Rosetta flew after Diana as they made their way down the side streets of Alpha, careful not to draw the eyes of any Grands that still patrolled them. The Sorceress only took flight at the Druid’s encouragement, the strain making her sweat. She mumbled swears the whole way, but managed to stay airborne through multiple dips in altitude.
At one point the two women had practically been sisters, Rosetta and her brother Iris having come to the castle when Diana was five and they were fifteen. The two were the youngest Court Mages. The only duo for some hundreds of years, as even now it was held by a single Mage. As a rather guarded youth herself, Rose took an interest in the young princess. Only having a brother, she delighted in all the girly activities that came with having a sister. Diana had clear memories of tea parties with the pale woman, and her linen wrapped body, trying to fit in a child sized chair. The queen made Rose wear proper clothing during play, as her large chest needed more support. So that was a chance to play dress up for the two. Rose looked so much better in a dress than the tight and magically conjured wraps. It was a shame to see her in even shabbier clothes now. Even given the hour, she still went with her baggy pajamas.
Their friendship or sisterhood became soured when the Sorceress was around twenty. She spent a lot of time at the temple to the Bound god. To the faithful, the twins were unique celebrities and could have anyone they wanted in the dark chambers of their temple. The biggest mistake happened when Rosetta brought some of her lovers to the castle. The dominants from the temple were not as shy as the submissive Sorceress, and one ended up yelling at the ten year old Diana. Still relatively naive, Diana didn’t understand exactly why her former friend wasn’t interested in tea parties anymore, nor why she brought so many strange men and women to the castle. After that particular woman, Rosetta nearly lost her job. If it wasn’t for Iris fighting for her with the king, then the pregnant queen would have had her out.
It was then that Rose became much more professional, out of necessity. Luann hardly knew her at all, as Rose went about her duties of securing the castle and protecting them without interacting personally with the younger princess. Still, Luann was her ward and she spent hours watching over her.
Diana would never forget the sobbing of Rose when Luann died. When all the protections of the castle failed, and she was to blame.
In the doorway that Diana first saw the assassin, Rose sank to the ground. She had only held it together long enough to deal with the Midnight elf because of her link with Iris. When that link broke, for the last time, her pale face went red and she tore at the bindings of her body. The loud weeping echoed throughout the castle, nearly in competition with the queen’s.
Her brother gave her that cool demeanor and control, she added spontaneity and raw willpower. Without it, she beat her fists into the floor until they were bloody. Her god did all He could to protect her. Wounds made in passion healed after the matter. This was brutal self harm and the automatic magic of her body struggled to keep the bones in her hands from breaking.
Diana remembered screaming at Rose until her throat was raw. Awful curses to her name and being. She had never said something worse to a person. She hoped that she never would again. Rose accepted it, agreeing with the wicked words as snot and tears flowed freely from her face. Yes, she should have died instead, it was her fault. She was lower than dirt. A disgusting beast serving and blessed by the god of deplorable sexual acts. There was no use for her in the world. It was all true, yes, yes. She accepted each statement like the lash of a whip.
Iris ran away, for the first time in his life he could no longer protect his sister. They were inseparable except for the bedroom and the bath. Now they would never mend.
The Druid had tried to apologize before she left the palace for good, but Rose didn't say a word. The two weeks served to temper her fury somewhat. She no longer meant to be quite so harsh to Rose. The anger wasn’t entirely gone, but like the sorrow she felt for her sister, it would never truly vanish.
Now the two women were in the back alley of an Alpha street, thousands of miles from that palace they both left. They stood around a sewer entrance. Diana stared at the self loathing creature that she had helped create. All that weight around her stomach, in her legs, filling out her chest and arms. It had to be nearly fifteen to twenty pounds of chip fat and sadness thickening her being. For a five foot tall woman, it was too much.
Rose landed, sighing as she took a seat besides the metal lid. “Do yah need mah remove it?” she asked, not looking at her.
“I’m sorry, Rose,” Diana said plainly. “About what I said to you when Luann…when she died.” She clutched her staff to her.
The Sorceress’s white eyes flicked up and she sucked in her stomach, tugging down her shirt. There were angry purple stretch marks there. If she would cut back, they’d heal up. She was lucky to have her gaining and loss as an easy battle. One where the battleground could be swept clean again with magic. “Don’t say anythin’ yah don’t mean,” she said flatly.
“I do mean it, I’m sorry that you took the brunt when I was so furious,” Diana continued. “I have never been that angry and I hope that I won’t be again…”
Rose was quiet for a moment. “I deserved it. I should’ve seen that item that broke the wall. I should’ve made the fuckin’ wards stronger, strong enough to stop him!” she said, clawing at the dirt.
“You didn’t, because you couldn’t,” Diana stressed.
“Someone else could’ve. I’m not worthy of bein’ the Court Mage, I shouldn’t even be here,” she said quietly.
Diana snorted. “You’re away from the castle, you’ve been let go, but you aren’t bloody worthless Rose!” she yelled, making her staff ring off the manhole cover.
The Sorceress looked up at her finally.
“I asked you to come along with me because I want you to help me,” she went on. “You were one of the most powerful Mages we’ve ever had. You can be that again, without your brother. I need you to be ready should the Night Crew attack. The Ash Makers are not who I fear, but the Heroes. Those children are counting on you, make that your goal. You have failed once, don’t let it happen again.”
Rose winced.
“Good, let that pain guide you out of this bloody slump you’re in,” Diana said, taking a deep breath. She went on slower than before. “You must do something, I’ve learned that. You have to push yourself forward, find your new goal now. I must make sure I don’t lose my powers to protect those children, and you are my guard. I don’t care that you are no longer a Court Mage. Wallowing isn’t going to help you when you have goals.” From her pouch she brought out a practice stone. She tossed it at Rose and the rock floated in midair before it could hit her. “Go on, start again if you have to, I must attend to my business.”
The Sorceress said nothing, keeping the stone in midair around her head.
Aiko the tiger tugged off the cover and Diana made her way down. The familiar stayed beside Rose, Diana would be alone for this part.
The air was lukewarm as Diana stripped off her clothes and put them over the wrung of the ladder. She pressed through the reeds bare, the leaves scratching her pale skin, and settled into the water that was uncomfortably chilly. The natural world, the diseases and all the tiny things science could identify, couldn't harm her. She hardly got sick. So long as she applied her creams, the mist sickness was a rare blip.
If she kept up with her magic, then she had plenty of years to look forward to. Her grandfather was some hundred and eighty years old when he died. As powerful as he was, he could have lived even longer. She heard he died because all his close friends had gone and Diana’s mother was already grown. Given that he wasn't close with the Heroes after the war, it gave her hope that he wasn't as wicked as them.
Her grandfather was covered in tattoos, and she knew not all of them were praises. In his time he must have angered a swamp and it was the idea of his strength that kept her going in the mire. For even though no parasites or microbes could kill her in the swamp water, it was still a fucking miserable time.
She could see clearly through water with her Druid eyes, but as the nervous fish and small snakes kicked up the silt, her vision blurred. This was her goal, for the start of the ritual she had to cover herself in the fine mud. Plugging her nose--because there was no way she was getting any of the water in her sinuses--she dove down and pulled handfuls of it, placing them on the mossy bridge. Every time she rose, she had to flip back her hair for bare meant bare, even of any magically conjured ties or headwear. Getting the silt through the water without it all sliding through her fingers should have been punishment enough.
The floor of the lanes was not perfectly square as the pathways. The bottoms were free of stone and the various creatures had dug into the available earth as their homes. The ancient serpent’s nest made more sense now. She only wished that as she clawed the mud that she would stop finding a hidden creature within the colorless plants of the swamp floor. She was disturbing everything, she didn’t blame them for darting from her. This was the other part of her punishment. Taking parts of the swamp, she was supposed to appreciate everything that lived within. That was the major gap between her and the other Druids, the lack of a deep spiritual connection with nature. She respected nature, as the source of all living things. She loved her magic and did all she could to keep it. A majority of Druids annoyed her though. They didn’t like her from the start and that wasn’t her fault. They would say, “Oh how could a Druid go back to a rich castle? Why didn’t she try to live closer to nature?” They had never seen the Scholar Palace in Principality. They didn’t realize that all those Wizards, Clerics, and Bards had appreciated nature as well. There were countless plants and guards within the palace walls.
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Sitting on the bridge, her skin tinged green from the algae, Diana caught her breath from the laborious swimming. Then she began covering herself in the muck, the sandy and slimy sediment. It smeared across her and she groaned as it started to dry in the warm air. She avoided any orifices, except a double palmed drag across her face. Her nether region had a natural reddish scruff, and thankfully didn’t need to be covered. She coated herself with thoughts of eventual scrubbing clean. Thinking of the fine soaps didn't stop the feeling of the mud crackling on her skin.
In the dim light of the faint steel covered bulbs, came a great bubbling of water. It was a toad that had given her the orders. About it floated wisps, lighting its wart covered body well. The spirit blinked loudly, all the mucus moving about two watermelon sized eyes. It shifted its massive webbed feet on the platform lily pad it sat on. Its throat pouch expanded in a few ribbits. The first a deep bellow that rippled the water into waves that crashed into the sharp reed stalks and her dangling feet. The others were quick little ones that began a communicative exchange.
Its thoughts came barreling into her head like a migraine. "Shame, repentance." It sent the first word as an emotion that made her guts twist. She nearly spat up bile at the sensation, her stomach empty of anything else. Shakily she rose up, tucking her legs under her. On her shins, knees together on the cruel steel grate, she bowed her forehead to the moss.
"Druid, you failed, you must be marked or be cut off from your vows…." Here it conveyed a deep anger with her. The feelings made her shiver like they were from a shouting parent. The face of the toad unchanging, the sound of its croaks were louder as it rippled the water.
"I am sorry, I know I was wrong, that's why I have come to make amends," she said, head bowed. "I will accept a marking. Nor will I take any comfort in the Nymphs for my actions."
It croaked so furiously and she raised her head to look at it fully when it went silent. It stared at her, some ten feet away. She wasn't sure if she was meant to stare it in the eye or not, for a toad’s looks out at either side.
Opening its mouth, she feared something horrible. It was worse than she imagined. Springing out from its mouth came a slimy pink missile that struck her in the hands she put up as a guard. Her knuckles slammed into her face from the force. Yanking mud off her, leaving a clear viscous fluid behind, the toad's tongue retracted into its mouth.
"Not good enough," it said clearly, the voice sounding like a chorus as its eyes lit up. This was no longer a representative of the swamp speaking, but all swamps.
"What must I do then?" she asked.
"You must prevent the Cursed from returning, you must keep them in the places of stone and metal," it went on, staring blankly at her.
"I will do my best," she said, lowering her head.
The tongue smacked her on the top of her head. The blow made her teeth bite together with an agonizing chomp. She saw stars all across her vision. She rubbed her head, but it did little to ease her suffering.
"You must also make amends for the being that impersonated our spirit," the source went on.
"I'm sorry…" she said, tears streaming down what mud remained on her face. Her head was throbbing. She hadn't slept that much. The other day was still dragging on her. She had feared this confrontation, but it was worse than she had imagined. This tongue flogging made her reconsider all that she had worked for. Was it worth it?
"I apologize for everything," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, but also wanting to curl up and sob. All her other conversations with sources had been so much more pleasant. Her teacher had been with her and now she wanted him here. Even if she was naked he could reason with the sources. She wanted her mother. Anyone to support her.
"Choose an area of your flesh, your branding shall be no less than six inches tall and six inches wide. In sacred lines, it shall contain no less than thirty six."
"Thirty six? Twelve offense markings?" she asked in disbelief.
Trying to dodge the tongue this time, she got struck in her side, along the back of her left lung. It knocked the wind out of her and she wheezed trying to catch her breath. She gasped a curse and was afraid she might have a cracked rib.
"One for the needless death of a Serpent and eleven for the Nymphs you and your companions harmed," the source explained with an ageless cruelty.
"Alright, I accept," she said breathlessly. I’m going to be a long time, she thought.
The toad croaked, an almost sarcastic sound.
Up from the swamp rose a Nymph, the first of many. After they marked out an area, each one would add three more lines, the spirit marking one for the departed snake. All of the actions, the sins of Jonah, Warren, and her had added to the lines. Her teacher had many times explained some of his tattoos. The man was always amazed that multiple, seemingly disconnected lines had formed an actual picture by the end.
Diana picked her left shoulder on the deltoid, the marks weren't required to show. A Nymph would spot them through any covering. Not that she cared, Nymphs were beyond understanding to her. Some Druids would fall in love with the naturally attractive but unsettling people. Besides their beauty and their willingness, she failed to see the appeal. They hardly remembered people and complained they all looked too similar, despite being so uniform in the face themselves. They had names, random plants or rock types in their region, but their personalities were alien and they couldn't hold a conversation for long.
The first Nymph started by wiping away the muck from the area. Its index finger nail elongated into a fine point. Pressing it to her shoulder, it began to tap out the two lines on top and one on the bottom. It hurt, a sharp, jaw clenching pain. A needle jabbed a greenish teal bar a half an inch thick. The Nymph’s other hand gripped her bicep as it skillfully tapped out a perfect line, bit by bit.
“Most would take our comfort. With an offense this grave, you will be here a long while,” the Nymph said. They were born as either male or female, but their actual gender didn’t matter. Their features could change on a whim, faster than a tree loses a leaf. This one was effeminate with breasts and a vulva, they didn’t always come as a matched set. They sat with their weight on one thigh and looked her over like a piece of meat. Diana longed for real comfort. For Jonah’s metal arms and his loving eyes.
Diana knew this would happen, a Nymph would go slower if you bored them. If you denied their handsy comfort. They had all the time in the world, they were a born sentience from the depths of the water, from a mass of the reeds. These facts had been explained to her years ago by her mother, as one might learn of sex. Her teacher had never taken her out into the forest depths at night until she was old enough, until she knew the risks. The Nymphs paraded around naked and pleased each other and whoever freely.
In a forest, the Dryads glowed at night, drunk on the power of the spirits. These swamp Naiads were the same color of Diana’s tattoo and liked to blend with the mire. In open swamps they appeared with a glow of a will-o-wisp.
Were Diana to accept comfort, the Nymph would speed up, but she would also spend much longer here. She couldn’t face Jonah or her mother taking the comfort of eleven Nymphs. She wasn’t in the mood, nor would she be for that kind of debauchery. Many other Druids were covered in tattoos, having taken comfort in the Nymphs. That was the Druidic way to them, in punishment or praise, they were physically bonded with nature. Carnally close to their magic and shunned the cities and the people. Druidism was an escape to them. Diana was born a princess and didn’t want to shame her father or mother by becoming just another boring Druid. For at the solstices and equinoxes, she found many Druids to be just as alien as the Nymphs.
Even though she told the first Nymph and the second, and all the rest she wasn’t going to take their comfort, they all still asked. They stared at her breasts with hunger, like a meal, not with the wonder of the man she adored. When they left, they patted her back before sliding into the water. Each one inspected her arm thoroughly before resuming their work. The lines could be any length and any shape, so long as it was only one continuous line in the boundary.
Diana didn’t want to look as they worked. After the first one told her to stop clenching, they handed her a reed to chew on. She was quite familiar with the bitter plant taste by the end of the many hours. They allowed her to get up and stretch, but she was still sore by the end. She often distracted herself by watching Rosetta through Aiko. She made the familiar growl at the Sorceress, encouraging her to keep floating the stone around. The tiger wouldn’t let her watch for long, cutting the connection like the sources punishing her. At least it felt less like malice from the tiger.
The last three lines were added by the tongue of the toad and she was urged by the now awake and flocking Nymphs, who had risen from their sleep long before it was done, to look at the finished product. She was woozy from hunger and though she could stand it, sick of drinking swamp water. Turning her arm, she saw the masterpiece etched permanently into her skin. Between the lines, two on top, one on bottom, was the scaled body and head of the viper that had died by Susan’s hand. Its extremely detailed mouth tasted the air, a harmless action memorialized on her flesh.
“Fucking great,” Diana mumbled, Jonah’s movies and vocabulary had worn off on her.
Every step towards the exit was agony. It was too much to comprehend. She wanted to sleep right there on the stone. She was a failure again and she couldn’t bring herself to think of the children she had saved. She needed to sleep like them, maybe for days. Several Nymphs called at her, reminding her of the rest of the ritual. She waved her hand at them, cursing under her breath.
The manhole opened as she clumsily grabbed her clothing from the ladder. The light made her wince and turn away from it. The Sorceress descended after a moment, holding the white cat. The small woman put a plush robe over her shoulders, made from the stone wall, a rueful smile on her faint pink lips.
“There yah go,” Rosetta said softly as Diana slipped her arms into the conjured clothing. “I can help wash yah off proper when we get back…”
“No, I’ll have Jonah help me…” Diana whispered.
“Well aye, have it yer way,” Rose said, smirking again. “Let’s get yah home.”