Introduction: Achinoam
Jun. 30th, 2016 06:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Sugarspun had always been a prisoner, from the moment of his arrival in the mortal realm. But for a time he had been allowed to maintain an illusion of freedom—he was accompanied everywhere by a guard, but a guard with whom he was on friendly terms, and this accompaniment allowed him to go almost anywhere, including visits to other clans.
The illusion was shattered, like so many other things, by the storm. Since then he had been confined to his cell, even after the dual testimonies of Fang and Gossamer showed that he was not at fault. He showed no interest in leaving. Liszt, who occasionally went up to study him, suggested that this was a reaction to Thorn’s death; there were a few who disagreed, but it hardly mattered. The demon would remain either way.
But now things had shifted again. Valor’s arrival, and the constant irritation of Gossamer’s presence, and perhaps the simple passage of time; all these things had done their work on Sugarspun, and he grew restless. He requested, during one of Liszt’s study sessions, to be allowed a guard again, so he could be as useful as he was.
Liszt himself was the only guard free to do so, but he didn’t have the time or—despite his sympathy—the inclination. The request was noted, but nothing could yet be done. He would simply have to wait.
Achinoam arrived early one morning entirely unexpected, brought by Chaffinch, who had been making some small delivery or other when he encountered the Fairweather.
“I’m not sure we need more trouble just at the moment,” Fang said, examining the new arrival. “The Varnesse situation alone—”
“I didn’t come to cause trouble,” Achinoam said. “I came to prevent it.”
“I’ve heard that one before.”
“Prescott is harmless enough,” Chaffinch said. “I didn’t think it would make things worse, anyway.”
“What exactly brings you to us, Achinoam?” Fang said. “I find that dragons who are attracted to strife are more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Maybe I worded that badly,” Achinoam said. “Chaffinch was telling me about your guard shortage, and this demon…thing…you have here. If you ask me, and to be fair you didn’t, making a demon wait like that isn’t the best idea. Who knows what kind of trouble he could cause?”
“He is in a magically reinforced cell.”
“That’s as may be, but he’s already left unattended most of the time, when he’s not being studied. How sure are you that those reinforcements will work? Better to give him his personal guard, make sure someone’s watching him all the time. Everyone gets what they want.”
“You want to guard a demon?”
“It’s a living.”
“Is it,” Fang muttered. “Very well. Head up there and see how he feels about you. A guard he hates won’t be better than no guard at all. Then report to Chandler, there are probably some forms or…something.” She waved a claw, unwilling to contemplate the process. “Chaff, you can go.”
The prison was a large hollow very close to the cliff surface, though far back from the face, exactly the opposite of Fang’s office. Liszt, coiled outside the door with some sort of spell forming between his hands, nodded to Achinoam as she passed; standards of security in this place, from what she’d seen, were mixed.
Inside she found a long row of glass-walled cells, only two of them occupied. The Fae in the nearer one leapt to his feet as she entered, but she ignored him. He wasn’t her job to manage.
The demon lay curled in the center of his cell, head tucked under his wing, unmoving. She wondered if he breathed. If he needed to. She raised a claw to rap on the glass, but an instant before she made contact the demon suddenly heaved himself to his feet, and walked over to her. He didn’t react at all to the proximity of the iron bars.
“H̴̥̼͚̰e̶̜̦l̻͖̳̤̪̥͡l̛̹͔̼̘̠̪o̵͙̟̣͚̟.̺̺͚” He spoke softly, enough that she had to lean forward to hear him clearly. There was an odd vibration to his voice, as though it were many voices blended into one. “W̦̼̮h̝̣͙̖͠a͖̣̟̱̠̥t̻ͅ ̭b̟͇͈r̵̦͈͔͈̼i̸͉n͎g̝͓͇̗͚͙̙̕s̡͚͚ ̱̺̯͟y̲ͅo̲̝͠ư̻͉̞̮ ̭t͇̲̬̩̳̭̤o̭͉̦̯̲ ̠̺͙̤̺̮m͚̳͍̭͚̪e҉̲̞͍̦̫̟?̸̹”
“Shouldn’t you be able to tell that on your own?”
“I̶͇̩͚̤ ͙͓̳̼͙̀a̤̖͙͉m̼̪͙ ̻ḇ̩̞͖̠̞o̧̩͕̜̱u̬͚̹̤͠ṋ͚͖d̪̹̲,̞” he said, as if this explained everything. He looked her unwaveringly in the eye. He did not seem impressed that she returned his stare. But it was hard to know. “I̴͙̫̙͖ a̳m͏̦͉̤̪ ̪̻̼͈ͅc̯͈̗͓̹͍͢a̵͍̱̦͉l͎̱l̦͎͚̜̻e̵͈̭d̦̞̹ ̳S͝u͕̹̳̦͓̺͟ͅga̮̬͚̫̪r̥̭s҉p̳͔̤̙̖̲͈͢u̶n͏̠̠͉͙̣̗̟,̘̬͜ ̭̝̩͎͍b̥̫̟͔y̺͍ ̵͉͕͔̗țh̞̞̻̹̝̪̼o͚̭̦s̥̺̭̟̣̳͇e̙͙͚͞ ͟w̲̰͈̤͈͞ho̵͕̹ ̡̮ḁ̷͎r̻̮̭͝ͅe̝ ̩͚̯̟͜w̭̥͝i͇͓̝̣͓̠̞͜l̺̪̪͟l̡̲̞i̛̝͉̭͖n̥̻̺̖̗̱͞g̠̳̝̗̯̖,͓ ̩̥a̗͍̙̻̺͜ṋ̝̘̳͉d̠̞̪̪ ̦͚͝'͙̦̠͔̼̬̞d͡e̳͍͎m҉̞̖͚͕o̙͕̳̠̠̲͘ͅn̰͎'̶ ̼̝̱̱̫͈͎͞b̠̭͕̟͍͓y̛̙̠͉̙̙ ̝̳̪t̝͔̥̪͙̩hǫ̠s̝̯̦̻̦̫͉ḛ͖̗ ̬͓͈̙͞w̦̮͖̫̥͕ͅh̲̠ǫ̭̲ ̗̦͓̩a̱̜̖r͈̤̮̱̬̩̥ẹ̗͕̣͓̯̙̀ ̫̹̮̺̭n͔͚̟o͏t.̲̙͕̤̬̹̭ ̻͖̝̲̤W͉͙̥h͈̹͟i̗̤͚͜c̜͇͔h̴͙̖ͅ ͎̜͓̯̬̣a͚̲ṛ̬̫͙̳͈̙͢e̘̯̙̲̳͎͝ ̤̙͎y̪o̦͓͖̻̙u̵͔?̟̪͢”
“Willing, I guess,” she said. “I don’t see any reason not to. I’m Achinoam.”
“A̗̞ ̭̼͔̺̦̗͈p̢l̺̥̟̹̠͡e̜̗͞a̱̺s͙̝u̷r͈e̛̦͉̭̰͉.̮͎͉͉͈̰͟” He bowed his head. She couldn’t tell if he was mocking her, or something else.
“I’m your new guard,” she said, after a short pause. “Here to escort you where you want to go.” To make him useful again, Chaffinch had said as if he was quoting something, but it seemed wrong to call it that.
“T̘̟h̤̩̬͝e̷͈͍̲̹n͏ ̯I̪͓̙͇͙̳͘ ̣̰͝c̩̰̝̬̫͢a̵͎n̘̥̺̤̦͠ ̱͈̀b̶͙̗̰̪̱̩e͖̜̮͟ ̭͝o̢̭̭͈̳͇̼f҉ ̶u̖̮͉̤s̼̺̙ͅe.͏̳̞̹̳” Did she detect a hint of a smile? Impossible to be sure. “Y͎̣̞̣o̢̩͇̥̥u͏̟̗͍̗ ̼̥̟a̸r̫̱̙e̱͙̲̙͔̤̰ ̘̫̖s̜̘̬̪̥͙̤m̳a҉̺͉̭͈̰̞ͅl͉̭͕̥l̻͞e̢r ̼̤̣̼̯̯̀t̩͎h̢͙̮͈̮a̴̺͈̜̥̰n͞ ͕̖̫̕ͅṮ̫̰̹h̫̜͕̯͖̘͜—̱͇̼t̟h̙̼a҉̤n͏̯̯̲̠͓̫̦ ͓̩̼m̬̘͎̬̣y͉̯̰̣͎̣̰ ṕ̥̗̭̩̰̭͚r͢e͉͎̪̭ͅv̢̼̤̟͇̬̱̟i̪͍̝̳̫o̼̭̭̥͚u̯̯̥͇s ̥̠g̯̪̜u̼͖̼̮ͅa͉͎̩̩r̭͔͕͚ḓ̥͉͓̱ͅ.̯ ̗͍͎̻̟̬̫T̗̥̰̤̬͕̺͞h̪̥̱̠a̮̘̝t̪͉͉̟̙͕͚͠ ͙̟̭͕̗͠m҉̗̳̖a̺̳͎̫̙̤͡y̻̤̣̼ ̗b͉̪̱͞e̪̥̦̳̗͚̠ ͓̼̼̞͟h͍̫͈ͅe̘̹̣͍͖͞l̢̳p͎̠ͅf̝͇u͡l̡̳͉̦͕͔̙.͍̟ ̵̞C͎h͕̥͈a͝n̟̹̣̻̣͍d̡l͕͓̟̯̗͎͡e̱̫̮̝͍̘r̠̭̹̙͠ ̮̞w͕̭̟̻̕i͎͎̜̟̳͔̩͟l͇̟̞̤̜̫̖͜l̞ ̞̤̫̱̖͖b̹̘͡e̪̻̙ ̮̭w̻̰͚̘̲̱a̲̠̳̫̜̼i̯̫͕͔t̙̳̲į͈̞͕̜̣n͏̬͓g̷̘͔ f̙͚̦͔͈o͖͈̯͚͚r̥͕̳ ̥yo̺̪̰̕ṷr̖͈͖̲͝ ͏̳̖r͙̞̱̦̥e̥p̨̘̞̮orţ̩̥;̘̞̻̜ ̲y̴̦̥o̮̝̺̟ù̫̲͈ͅ ̷̟͚͍͔̪̮ͅs҉͚͈̼̫͉ͅh̰͉̦o̶̪͇̪̟̱͖u͏̖̼̠͈̖l̮͓̼ḏ͙ ̧̺̤͕̦̻ṃ̶ͅa̗k̶̻̱e͚ ̨̮i̗̱̪̗̱̥͢ţ͉̙͓.̸̠ ͔͈I̳͍̳̮̩̥̼ ̱w͉͔̦̲͍͙̯i̖͔͇̞ĺl̥̱̝̤ ͞s̪ͅt̲̭̭͎͈͓̯̀i̙̗͖l̤̜͚͇̮̀l ̧̮͖̼̳͕̼͚b̮̖̻̠͜e͍ ̬̝͠h̵̯̥͎̜e̼̺ṟ̤̜̟͞e҉͇̬͓̺̜̫̮ ̻̰̟̠ͅͅw͙̻̕he̢ṉ̩ ̟͟y̡͕̼͍̝̝͙o͕̙ú̺̖̠͉̠ͅ ̘̪̜̕r̪͙̭̱͚e͈t͔̱̣͢u̬̰̪̘̦̗ṛ͕͓n͙͟.͈͎̲̫͎̜ ҉̯ͅT̛̺͚̜̝̺h̳͈̠̗̥̺͙a̙͜t̸͔ ̹i͍͈̼̺̠s͔̰̳̖͢ ̣̹̫̣͉̬ͅth̼̭̦̙e͈ ͏̗̲̳f̵͔͓̤̭̳u͏͙͚̼̗ņ̯̞ct̞̜͖͉͈̭̕i̭̜̺̬̲o͙̹̜n̕ ̖̮̻̼͓͠o̶̱͇͈̞͔̬f̟ ̺͙͇ḁ̞̭̲̙̖͡ ̳̜͖̖p̮̜͚̹̥͜ri̢̙̝s̡̯̖̘͙ͅo̝̝̠ͅņ.͏̭̗̞̻̩̭” Yes, he was definitely smiling. He opened and then closed his wings as if to demonstrate something, perhaps the confines of his cell.
“I…right. I’ll be back, then.”
It was beginning to be clear to Achinoam why this position had been empty for so long. She wondered how long she would last in it.
The illusion was shattered, like so many other things, by the storm. Since then he had been confined to his cell, even after the dual testimonies of Fang and Gossamer showed that he was not at fault. He showed no interest in leaving. Liszt, who occasionally went up to study him, suggested that this was a reaction to Thorn’s death; there were a few who disagreed, but it hardly mattered. The demon would remain either way.
But now things had shifted again. Valor’s arrival, and the constant irritation of Gossamer’s presence, and perhaps the simple passage of time; all these things had done their work on Sugarspun, and he grew restless. He requested, during one of Liszt’s study sessions, to be allowed a guard again, so he could be as useful as he was.
Liszt himself was the only guard free to do so, but he didn’t have the time or—despite his sympathy—the inclination. The request was noted, but nothing could yet be done. He would simply have to wait.
Achinoam arrived early one morning entirely unexpected, brought by Chaffinch, who had been making some small delivery or other when he encountered the Fairweather.
“I’m not sure we need more trouble just at the moment,” Fang said, examining the new arrival. “The Varnesse situation alone—”
“I didn’t come to cause trouble,” Achinoam said. “I came to prevent it.”
“I’ve heard that one before.”
“Prescott is harmless enough,” Chaffinch said. “I didn’t think it would make things worse, anyway.”
“What exactly brings you to us, Achinoam?” Fang said. “I find that dragons who are attracted to strife are more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Maybe I worded that badly,” Achinoam said. “Chaffinch was telling me about your guard shortage, and this demon…thing…you have here. If you ask me, and to be fair you didn’t, making a demon wait like that isn’t the best idea. Who knows what kind of trouble he could cause?”
“He is in a magically reinforced cell.”
“That’s as may be, but he’s already left unattended most of the time, when he’s not being studied. How sure are you that those reinforcements will work? Better to give him his personal guard, make sure someone’s watching him all the time. Everyone gets what they want.”
“You want to guard a demon?”
“It’s a living.”
“Is it,” Fang muttered. “Very well. Head up there and see how he feels about you. A guard he hates won’t be better than no guard at all. Then report to Chandler, there are probably some forms or…something.” She waved a claw, unwilling to contemplate the process. “Chaff, you can go.”
The prison was a large hollow very close to the cliff surface, though far back from the face, exactly the opposite of Fang’s office. Liszt, coiled outside the door with some sort of spell forming between his hands, nodded to Achinoam as she passed; standards of security in this place, from what she’d seen, were mixed.
Inside she found a long row of glass-walled cells, only two of them occupied. The Fae in the nearer one leapt to his feet as she entered, but she ignored him. He wasn’t her job to manage.
The demon lay curled in the center of his cell, head tucked under his wing, unmoving. She wondered if he breathed. If he needed to. She raised a claw to rap on the glass, but an instant before she made contact the demon suddenly heaved himself to his feet, and walked over to her. He didn’t react at all to the proximity of the iron bars.
“H̴̥̼͚̰e̶̜̦l̻͖̳̤̪̥͡l̛̹͔̼̘̠̪o̵͙̟̣͚̟.̺̺͚” He spoke softly, enough that she had to lean forward to hear him clearly. There was an odd vibration to his voice, as though it were many voices blended into one. “W̦̼̮h̝̣͙̖͠a͖̣̟̱̠̥t̻ͅ ̭b̟͇͈r̵̦͈͔͈̼i̸͉n͎g̝͓͇̗͚͙̙̕s̡͚͚ ̱̺̯͟y̲ͅo̲̝͠ư̻͉̞̮ ̭t͇̲̬̩̳̭̤o̭͉̦̯̲ ̠̺͙̤̺̮m͚̳͍̭͚̪e҉̲̞͍̦̫̟?̸̹”
“Shouldn’t you be able to tell that on your own?”
“I̶͇̩͚̤ ͙͓̳̼͙̀a̤̖͙͉m̼̪͙ ̻ḇ̩̞͖̠̞o̧̩͕̜̱u̬͚̹̤͠ṋ͚͖d̪̹̲,̞” he said, as if this explained everything. He looked her unwaveringly in the eye. He did not seem impressed that she returned his stare. But it was hard to know. “I̴͙̫̙͖ a̳m͏̦͉̤̪ ̪̻̼͈ͅc̯͈̗͓̹͍͢a̵͍̱̦͉l͎̱l̦͎͚̜̻e̵͈̭d̦̞̹ ̳S͝u͕̹̳̦͓̺͟ͅga̮̬͚̫̪r̥̭s҉p̳͔̤̙̖̲͈͢u̶n͏̠̠͉͙̣̗̟,̘̬͜ ̭̝̩͎͍b̥̫̟͔y̺͍ ̵͉͕͔̗țh̞̞̻̹̝̪̼o͚̭̦s̥̺̭̟̣̳͇e̙͙͚͞ ͟w̲̰͈̤͈͞ho̵͕̹ ̡̮ḁ̷͎r̻̮̭͝ͅe̝ ̩͚̯̟͜w̭̥͝i͇͓̝̣͓̠̞͜l̺̪̪͟l̡̲̞i̛̝͉̭͖n̥̻̺̖̗̱͞g̠̳̝̗̯̖,͓ ̩̥a̗͍̙̻̺͜ṋ̝̘̳͉d̠̞̪̪ ̦͚͝'͙̦̠͔̼̬̞d͡e̳͍͎m҉̞̖͚͕o̙͕̳̠̠̲͘ͅn̰͎'̶ ̼̝̱̱̫͈͎͞b̠̭͕̟͍͓y̛̙̠͉̙̙ ̝̳̪t̝͔̥̪͙̩hǫ̠s̝̯̦̻̦̫͉ḛ͖̗ ̬͓͈̙͞w̦̮͖̫̥͕ͅh̲̠ǫ̭̲ ̗̦͓̩a̱̜̖r͈̤̮̱̬̩̥ẹ̗͕̣͓̯̙̀ ̫̹̮̺̭n͔͚̟o͏t.̲̙͕̤̬̹̭ ̻͖̝̲̤W͉͙̥h͈̹͟i̗̤͚͜c̜͇͔h̴͙̖ͅ ͎̜͓̯̬̣a͚̲ṛ̬̫͙̳͈̙͢e̘̯̙̲̳͎͝ ̤̙͎y̪o̦͓͖̻̙u̵͔?̟̪͢”
“Willing, I guess,” she said. “I don’t see any reason not to. I’m Achinoam.”
“A̗̞ ̭̼͔̺̦̗͈p̢l̺̥̟̹̠͡e̜̗͞a̱̺s͙̝u̷r͈e̛̦͉̭̰͉.̮͎͉͉͈̰͟” He bowed his head. She couldn’t tell if he was mocking her, or something else.
“I’m your new guard,” she said, after a short pause. “Here to escort you where you want to go.” To make him useful again, Chaffinch had said as if he was quoting something, but it seemed wrong to call it that.
“T̘̟h̤̩̬͝e̷͈͍̲̹n͏ ̯I̪͓̙͇͙̳͘ ̣̰͝c̩̰̝̬̫͢a̵͎n̘̥̺̤̦͠ ̱͈̀b̶͙̗̰̪̱̩e͖̜̮͟ ̭͝o̢̭̭͈̳͇̼f҉ ̶u̖̮͉̤s̼̺̙ͅe.͏̳̞̹̳” Did she detect a hint of a smile? Impossible to be sure. “Y͎̣̞̣o̢̩͇̥̥u͏̟̗͍̗ ̼̥̟a̸r̫̱̙e̱͙̲̙͔̤̰ ̘̫̖s̜̘̬̪̥͙̤m̳a҉̺͉̭͈̰̞ͅl͉̭͕̥l̻͞e̢r ̼̤̣̼̯̯̀t̩͎h̢͙̮͈̮a̴̺͈̜̥̰n͞ ͕̖̫̕ͅṮ̫̰̹h̫̜͕̯͖̘͜—̱͇̼t̟h̙̼a҉̤n͏̯̯̲̠͓̫̦ ͓̩̼m̬̘͎̬̣y͉̯̰̣͎̣̰ ṕ̥̗̭̩̰̭͚r͢e͉͎̪̭ͅv̢̼̤̟͇̬̱̟i̪͍̝̳̫o̼̭̭̥͚u̯̯̥͇s ̥̠g̯̪̜u̼͖̼̮ͅa͉͎̩̩r̭͔͕͚ḓ̥͉͓̱ͅ.̯ ̗͍͎̻̟̬̫T̗̥̰̤̬͕̺͞h̪̥̱̠a̮̘̝t̪͉͉̟̙͕͚͠ ͙̟̭͕̗͠m҉̗̳̖a̺̳͎̫̙̤͡y̻̤̣̼ ̗b͉̪̱͞e̪̥̦̳̗͚̠ ͓̼̼̞͟h͍̫͈ͅe̘̹̣͍͖͞l̢̳p͎̠ͅf̝͇u͡l̡̳͉̦͕͔̙.͍̟ ̵̞C͎h͕̥͈a͝n̟̹̣̻̣͍d̡l͕͓̟̯̗͎͡e̱̫̮̝͍̘r̠̭̹̙͠ ̮̞w͕̭̟̻̕i͎͎̜̟̳͔̩͟l͇̟̞̤̜̫̖͜l̞ ̞̤̫̱̖͖b̹̘͡e̪̻̙ ̮̭w̻̰͚̘̲̱a̲̠̳̫̜̼i̯̫͕͔t̙̳̲į͈̞͕̜̣n͏̬͓g̷̘͔ f̙͚̦͔͈o͖͈̯͚͚r̥͕̳ ̥yo̺̪̰̕ṷr̖͈͖̲͝ ͏̳̖r͙̞̱̦̥e̥p̨̘̞̮orţ̩̥;̘̞̻̜ ̲y̴̦̥o̮̝̺̟ù̫̲͈ͅ ̷̟͚͍͔̪̮ͅs҉͚͈̼̫͉ͅh̰͉̦o̶̪͇̪̟̱͖u͏̖̼̠͈̖l̮͓̼ḏ͙ ̧̺̤͕̦̻ṃ̶ͅa̗k̶̻̱e͚ ̨̮i̗̱̪̗̱̥͢ţ͉̙͓.̸̠ ͔͈I̳͍̳̮̩̥̼ ̱w͉͔̦̲͍͙̯i̖͔͇̞ĺl̥̱̝̤ ͞s̪ͅt̲̭̭͎͈͓̯̀i̙̗͖l̤̜͚͇̮̀l ̧̮͖̼̳͕̼͚b̮̖̻̠͜e͍ ̬̝͠h̵̯̥͎̜e̼̺ṟ̤̜̟͞e҉͇̬͓̺̜̫̮ ̻̰̟̠ͅͅw͙̻̕he̢ṉ̩ ̟͟y̡͕̼͍̝̝͙o͕̙ú̺̖̠͉̠ͅ ̘̪̜̕r̪͙̭̱͚e͈t͔̱̣͢u̬̰̪̘̦̗ṛ͕͓n͙͟.͈͎̲̫͎̜ ҉̯ͅT̛̺͚̜̝̺h̳͈̠̗̥̺͙a̙͜t̸͔ ̹i͍͈̼̺̠s͔̰̳̖͢ ̣̹̫̣͉̬ͅth̼̭̦̙e͈ ͏̗̲̳f̵͔͓̤̭̳u͏͙͚̼̗ņ̯̞ct̞̜͖͉͈̭̕i̭̜̺̬̲o͙̹̜n̕ ̖̮̻̼͓͠o̶̱͇͈̞͔̬f̟ ̺͙͇ḁ̞̭̲̙̖͡ ̳̜͖̖p̮̜͚̹̥͜ri̢̙̝s̡̯̖̘͙ͅo̝̝̠ͅņ.͏̭̗̞̻̩̭” Yes, he was definitely smiling. He opened and then closed his wings as if to demonstrate something, perhaps the confines of his cell.
“I…right. I’ll be back, then.”
It was beginning to be clear to Achinoam why this position had been empty for so long. She wondered how long she would last in it.