lovely, but yes, let’s get something a bit stronger.” Rosemary rises and clicks her own cup against the scowling man’s.
Co-written with Alex and One of the Friends
Mirabel quite likes the courtyard outside of Daring Academy. The quiet bustle of academics discussing their latest research. The excited new students, giddy at the thought of what they might learn, what they might be able to do afterwards.
Many stories, many threads, many fates.
Today, she wears a wide brimmed sun hat that flops over her eyes, keeping her from squinting in the bright light of the afternoon. And, keeping the prying eyes of the Collector’s Club away, though they would know better than to move on her here, now.
And it is under this brim that she sees two familiar faces. Familiar, of course, as they are faces she has known in some way for nearly all her life.
She quickly raises an arm to wave. “Rosemary! Crow! Over here!”
The Wanderer ambles towards her, his ashwood staff making a rhythmic tap-tap-tap on the courtyard floor as a pair of wolves, one silver and one black, pad along behind him. “Sæl, Mirabel,” he greets fondly.
Rosemary keeps pace with him, waving in greeting. “Good to see you. I was gonna say long time no see, but…let’s just say it’s been a weird Time day.”
“Time is always a bit weird, isn’t it. Come, have a seat!” Mirabel gestures towards the open chairs, a grin on her face. “I take it you have seen me more recently than I have seen you?”
“Aye. And we had the pleasure of meetin’ thy parents.”
Mirabel raises an eyebrow at the man, her grin turning into a crooked smile. She sits back in her chair, for a moment somewhere else, before she looks at them both again. “Lovely people, aren’t they? Eleanor loved talking about you, by the way. ‘The five from Out of Time’. Almost as much as she talked about Simon.”
The crows flutter around and above the courtyard, croaking in a language that only the man understands.
“Ooh, she’s excited, isn’t she?” says Miss Silvia. “She’s positively buzzing!”
“Aww, she misses her mum,” sighs Sherah.
“And she can’t wait to meet her da,” Bob chimes in.
“She seems relieved. Perhaps because she need not keep up the pretence any longer,” observes Father Jonathan.
The man known as Crow merely smiles, a faint, old twinkle in his dark eye, and half-turns in his seat to feed his raven and wolves bits of jerky.
“And we saw you, of course! You were the cutest baby.” Rosemary almost bounces back out of their taken seat with excitement. “But yes, your parents were so nice. We only saw Simon briefly, and in such a rush. But we saw him!”
“And I’m glad you did. It will make what comes much easier.” Mirabel smiles through a sigh, sitting forward again with her elbows on her knees. “You found The Man but he is not yet returned to the fold. Still lost in time. But we’re close, I think.”
“Show her the book,” the one-eyed man urges Rosemary.
“I agree, it does feel like the ending is certainly drawing near. But yes, yes, hold your horses, cryptic Crow.” With a flourish, Rosemary brandishes The Ballad of Simon and Eleanor towards Mirabel. “Have you read this one before?”
She accepts it carefully, flipping through the first few pages, her eyes dancing across the page. “No, I hadn’t. Funny, Eleanor never knew how she arrived in the Harbour, and here she is falling through a door in Simon’s dilapidated cottage. Fate works in funny ways.”
She flips to the end, just to see her name, before closing the book and handing it back. “The Acolytes always kept it safe. A book that hadn’t finished writing itself was deemed too important to let out. They’d rest easy knowing that you’ve completed it.”
Rosemary tucks the book in safely on their person, right next to their spellbook. “Ah, if I had realised, I would have let her read it in the brief time we saw her. Or maybe Fate didn’t want that…”
They wave a hand as if to physically dispel their drifting thoughts. “And perhaps the book is finished, but the task of finding Simon is still at large. You mentioned what comes next. Does that mean you have an idea of what we can do to help? So sorry for all the questions, Mirabel. Once us friends get focused on something, it’s hard to stay calm on the subject.”
“It’s alright,” Mirabel says with a small smile, holding out a hand to Rosemary. “As for what comes next — you will find him at the end. And you’ll know when you’re at the end when you find him.”
She turns her head to look at the man, her eyes flicking up and down, as though looking at him for the first time. She returns her gaze to Rosemary. “And you have all done more to help than you know. I only regret that I must ask more of you before this story is complete.”
The man adjusts in his seat so he can look at Mirabel fully. “And what dost thou require of us?”
Mirabel waits for a moment, a second lost in thought. “The Sea has long receded. It has forgotten the story it is meant to tell. You have travelled deep, but you have a long way still to go. You will need to reach the bottom, find the Bees, and finish the story.”
“And commence the deluge, the sinkin’ of the world?” He strokes his hoar-dappled beard in thought. “We had discovered what remained of the Sea in our last venture, and I had drank from it, as thou mayst well have guessed. But no bee did we see. Only owls.”
“What you found was a tidal pool; all that remained as the Sea retreated. You have much further, much deeper to go. But yes: to do such a thing is to bring about the end, to sink this Harbour beneath the waves.”
“I see. But thou knowest, ere the comin’ of the flood, that there shall be a time for swords. The hour of the wolves. Bræðr munu berjask ok bǫnum verðask…”
Lying on the ground behind him, Greedy and Hungry’s ears prick up at the sound of true, ancient Giant-speech, and they lift their heads to howl at the sky, before the man shushes them quiet.
Mirabel nods, her lips pursed. “Such are endings. Many things will come together, and difficult choices will be made.”
“It certainly follows the ends I've witnessed,” Rosemary says. “But the bottom, huh. Even with some apprehension of the challenges, I’m intrigued to witness exactly what that entails. So don’t regret asking more, we’re eager to be involved after all!” She quietly taps the pocket holding the compass a few times. “I just do hope it’s me that’s around when the expedition is made.”
“Surely all four of ye could come to witness such a magnificent occasion, eh?” says Greybeard.
“You know how it is, it’s so hard to get us all gathered in one place. But we’ll certainly try for such an occasion.” Rosemary’s smile doesn’t quite meet her eyes as she looks at him.
“I know. ‘Tis a shame that we’ll never see all of you in the same room.”
“Yes, it really is.” The smile saddens just a touch. “I’m surprised you keep asking, considering you know the situation. But anyway! The task at hand, lest we forget, is endings and not calendar organisation.”
The man glances first at Mirabel, examining her facial expression, to discern whether she is in the know. Mirabel returns the searching look with a smile. “At least the other three will be there in spirit.”
Satisfied with this answer, he turns back to Rosemary with a smile, leaning back lazily in his chair. “Jæja… I shall speak plainly. Víðarr — or rather, whatever remained of him in this body that you came to know — bore some disdain toward you ever since he found out. Such was his suspicion for those who change their form. Although ‘tis not somethin’ we share; my oldest friend is himself a shapeshifter. The petty pleasure that I take from teasin’ you is…merely a residue from the boy.”
Rosemary blinks twice very slowly as they process this information. “I’m used to people being wary, very used to it. But let me understand that you’re not the original soul of this body? The one I would call Crow?” Confusion is now forgotten as they lean forward keenly. “That would explain why you seem so different. Did ‘the boy’ let you take over peacefully? So should I call you something different now? I’m glad you have no problem with me, but the teasing is fine. Honest. Especially if it's something that keeps his memory alive.”
The man chuckles at the mention of a soul. “Víðarr er dauðr,” he says simply.
“Whatever. Keep your secrets, cryptic Crow. You can’t blame me for getting the questions in when I could.”
“No, I cannot. I am of the same mind.”
She chuckles at this. “Yes, it seems so. Well, I’m grateful for what honest information you did tell me.”
He tips his hooded head in acknowledgement, before regarding Mirabel again. “Dear Miri, what things must be done afore our journey into the deep?”
“The same things you do before any ending: reflect on the journey and prepare to take the plunge.” She smiles, and there’s a tinge of sadness — at endings, at the unknown to come. “I know that when the way opens, you all will find a way to do what I cannot alone.”
The old man rises to his full height. “Then let us prepare to welcome the twilight of the Harbour. There shall our fates converge, and sad as we are to see this saga end — remember that for a new world to be born, the old one must die. Pray to mighty gods that we may see through the end and the after-end; that when the dust has cleared, we may stand in a hall fairer than the sun, thatched with the gold of honey.”
From his shoulder, Memory crows thrice and flaps its wings. He picks up a glass of tea to raise in a toast, then scowls at it. “Shall we find somewhere we could get a proper drink?”
“The tea is lovely, but yes, let’s get something a bit stronger.” Rosemary rises and clicks her own cup against the scowling man’s.
Co-written with Alex and One of the Friends