Demimind: Chapter 22

Last of the super short updates, folks. Necessarily short- perhaps I should have made it a two part chapter! Anyway, enjoy as always. Maybe I’ll spend some time working on another short story this week.

-Eris

(22) More Bloody Time Travel

Summer gathers heat in her hand, but keeps it there, narrowing her eyes as her predecessor approaches. “What do you want?”

“That’s pretty simple,” Glory says quietly, her voice like leaves crackling dry in the sun. “I want you gone. I want you to go back to your own time.”

“In many ways we’re the same,” Summer points out cautiously. “Couldn’t we… work together?”

Winter cringes at the idea of that, but says nothing. Summer isn’t seriously thinking about that, surely.

“Don’t compare me with you, Summer! I am everything you can never be. I don’t want you dead- I just want you back where you belong. I’ve already paid our mutual brother a visit and convinced him of his own stupidity. I told him you were dead, and I sent your guard back to his original time as well. With a little luck, Fall can start down his own path soon.”

“You bitch!” Summer hisses. “Why the hell would you want Fall to become like Autumn?”

“It’s his destiny!” Glory snaps. “The power he’ll learn to wield will crush mountains and right wrongs- he must become the true embodiment of entropy!”

“Now hold on a second-” Casper starts.

“You’re insane. Fall can’t use that power and stay the same! You’re effectively killing the man Winter loves!”

Wait, I’m supposed to love him? Winter asks.

Shut up! Summer snarls.

“And what if I am? Winter is a spineless, worthless piece of fey trash, there’s no reason she should have anything! If Fall is too weak to survive without Winter, than maybe it’s time he evolved!”

Okay. I’d vote to kill her, but I’m not in the mood for suicide, Winter says dryly. I sincerely wish it was my turn, though.

Summer steps away from Casper, who just shrugs and backs off. Azzy steps back from Glory, who is now radiating heat like a barrier.

In unison, the two seasons begin to circle.

Summer clenches the Rose in her fist, digging sharp thorns into her palm.

“Who is Autumn?” Casper asks.

Glory answers. “Autumn is the final incarnation of the four seasons! His power has rendered Him immortal, and He has promised a world without conflict.”

“He’s a loony who tried to kill me and Winter, bound me permanently within Winter’s head. Now we have to trade places with some weird pill Spring has developed,” Summer replies grimly. “We’re trying to stop Him.”

Azzy shrugs. “It is not our business, then.”

Casper seems to think it over.

But the rest of the dragons seem to agree with Azzy.

The circling continues- now Summer stands near Azzy, and Glory stands near Casper.

Summer lifts her hand, takes a deep breath, and hurls a bolt of pure heat at Glory. In a flash, her twin grabs the power from the air as if catching a baseball, staring back at Summer with a smile. “Now, why did you think that would work?”

Heat flares around her suddenly, and Casper has to take a step back.

Summer takes a cautious step forward, and Glory lashes out, hurling the bolt back double- it leaves a hissing, smoking trail as it burns the air between them, an invisible blast of pure energy.

Summer catches it casually, curls it into a string between her fingers. She lashes the floor beside her with a flick of her wrist. It’s hot, but nowhere near hot enough, even as stone flashes into steam, and her heart snarls with anger.

“You’re a fool, Summer! All that power and what do you use it for?” Glory taunts. “We’re far from the same! The difference between a mere immortal and a goddess!”

She hurls a crackling blast of energy at Summer, a burst that would fry the meat from a normal human’s bones. Summer walks through it like a warm breeze, advancing on the self-proclaimed goddess. “You’re right,” Summer says calmly. “We are far from the same. You’re a spoiled little brat. I used to be just like you, not even two weeks ago. I used to want the same things you did, I remember what it was like to think the world was my toy.”

Summer narrows her eyes. “There’s a big difference between the two of us, do you want to know what it is?”

A second wild lash of heat energy glances off of Summer’s shoulder with more force than before, actually making her flinch. But she rights herself and strides towards Glory, who backs away. Casper has to shield her face from the heat.

“We both treat the world like a toy. I just don’t want to share it with filth like you,” Summer snaps, closing the remaining distance between herself future and past. Her slap flings Glory aside like a doll.

She pulls herself to her feet, brings her hand up to finger the bruise, rage fueling a wild snarl as she leaps towards Summer.

Summer steps back once and holds her hands up to meet the blows she’s sure will follow- but they don’t.

Spring, who holds Glory by the collar of her gossamer shirt, gazes at her amiably before turning a stony glare on Summer herself. “You really shouldn’t be here,” He says quietly. “Glory here has the right of it.”

“I have business here,” Summer says sharply.

When did this green-haired bastard show up? But then, that’s always his way. Spring can be anywhere at any time he wishes- but he always turns up exactly when things are about to get out of hand. It doesn’t seem to matter whose hands things are about to leave, only that he stops the things from leaving said hands. What a twerp.

“It was an easy way out of the situation back in the Barrier, I’ll grant you that,” Spring says cheerfully. “And it’s not that I don’t approve of running, you see. But I must send you back like I sent Thomas. Neither of you belong here. You could ruin the whole of the timeline this way.”

“What about Autumn?” Summer asks incredulously. “Will He be forced back as well?”

“Of course. He knows where you’ll next be, naturally,” Spring replies gently. “Since you were destined to visit His other self- Fall- here, He was inevitably drawn here as well. It is, after all, where He began.”

“What…?” Summer starts. “But-”

“Did you think that you could stop it?” Spring asks sadly. “Don’t be ashamed- such thoughts are common, but everything that has happened has already happened. It’s called the Cycle for a reason, dear Summer.”

“Then why must we go back?” Summer asks desperately. “Why does it have to be this way?”

“Because it has already happened this way,” Spring explains patiently. “Please, just let go. The past is the past- it is the future, which, while it too has already happened, is the only place you can possibly live.”

Spring smiles pleasantly, waves a hand, and vanishes from Summer’s sight.

Unsurprisingly, so does everything else, as Summer also disappears in a flash of cold spring dew.

Spring turns to Casper and frowns. His grip on Glory is like iron- she can’t move a muscle. “And what are you waiting for, little human?”

The one thing the Cycle could not possibly account for- the works of mortals are ever being written. Only the immortals are set in stone. It was, of course, always troubling to talk to someone whose ways you could not see.

Casper shrugs. “I could ask the same of you, you sad magic sod. You look a bit like an elf lambasted with quick-gro.”

Spring smiles briefly. “Did you want to go with them?”

Casper frowns, then shrugs again. “Just take me to somewhere with humans, if that’s in your power. I think I’ve had enough of being a pet.”

Azzy steps forward, looks as if he’s about to say something, and then doesn’t, dropping his hands to his sides and shaking his head ruefully.

Casper catches the movement out of the corner of her eye and turns slightly. “I don’t belong with you people,” She says quietly. “You’ll all outlive me, you all can’t care for me. I can’t live here.”

Azzy shrugs helplessly. “Go then,” He says, haltingly. “I’ll find you eventually.”

Casper feels an unfamiliar smile on her lips, and, sheathing her sword, steps forward towards Spring. “I’m ready,” She says confidently.

“No you aren’t,” Spring replies amicably. “So long!”

Casper vanishes. Azzy sighs and shakes his head, staring at the cavern floor for a few moments. The rest of the dragons- the gray-scale and Aura- wander or limp away.

Spring, after giving Glory a gentle peck on the cheek, shoves her forward one handed. She has time to pick herself up and launch herself back at him before, smiling faintly, Spring disappears as well, this time for good.

The dew left on the cavern floor from his passage makes Summer-Glory slip and fall on her butt.

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Demimind: Chapter 15

(15)Of Spring and Healing

Summer stumbles when the change hits her. Winter’s body disappears- Summer’s pregnancy weakened body stumbles forward. Her hands slap the ground- she can’t seem to find her breath.

No one moves to help her either- Thomas is determined to look the other way, the mute man just stands and stares, and Fall, who seems to be taking some sort of bizarre revenge on Glory through her, just sits on the bed and pretends she doesn’t exist.

She manages to sit up, but her whole body feels raw, and her stomach- her womb- feels as if it’s been sliced open. She rubs her belly to make sure this isn’t the case. It isn’t- though she has blood on her hand when she takes it away. Summer takes a deep breath, and breathes it out slowly.

Feeling okay?

“Yes,” She lies, coughing once and giving herself a weak smile. “I’m feeling just fine, Winter.”

Thomas clears his throat. “I don’t suppose you’d care to put some clothes on?”

Summer blushes. She catches Fall smiling and snaps a glare in his direction. Then she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. Drawing on the life in the room, she materializes a gauzy shirt and skirt, made out of summer gossamer and fading sunbeams. She slips into them easily, and they tighten snug about her figure, shining bright and literally blindingly beautiful.

“Better,” She says quietly. “You can look now, Thomas.”

He turns back toward her, obviously relieved that she’s wearing something more than her skin. Fall looks at her directly now too, half a smile on his face.

“For the record, I’d rather you were seeing me improper than leaving me to stumble and smack the ground,” Summer comments dryly. “Though admittedly I don’t plan on being so weak next time that I fall like that.”

Fall folds his arms and just watches her. Thomas leans down and offers a hand, which she accepts gratefully. She feels about a hundred pounds lighter with the baby gone. And strangely empty.

Thomas pulls her to her feet with frightening ease. “Miss, you’ve lost weight,” He says, trying a grin.

She offers him weak smile in return. “How untoward of you to notice.”

He blushes, but holds her smile until Fall coughs meaningfully.

“Summer, you’ve a task before you,” He points out.

“We need to be somewhere with more life to it,” She replies. “There isn’t enough for me to heal something like that. Not at my present power.”

A voice, at the door makes everyone jump. “I have something that might help.”

Spring walks into the shack boldly, his green skin and brown-tipped hair bright in the cool light of the moon shining through the window. When he arrives at the center of the room, he reaches into a pocket in his jeans and tugs out a flower- a rose, in fact. He sets it on the table. Summer stares at it.

It isn’t a normal rose. It glows brightly, and seems made of incandescent light rather than actual flower.

“Where did you get this?” She asks.

“What is it?” Fall demands. “Why are you here, brother? Are you for us or against us?”

“I am what I am,” Spring says quietly. “I am neither for you nor against you. I cannot help you and I cannot hurt you. I don’t much appreciate what you will do in the future, brother.”

“How could you know?” Summer asks sharply. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

Thomas remains silent, watching the display, face blank. Whether he knows what’s going on and is remaining quiet or is just confused isn’t obvious.

Spring smiles. “I am a product of past, present and future, my dear sister and brother. I am here, there, and all around, waiting for my time to come. That’s always how it’s been- so!” He rubs his hands together.

“Let’s get down to business,” He says seriously. “That rose is something special to you, Summer, is it not? I took the liberty of liberating it from your past self. You’re calling her Glory at this point, are you not?”

“Yes,” Fall says slowly. “What in the time of the Cycle are you going on about?”

“Patience. I’ll explain,” Spring soothes. “First, answer my question, Summer.”

“Yes,” Summer says, narrowing her eyes. She reaches over and picks up the rose. “I believe I remember now.”

“Excellent.”

“I remember you stealing this from me and disappearing,” She says sharply. “Start explaining.”

“I did not actually steal it from you,” Spring says cheerfully. “That was me from another timeline.”

“Horseshit,” Summer growls. “I didn’t fall for it then, I won’t fall for it now. This ‘timeline’ business is a myth. If there is one, there’s only one.”

Spring sighs a little, but looks amused at Summer’s deduction. “It’d be easier if just once you would believe me. You’re right, of course. The truth of it is that  there is no difference between the us of now and the us of later- not really. We are all predestined to do the things we eventually do. Summer from here- Glory- knows this, and seeks to set it all in motion. She needn’t bother, she would do it whether or not she tried to avoid it.”

He nods at Fall. “You, dear brother, will become a monster eventually. There is nothing that can stop that.” He glances at Summer. “And you, dear sister, will redeem yourself- or try to- for your past sins by killing Fall when he becomes the Moonlord. It’s a part of the grand Cycle, something we’ve done for ages. The Seasons are at war with one another. They can work together, but only for a time and only towards one goal- the destruction of one another.”

“How do you know?” Thomas asks suddenly, arms folded. “That sounds a little ridiculous, milord. Shouldn’t you at least try to fight it?”

“Well-” Spring starts, but Fall cuts him off.

“It’s obvious rubbish,” Fall snaps. “After hearing about what I’ve done? There’s nothing in this world that’d make me go that far off the deep end.”

Spring shrugs, then gives Summer a smile. “Bring that rose along with you, when you visit the shrine tomorrow.”

Summer sighs and sets the rose back on the table. “Fine, brother. But you’ll have a lot of explaining to do in the future.”

Spring steps back and takes an expansive bow. “Just don’t use it all up at once.”

He straightens, then vanishes in the breeze, taking another step backward and disappearing completely. A few leaves drift to the floor with his passage.

What a tool, Winter comments. He’s nothing like he’ll be later.

“Yeah,” Summer says quietly. She turns to the mute man, who stares at her. “Ready?”

He nods. His dark eyes flash at her. Something about his stare makes her more than a little uncomfortable.

Still, Winter wants him healed. She owes Winter a lot. Much more than this  healing could repay. She has to start somewhere… May as well be here.

She takes a deep breath and reaches inside of herself. Then, drawing a hand around the tight ball of her power, she weaves threads around her fingers and casts them out around her, making sure they touch everything but the man. Her eyes close, then open and open wide.

-You see me,- He says silently. -Will you still help me?-

What’s going on? He just lost a tongue, Winter wonders. Are you okay? You’ve been standing here for a while now.

Summer breaks out in a sweat, but doesn’t let the fear show on her face.

The man is not a man. He is a dragon. Or she. The voice is feminine, and cloaked in a mental hiss. She can’t make out the creature’s scales to know whether it’s evil or good. She can’t remember which scales mean what anyway.

“Yeah, I guess I will,” She says quietly. “Open your mouth.”

The man-illusion opens its mouth, baring the gaping hole. Taking another deep breath, Summer pushes her hand- still covered in glowing threads- into the illusory man’s mouth. She feels a dragon tongue curl around her hand and flick her arm. Razor sharp teeth hedge in her hand. She feels her legs shaking, and keeps them still.

Summer?

Thomas can only see her stuffing her hand into the illusion’s mouth, but he feels something must be wrong. “Milady, what-”

“Now bite,” She says, eyes shut tight. “And swallow.”

Well. Blood for blood-

The dragon bites down, severing Summer’s hand at the wrist. The tongue curls around the severed limb and the creature swallows it whole.

Had she judged right? Summer can’t help but wonder that, stepping back, one hand clutching the bleeding stump where her hand used to be and calmly applying pressure. Thomas is shouting, scrabbling for his sword- his iron armor lies on the stand in the corner of the shack. Fall is rising from his seat, a mixture of fury and concern written across normally placid features.

Summer feels her blood streaming past her fingers. Only for a moment. Through force of will she cuts the flow, using a single thread she saved- and connected to the rose- to hold her blood in place with her power.

She still feels woozy, and searing pain climbs up her arm in waves.

There’s an interminable pause, and Summer gets the feeling that perhaps she’d failed- but then the dragon’s scales rip through skin that was never there.

She sees Thomas shrink back. The illusory man fades, and the shack crumbles as the dragon regains its normal height, length, temperament and power all at once.

Fall stands firm, though his face goes white.

“Oh,” He says weakly.

She’s a dragon? Wasn’t expecting that, Winter remarks. Her mental voice is shaky, weak with pain. Summer had almost forgotten that it transfered through their link. She’s feeling shaky herself.

Summer sways on her feet. She can feel her body, now doubly weakened, almost stumble. Fear from the dragon’s presence is making it even harder to keep her balance. She leans against the table as bits of the shack’s roof rain down.

In the moonlight the dragon’s black scales gleam. An enormous, sinuous tail, ending in a long spade, flicks out spines reflexively as the creature stretches. Beryl eyes stare at her, a feral glimmer in them.

Summer has to commend Thomas on his bravery. He steps forward, having recovered his iron armor and struggled into the shoulders of it, at least. His sword is drawn too, though the tip weaves and he seems to be shaking in his boots.

Fall shakes his head slowly, clearly disbelieving it.

Summer, for her part, draws on the power of the Rose, letting the thread thicken. She wraps her arm in it, slowly, concentrating as hard as she can, drawing out the faint outline of her hand in her mind. Now heal.

Her hand reforms, skin and bone wrapped in one, tendons and nerves all coiling into place, fingers next, nails. Her skin, pale and pink, contrasts sharply with the bronze of her form, but at least it’s functional. Well, technically. She can’t move it just yet, and-

A familiar dragon muzzle opens in front of her, baring dagger-long teeth. It snaps closed an inch from her face. She hears Thomas drop his sword and scramble trying to pick it up.

-Are you frightened?- The dragon hisses, its tail flicking this way and that, curling and twisting like an agitated snake. Blood shines on its teeth as its lips curl back.

Yes, Winter whispers.

“No,” Summer says calmly, looking up and into its eyes. It’s not really a lie. Fear is knotted in her belly. But she doesn’t feel afraid.

-Why?- The voice roars in her head. The dragon hisses, its tongue flashing out and flicking across Summer’s face like a slap. Its saliva stings and burns like acid. But Summer simply stands there, still leaning on the table. There’s a burning trail across one bronze cheek, but she reaches up and wipes it off with her uninjured hand.

“You don’t scare me. I saved you. There is a binding on you now. You can’t hurt me.”

Are you sure? Winter hisses. I mean, are you really sure?

Summer tries to ignore her.

-I could crush you,- The black dragon growls. -You are lower than dust. I needed your help, but that doesn’t mean I am beholden to you, season Summer. You may have risen among humans, but you are no match for a dragon!-

“I never said I was,” Summer says mildly. “I have shed blood for you. I expect you to do the same for me. You should know how it works.”

The dragon hisses, long and low.

“You can’t harm me again,” Summer says simply.

-Just give me the chance,- It snarls.

“Open your mouth,” Summer says quietly.

The dragon roars at her.

Summer waits patiently until it’s done, and then slips her other hand into its mouth, letting it hover just above the dragon’s tongue.

It tries to snap its jaws shut, but something stops its mouth from closing all the way. It strains and hisses, clawing tracks in the dirt with its foreclaws. But it can’t manage it. She knew it wouldn’t be able to, somehow.

Summer watches the dragon struggle. Only when it stops moving entirely and just glares at her does she withdraw her hand. She meets its gaze steadily and pats it on the muzzle. “I healed you. It cost me deeply.”

-You’ll regenerate fully within the hour,- The dragon sneers. -What cost is that?-

“I drain things I love constantly in order to save myself. That is the cost. You know the balance- you’re a dragon, not a fool,” Summer says sternly. “You are being brash, you are filled with the arrogance of your race, and you know it. You wish you could control it, you want to thank me, but how does a dragon thank someone? It can’t. Everything is a dragon’s toy. I am not your toy, dragon. I am your equal. I saved your life of my own will. You are bound to me.”

The dragon answers with sullen silence. It snorts, puffing a cloud of acrid, sulfurous smoke from its nostrils.

Summer strokes its muzzle still, eyes watering. “It’s okay,” She murmurs quietly, wiping her eyes with the back of her recently regenerated hand. “You were in pain. You don’t want to trust me. It’s okay. I’m here to help. I wouldn’t have saved you otherwise.”

-They lied to me,- The dragon says, hissing softly. Its tail settles on the ground with a thud, and it settles lower. -They promised gold, tribute. They trapped me with a Word.-

Without quite realizing why, the dragon has moved closer and set its head next to Summer. The creature is enormous- almost a full thirty feet in length from head to tailtip. Its wings are little more than ornamental- no monster that size could ever fly without the aid of magic.

“Who?” Summer asks, voice soft as a gentle wind blowing through summer wildflowers. “Who did this to you?”

-The Slayers. The ones at Black Refuge. Humans.

“Well,” Fall says weakly. “That’d explain a lot, actually.”

Demimind: Chapter 10

Well! It’s the tenth chapter. A milestone, if I do say so myself. Actually it’s the eleventh, if you count the prologue. Remember that you can read any of the chapters by navigating up to the black bar at the top of the page and clicking on Demimind chapters. 

Enjoy.

-Eris

(10)Memory

Winter’s eyes are open, but she doesn’t register what she sees until Summer screams at her the third time.

Winter!

The world around her is in utter chaos. Twisting, writhing tendrils of light and dark lash out from all around. Thomas, the gateguard, stands by her side, holding onto her hand with the attitude of a scared, confused child lingering close to his mother. There is no consistency in this place.

No up, no down- everything is an agonizingly bright sea, or a coarse dark wasteland. It shifts and rocks and rolls in her vision, though she feels very firmly planted on the ground. Hissing, bubbling and shrieking fills the air, the whole world is a tortured temporal mess that wriggles and squirms in her vision until she feels she might be sick.

“Stop,” She says softly. She can feel the truth of her words as she says them, and the chaos doesn’t frighten her. “I know where I am and what this used to be. This is not how I left it.”

The world around her stops moving and falls, slowly, into place, colors and shapes changing- almost apologetically.

She turns, sees clouds of white in the ceiling- the sky?- and the twisting tendrils that once slipped up from the floor instead still, forming white grass. Everything is white here, different shades of brightness, but white all the same. Before her, three steps forward, is a table. The horizon becomes white, the earth underfoot is white.

“A pocket world,” Thomas whispers to himself, and Winter gives him a strange look.

“How did you know that?” She asks, genuinely surprised. Inside she wonders how she knew that. “I didn’t take you for a magic user. I don’t see how anyone but a magician could know.”

Thomas clears his throat and looks away. “I’m not a magic user. My dad was, but I’m not. Before the world went to hell and back- pardon my language, miss- my family was right respected. Long history of keeping portals of one kind or another. As it happens, my granddad used to tell my dad stories about pocket worlds. Folds in space, he called them. Places the Gods lived.”

“We’re not Gods,” Winter says quietly. “I’m not a God. There is no God. We’re just regular people.”

“Begging your pardon, miss, but you know at least two Words of power,” Thomas responds mildly. “If that ain’t God material, what is?”

Winter thinks about that. “There’ve been sorcerers who knew Words of power, haven’t there?”

Thomas shakes his head ruefully. “If there were, miss, I never learned about ’em. Sorry.”

Winter decides it’s time for a change of subject. She goes to take a seat in the white grass- but no sooner does she think of sitting down than a chair appears and forms under her butt from the vastness of white around them.

Creepy, Summer remarks. Never got used to this dimension.

“What do you know about Bringer-of-Spring?” Winter asks.

Thomas shrugs, then smiles, taking a seat as well. The world seems not to care what he thinks- when he sits, he sits down in the grass.  “What do you want to know about him, miss?”

“My name is Winter, it’s… kind of weird when you call me miss like that,” Winter says wearily. “As for what I want to know- tell me about how he is, what he does. Just about him, I guess. I didn’t have the chance to know him very well before we were… separated.”

“He built the town I was born in, mi- Winter. He’s sort of like a local, ah, God there,” Thomas starts, then stops, plainly uncomfortable now that he actually has to think about it. “He never really did much magic- but, strangest thing, it was in the middle of the snow plains, where he built it. Somehow he made it so that the snow and cold is sort of… surrounding it, but not affecting it. Like he took it… out of time or something.”

“What’s the name of the town?” Winter asks curiously. “There’s no sign or anything.”

“Uh, Everspring.”

“Very nice,” Winter says politely. A bit boring and cliché, Summer snips.

“Well, the town is always just warm enough to be outside, without ever being too hot or too cold. It’s sort of stuck between the two seasons- well, you know how Spring is, right?”

The man or the season? Summer asks dryly.

“Yes,” Winter replies.

“The town never sees winter- er, your pardon, not you, but the time of year- and it never sees summer or fa-” Thomas stops himself in time, looking around fearfully before he continues. “Or autumn. The trees are always healthy and the crops always grow and harvest time comes whenever Bringer feels like it. It’s magic, pure and simple, and it’s legend- and truth- that it was Bringer-of-Spring who did it.”

There’s admiration in Thomas’s tones, so much that Summer wonders how much is an act. Winter has no such thoughts, nodding for Thomas to continue. “Did he ever say anything about Words of power?”

“No, miss Winter. He never did. Not to my family at least, and we were closer’n most to him,” Thomas says. He sighs heavily again. “Sorry I don’t know much about him. He’s pretty mysterious.”

“He is,” Winter says shortly, suddenly lost in thought.

He saved you, you know. Summer volunteers. Let you run away when you needed to.

“Yes,” Winter replies quietly. “He did.”

“Sorry, miss?” Thomas asks, forgetting himself.

For a moment, a blissful, blessed moment, Winter is left alone in her head and can think. She figures she may as well make the most of it. She stands, looking around this white world. It seems safe from Fall, for now. She wonders at her brother. Where did He come from? What does He want? What had Summer taken from Him? Or had He meant Winter? Had she herself taken something from Him? If only she could remember.

She half-expects a book to appear out of the ether at that, with all of the answers. She’s almost disappointed when it doesn’t. Summer seems to guess at what she wants.

This place, as I understand it, is made from memory, Winter. It can’t remember what you don’t for you. I remember you told me there was a place that you stored your memories once, I remember watching you do it. But I can’t for the life of me remember how to get into that place.

“We’ve got seven days to kill,” Winter says to no one in particular. “Why not?”

Not knowing exactly what she’s doing, she walks off through the white grass. Thomas, not knowing what else to do, follows.

After a time- with a white forest of needled trees visible in the distance- she reaches a white pond set in white earth, flowing and swirling- a pond of opaque fluid, like glue or paint. She reaches down and cups some in her hand- but it feels as insubstantial as cloud. She watches it slip between her fingers and trickle back into the greater mass.

It triggers…. something, a memory rushing from the blackness of her mind and striking her squarely.

– 

A pond. She is near a pond, a blue pond, clear crystal blue, like the sky. Trees are visible off in the distance, but around her green grasses tangle with her feet. Green grass tipped with brown.

No, she sits with her knees up near her chest, and at her feet, half in the water and half out, there lies Spring on his back, his strange hair tickling her toes. His head rests on his arms.

“You should go home, Winter-Long-Frost,” he says, tone gentle as wind through leafy branches.

“You… you can’t tell me what to do,” Winter says, in barely more than a whisper. “Summer said to be out here. So I’m going to stay out here until she says for me to go inside.”

“She’s probably just pulling a prank, Frost,” Spring remarks. “I’d thought you’d get better at recognizing them, but Summer is right- you’re too easy to manipulate.”

“I don’t need your sympathy,” Winter snipes back, her sharpness surprising her. “I only listen to her because she’s older than me.”

“Summer will always be older than Winter,” Spring says mildly. “Are you going to let that dictate your life forever? What would it take to make you do things for yourself? It kills Fall a little when you get hurt, you know, and Summer will laugh every single time.”

“Fall?” Winter asks. She stares down at Spring suspiciously. “What about The-Leaves-Fall? Why should he care if I get hurt?”

“Winter, it’s almost painful watching you lie. Fall is ever so much more than a ‘brother’ to you. We’re all family, but you and Fall are like lovers, that much is no secret.”

Winter feels a sharp blush creeping up, starting with her tickled toes. “You really are shameless. I really hate you sometimes, you know that?”

You really hate me, not Summer? That’s a start.”

 –

“Winter!” Thomas hisses. “Miss Winter, what are you doing?”

Winter. You’ve just been standing there for close to ten minutes now. We have days to kill, but this is ridiculous.

Winter’s eyes focus and she comes back to herself. She gazes into the pool still, calling up a memory of Autumn’s face now. It swirls into shape in the liquid, formed of whiteness but still visible as the contours of the horned man’s visage. To Winter, it rises from the pool and stares back at her. She reaches out, leaning perilously close to the edge, her hand outstretched, seemingly completely oblivious to Thomas’s pleas or Summer’s admonition.

After a few seconds it becomes apparent she’s out of it.

“What is she doing?” Thomas asks himself. His eyes are drawn to the figure in the pool, flat in the strange white liquid. It looks startlingly similar to an old portrait of Lord Fa- Autumn He can’t help but wonder if it was drawn from life. 

Summer sighs mentally and rolls her figurative eyes.

If I knew I’d tell ya. If I knew and you could hear me, anyway.

 –

“Lord Autumn. What will you do to help us?”

The merchant is quaking in his boots. This close to the horned man it’s extremely difficult to keep your wits, its said his gaze can cause insanity, and the merchant looks as if he believes it.

Lord Autumn shrugs his shoulders expressively, half a smile creasing his lips. “I suppose that depends. Dear sister, what do you think is the best course of action?”

Summer grins and looks the merchant dead in the eyes. “You want me to decide a peasant’s fate? Lost your touch of mercy?”

“If I wanted mercy I’d let Bringer decide,” Fall says, his tone bored. “I think this case requires your rather unique touch.”

Summer regards the merchant. He’s a bit of a short, fat man, sweaty and covered in the thick stench of fear and apprehension. His face is one of a tired traveler. He stands before two legends. Things couldn’t have gone well to bring him here in the first place.

Summer shrugs. Empathy she might have, but sympathy has never been her strong point. She decides to defer this decision to her younger sister. Should be worth a laugh. 

In a flash, she shifts shape, becoming Winter, and leaving her mind-mate confused and too hot in what used to be Summer’s seat and wearing what used to be Summer’s clothes.

Here, Winter. Decide this case for me, Summer says. I’m too bored to bother.

Winter’s eyes, two piercing blue orbs, rest squarely on the merchant. She’s about to open her mouth when Fall interrupts her thought.

“She wants you to go home, pick two of your finest wares, and deliver them to the nearest temple of Winter. When you have done that you will be cleansed of evil, and you may converse freely with your rival without fear of hatred or anger,” Fall says. His expression is stormy, but it’s not the merchant’s fault, Winter is sure of that.

The merchant, however, flees anyway after the necessary farewells and thank yous.

When he is gone, Summer forces her way back into Winter’s body, shoving her weaker sibling aside and letting her resume her usual position- watching.

“Well that was boring,” She grumps. “You should have let Frosty decide.”

“Summer, I do not approve of you using our sister like that,” Fall says, his tone amiable, though his expression is murder. “It hurts her to have to make decisions so quickly.”

“It was just a joke. You ruined it,” Summer snaps. “I’m older than both of you, you can at least pretend that makes a difference.”

“To me it most certainly does not,” Fall says dryly. Leaves crackle in his voice. “A few moments difference is hardly something to go by. Bringer-of-Spring came before you. In any case, I was prepared to accept your interesting punishments for the poor man. That does not mean you needed to take Winter out into this hot throne room and force her to make snap decisions about his life.”

“She may be your lover, but that’s-“

Lord Autumn’s eyes glint dangerously. “Did I say I ask this out of love?”

“No, but-“

“Then do not place words in my mouth. You delight in tormenting her. You may be older, but I am more powerful, and I will not have you picking on your twin sister. There will be order, or there will be no mischief whatsoever, and you may find yourself imprisoned.”

Summer nearly snorts, but stops herself in time. She isn’t a fool. “Fine, brother. But one day I won’t need to listen to you.”

“When that day comes, I shall make pigs fly in celebration,” Fall says solemnly. “Perhaps also the world will cease to spin and the Cycle will stop turning.”

 –

Winter pitches forward into the pool face first. It surprises her so much she forgets herself, and takes in a lungful of the liquid.

You really are a ditz, you know that?

She surfaces after a moment, blinks. The liquid doesn’t seem to obstruct her breathing at all. She still coughs it up. It’s uncomfortably warm, even if it has all the substance of a cloud.

“Winter? Er. Miss Frost?”

Winter stares up at Thomas. “How do you know more of my name?” She asks, thickly. Her head feels full of white foam.

“You were mumbling. Staring at the… the water, and mumbling,” Thomas says sheepishly. “I just guessed.”

He’s lying, Summer says flatly. An image, complete with sound, appeared in the pool. He watched the whole thing. Now he’s terrified of you, I’d guess.

Winter sighs. She runs her fingers through her hair. It’s sticky and greasy. After the events of the today, well, that probably shouldn’t be so surprising.

“I need a bath,” She remarks. “Probably two.”

“You’re on the right track,” Thomas says without thinking. He looks like he regrets it immediately.

Seeing his expression she almost laughs. “You don’t need to look like that. I’m not going to bite, Even if I remembered how. And you’re right anyway.”

She steps out of the pond, wiping off the… stuff… from her frost jeans and shirt. It’s pleasantly cool here. She sits on the bank of the little pond and lies down in the grass. It’s been so long. Maybe in the morning she can worry about where she’ll go next or what she’ll do.

Mirroring her thoughts, the world darkens around her, white sky turning black. Thomas is greatly disturbed by this.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m going to sleep,” Winter says irritably. “Stop being such a baby. You can rest too.”

She closes her eyes. She neither sees nor cares what Thomas does, so long as she can finally get some rest. The power of the orb seems to have settled down the moment she set foot in this place.

It’s a bit of a comfort knowing she doesn’t have to worry about Fall here.

It’s a bit more of a comfort knowing she doesn’t need to worry about anything at all until morning.

Her dreams take her quickly, surrounding normally white thoughts with black until there’s no white at all.

Demimind: Chapter 9

Back on schedule. Let’s end the week with something special.

-Eris

(9)Flight or Fight

Winter explains the fight with He-Whose-Name-Shakes-Mountains insofar as she is able to recall. Summer is helpful too. It’s hard to speak around the lump of dread in her belly, but she finds the strength to tell Spring exactly what happened, leaving out only such uses of her own power as seem necessary to make Spring believe Winter was the only one capable of using it while Summer was bound.

He nods when it’s finished. “Yes, that does make sense.” He pauses, standing and rocking the baby, who had quieted at the sound of Winter’s voice. “Go, then. You’ve given me your blood, that’s all I needed from you. I won’t ask you to stay and fight Him in your condition.”

Winter stands, hesitates when she sees Spring and the child. “Come for it in seven days,” Spring says, his voice like stone. His face and his strange green skin are both lit by a cold, dread light from the window, as from the moon. It was midday when they arrived. “It will be here, if not in the shrine, safe in the ruins of it. Go now, before He finds you here and kills you. I will keep Him busy for as long as I can, but if He is driven there is nothing that will stop Him. Come for your baby in seven days- you cannot afford to slow down now!”

Winter dresses herself in frost, taking in power from the two men she murdered- so long ago, it feels- and expending it just as quickly, pushing her power into the shape of jeans and a shirt made of glittering cold. It conforms to her shape slickly, feverishly clinging as it was feverishly made. She looks around and spots the bead on the desk. She’d almost forgotten it. She strides over to it and snatches it up, puts it in her pocket with shaking fingers.

Thomas, never one to be left out, blinks in surprise. “She’s the one that man is after?” He says incredulously. “Winter?”

“Go!” Spring says, sharply now, ignoring Thomas. The light is much brighter outside now- still moonlight, halflight. And it’s wrong. Everything is quiet- no wind blows, no voices call, it is silent in the shrine, as if all the world were dead and this were the only refuge.

Spring pushes Winter towards the wall behind his desk, slaps a hand against the wood. It parts for her, pulling her through the newly formed portal into the outside. Not knowing what else to do, she runs.

Winter is quite experienced at running. In all her short memory, it feels like she’s done several lifetimes worth of running. It surprises her that someone is keeping up. She turns her head for a moment to regard Thomas, the gate guard, keeping pace with her, sandaled feet slapping the ground. “Let me go with you!”

She doesn’t answer.

The light from the sun is blocked by an oppressive darkness. The very ground under her feet feels hidden from her, though she can see it. It sneaks into her senses, outlining everything in gray. When she glances back- Don’t look back, dumbass! Keep running!- she can see the blinding light of a miniature sun- or a moon- shining at the gates. Past the gates, it strolls down the street, and she can almost hear the cloven hooves striking cobbles and stamping down on grass.

Then she tumbles, trips, but terror and adrenaline push her to her feet, the reflected light off her shimmering jeans and shirt cast over a tree root, and the bottom of the wall surrounding the city. When she looks up she can see it stretching high, dream-like, towering over her. No hope to climb it. But fortune favors her today- when she reaches out she finds a crack.

By sheer luck she seems to have come across a gap large enough for her. Spring, Summer says quietly.

It must be Spring, for the wood is bending out of her way, curling away from her as she slips through, Thomas following after her. Somehow, as with the spider-creatures and Jane, she can hear a voice, noises, fluttering on the breeze. She grasps at it, trying to hear it as she leans back against the wall, catching her breath. A few yards distant she can see the slope upward towards the forest and safety.

The noises- she can hear words in them. Some part of her knows it’s Eldritch- if a different dialect than with either Jane or the spider-women. It seems somehow more formal.

-Brother, so good of you to come! What can I help you with?-

The first voice is simple to decipher. It feels like the taste of honey mixed with bitter dandelion stems. It is Spring in a way that he could never hope to achieve with his body alone.

-As it happens, I came looking for our shared sister, Winter. Have you seen her?-

The second voice is pleasant, silky and sweet, but it feels like the taste of dead leaves as well, falling down and landing wet on the ground, of snow that fails because of the warmth, and plants that die because of the chill, leaving only slick sleet and empty bellies in its wake. It is extremely loud in her mind, and she clutches her head while Thomas can only watch helplessly.

-I have indeed. But we can discuss that over tea, surely?-

-Alas no, I am in a great hurry.-

There is one more word after that, in the same pleasant tone, but it coincides with a noise like the heavens shattering. The sound is so loud it is felt, all over Winter’s body, it picks her up and tosses her like a frightened leaf, end over end until she slams into the ground a good twenty yards distant. Thomas, when she rises, is nowhere to be seen.

Her feet shake under her.

She runs. Her feet carry her, wrapped in her own personal hoarfrost. The chill comforts aching bones as she pushes herself forward and away from the town where two brothers fight. Fight for her.

Fight because of her.

Her hands clench, but she stumbles along until she finds it- until the circle of heat, of eternal spring, seems to come to an end. She pauses a few moments, standing there at the very edge of frost’s breath.

And then, with Summer cursing her in her head the entire time, she turns. Descending from the sky towards her, towards the outskirts of Spring’s realm, there are lights, cold orbs of light that flash and pulse in the air, filling her with a dread, the sight of them making her mind weep in panic. They are like the lights she saw descending through the ceiling of the cavern, so long ago, the ones that slew Jane, and the memory makes her heart hard and chill with sudden fury.

Even as she trembles in terror she notices Thomas there lying in the grass a good hundred feet distant, and notices an orb’s light pause over him. And Summer, curse her, is uncaring, vicious, trying to seize control and pry her eyes away, but Winter beats her back, an internal strength borne of fury pushing her down. She staggers back down the slope she fled up, back into the valley of Spring, back towards the town, but mostly towards Thomas, who trusted in her sister’s words and wanted to come with her for answers that he might never get, who was willing to run with her and risk losing everything.

Who is about to lose everything.

Summer screams in her mind, but Winter reaches Thomas just as the orb descends, just as it’s about to brush one tantalizing tendril of light across his terrified face. The oppressive darkness closes about Winter.

A companion. Someone to help her where Summer can’t.

Does she deserve him? The answer doesn’t matter.

Winter reaches out. Summer had shown her the way before, the only thing she knew how to do, the only thing she had learned. She shuts her eyes and extends her fingers, her hand, lets the gap open. Her mouth utters a word in a language she doesn’t recognize, but one she heard before- though it had made no sound.

Feed

Her hand widens, time and space distort while she concentrates, she focuses on the orb, on its light, on the taste of it as she imagines, of dead leaves and cold, bright power. Her fury opens the floodgate and sucks the orb’s power inside whole, the power from it twisting, writhing as it’s dragged away into the vacuum of Winter’s space. The very fabric of reality seems to stretch, twisting, distorting the image of the light in its grip. The ribbon of force from the orb shines bright blue as it ripples through the air into her hand and is siphoned away.

Her foot strikes a root as the last of the power fills her. 

She stumbles in her run, drops down onto the grass, hands splayed to carry her tiny frame’s weight. Sheer power floods every limb, radiates frost from every single pore, seeps from her into the ground, instantly flash freezing the grass around her, the chill spreading like a cold wildfire, so freezing it’s hot in her. Summer is gone in a flash, in a second. Her mind vanishes, blown out in a fraction of a moment, leaving Winter alone in her head.

And Winter pulls herself to her feet alone, closing the last few feet between herself and the prone Thomas. The orb has fallen from the sky and thunked into the grass, lifeless. She notices that it seems to be a swirling sphere, filled with more spheres- glass. She reaches down and hesitates. She can’t lift Thomas like this. Not brimming with power like she is- instinctively she feels if she does she’ll snuff His life out in a moment, in a breath. She’s so very cold now that nothing, surely nothing could survive her presence.

Does she even like Thomas? The power makes it hard to think. She remembers him only vaguely from Summer. Yet as a keening fills the air, as a hissing cascades through the sky to land squarely at her feet and raise a horned head to gaze at her, she takes one step forward and stands directly in front of Thomas’s prone figure, arms apart and fury steady in her belly and chest, wiping away her terror.

Power crackles all over her, she can feel it. A breath of winter.

Her breath makes the air freeze- but just standing here in the cold light of her brother is making her legs quake. It gets worse as He rises to His full height and regards her, as His expression turns from detached interest to a kind of horrible anger, as His skin shines ruddy red in the light of His own power. She notices His feet, which are cloven, like a goat’s hooves, studies- in a terrifyingly calm way- the shape of His horns where they meet His head and curl.

“I’ve found you, my wayward sister,” He says, his tone amiable despite his expression of complete fury. “Now, why haven’t you fled, I wonder?”

Winter, without realizing it, stands in a circle of bitter cold, an almost palpable wall of antiheat separating her and Thomas from the horned man’s light. He paces around it now, circling her in a way reminiscent of a shark, or a tiger.

“Surely,” He says quietly, without waiting for her response. “You can feel my power.”

She can. She trembles, it makes her legs weak. Her heart, however, is crystal. It won’t move, it’s stopped beating, and slowly, as she stands there, she feels her trembling stop.

“Why?” He asks simply. “Now I am curious. Oh, I am angry as well. I can’t help that. But that can wait-”

Footsteps, crunching on frozen grass.

“Can it, brother?” comes a voice, and it surprises her as much as him that it comes from Spring, who stands, still holding Summer’s baby in one arm. The other hand is empty- no weapon, no glittering power like what simmers in the palm of their mutual brother. Instead it seems his hand is scarred, weathered and wrapped in vine. It smokes, suggesting it was burnt by something.

Fall arches an eyebrow, His glare falling on Spring, and then- though it’s only a for a moment- softening when it rests on the child. “Did you think that bringing a whelp would stay my hand? Our sister will give me back what she’s stolen with or without your interference.”

Spring raises his own hand and shakes his head ruefully. “I know I cannot stop you. I’m merely curious as to what she took from you, to make you so angry.”

He pauses, then smiles. “And perhaps a little curious as to how she could be defying you.”

“Were this not your domain, I’m sure it would be a simple matter,” Fall snarls. And it is a snarl, His voice taking on an almost bestial rage, fell and terrible. “As it stands, she has the advantage, being in a domain that stands close to her own. Rather, you have made your home nestled deep in the center of her dominion! Were Summer unbound I would kill her in an instant, here- as to what she took, she’s stolen the illmetal bead from me. It is that bead I seek.”

“Was the bead not hers from the start?” Spring asks slyly.

“Of course not-” Fall starts, straightening and turning. Winter strikes. A Word snaps into existence from behind He-Whose-Name-Shakes-Mountains, dropping from Winter’s mouth and flowing for a moment before lashing out: Bolt.

The bolt of cold is made of almost pure winter power, focused and coherent. It screams, banshee-like, tearing the air to pieces as it passes before it slams into Fall from behind, washing over His back and knocking Him face first into the grass. He slides a few meters before coming to a rest.

For a few moments, nothing happens. Winter’s hand remains outstretched, her expression one of determined fury. She isn’t actually entirely sure how it had happened. No one looks more surprised than Spring, whose eyebrows have raised to the point of disappearing, and whose freckled face opens in awe, eyes wide.

He-Whose-Name-Shakes-Mountains slowly pushes Himself to His feet. Frozen blood winds a small trail down His side, but it heats in the light shed by His radiance.

The blast has woken Thomas, who groans and, stiff from cold, manages to push himself to his own feet, swaying slightly. Winter almost reaches out a hand to steady him when she remembers, and so she urges him away from her instinctively, guiding a soft hand of frozen air to tug him out of her circle and out of harms way.

It’s just in time. Fall returns a burst of power, and Winter lets out a sharp cry. Instinct again takes over. She gestures at the ground, and her voice shapes a piercing whistle, in which a single Word is heard: Wall.

It springs into existence, ice and frost leaping high to shield her. She feels some of her power trickle into it, though the power from the orb still fills her up. The blast of Fall’s power washes off of it without even denting the swirling blizzard.

She hears, above the wind and frost swirling around her, another word of power. Fall’s Word, in his sickly sweet voice.

Ray.

There’s a sound like the smell of thunder, like the taste of lightning, a flash of heat that feels like it singes her hair from her skull, even behind the veil of frost she’s created. It swirls around her as well, an impenetrable globe of pure cold. She shuts her eyes, and behind them she can see the red glow. Her heart of crystal thumps slowly in her chest, but she stands firm. The hissing of steam, the explosive heat… it causes Summer to stir.

You- you’re fighting Fall! You idiot! Run!

“He knows where I am!” She shouts above the noise. “I can’t just run!”

Yes you can! Here, I’ll show you the way!

And Summer acts. Winter’s hand points behind her without her quite willing it. Summer guides her finger in an unfamiliar pattern. Lucky we’re so close to a Fount here- no wonder you’ve got so much power!

“What?”

There. The rune is ready. Touch it and you can go! Come on!

Winter risks a glance at the rune- and it is indeed there, hovering in midair, so solid it hurts to look at it.

And, Cycle curse him, Thomas is trying to push through the veil behind her. She can actually feel him, feel him pushing through the curtain of sleet and frost that surrounds her. She touches him, but only for a moment, and without hesitation.

She grabs his wrist and forces his hand to touch the rune.

Thomas disappears.

After a moment of temporal uncertainty in which Summer can be heard quite clearly, Winter vanishes as well, and her wall of frost likewise disappears.

You complete and total dumb-…

And then there is no trace of either Winter or Thomas.

In their place, a small puddle of water soaks into hungry burnt grass.

Still one second later, Fall stops His own casting, closing His hand into a fist and dropping it to His side. Steam rises from His body, and the ray of power vanishes. He turns His gaze to Spring, who shrugs.

“Women, eh?” He says, seemingly genuinely cheerful. “Want a bite to eat before you go, or…?”

“I have work to do,” Fall replies shortly. There is a bright flash of light, and the moon swallows Him whole.

Day comes quickly as the darkness follows Fall. The sun returns to shine as brightly as it had an hour previous, the birds again singing in the land of eternal spring. It’s possible, if one listens very closely, to hear the distant chittering of squirrels and the happy giggling of townsfolk caught up in the joy of life.

Bringer-of-Spring blinks a few times to clear his vision. He looks around hopefully, wondering if perhaps Winter had survived or maybe stuck around, and then sighs heavily. It looks like it’ll be a lonely walk back, then. He cradles Summer’s child, rocking it back and forth slowly. It just now has begun to wake- how on earth it managed to sleep through the duel is beyond Spring.

On the whole, he decides, that could have gone worse. He’d better go and tell the gatekeeper the bad news about his former partner. Thomas, right? Now why had he gotten involved too?

Spring kicks the dirt, suddenly feeling moody. Well. He’d have to ask about that, in seven days’ time. In his arms, the baby smiles.

Demimind: Chapter 8

(8)To All A Light Devoured

“You’re a monster.”

Winter stands, facing Summer with arms folded. The latter of the two takes a step back from the heat of that strange-eyed gaze. It’s one they share, though Summer’s is mirrored to hers- one green and one blue.  They stare, not like accusing orbs, more like accusing suns.

An accusing son.

He stands there now too, by Winter’s side. The concentrated force of their eyes makes her shrink away. The boy’s eyes are pale white. Blind? 

Her son.

Where did she learn that?

“Will you pay for what you’ve done?” The boy asks. His voice is like a dagger, cutting at her belly, its razor edges parting her skin, and now blood covers her lower body. She’s drenched in it, it cascades in a flood, a dam that has burst, dripping down her thighs and onto the cold, unforgiving nothing. Oblivion. She is standing on the edge of oblivion now, watching the blood spiral away into nothingness, the nothingness she’ll fall in, she’ll topple in if she gives way even for a moment.

She teeters, waves her arms for balance, but a hand reaches out of the slit in her belly and pulls her forward, grasping her neck, stretching impossibly long. Spring’s hand, Spring’s head has also slid forth from the cut in her womb and it grins at her, baring razor sharp fangs, no, not Spring, it is the Spider Queen, it is that fell eight armed monster and it hurts, it hurts so badly, she can feel her muscles tightening, tightening until they threaten to snap.

She pitches forward into oblivion, and for a few moments, hangs there.

Then she drops, a stone, a stone with a strangely aching cheek, as if something hard struck it, like a stone, like herself. For she is a rock. She is falling as a rock.

And now she is falling.

And now, she is falling.

Now.

now.

“Now!” Spring says sharply. And his hand is already swinging when she opens her eyes, so he strikes her cheek. Her gaze is a glare. It startles him so much he jumps, loses hold of the blade and hears a thunk as it slides to the hilt into a crack between the floorboards, missing his already sore toe by a hair.

And there she is, lying on the mat in front of him.  It’s Winter. Her cheek stings, Spring can feel it stinging, he can also feel his belly slit open. He glances at Winter’s belly- it’s whole, and decidedly unpregnant, for which he is grateful. He isn’t certain if unpregnant is a word, but he’s certain that it’s what he would use to describe her condition.

Yes.

He breathes a short sigh of relief, letting go of some of his tension. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. If Winter’s eyes are open, she’ll be awake soon, and with some luck she’ll also respond to the cold favorably.

No twins, then. He stares at the bundle wrapped in the cloth, wrapped in the grasses from the skirt and shirt, the woven magics of Summer. He strokes the baby’s hair absently. Strangely enough it doesn’t seem inclined to cry. It breathes, though, so he doesn’t need to give it a swat. Besides that he’s not sure if that’s exactly what you’re supposed to do. He’d only done a few births that had worked out. What happens if it doesn’t work out?

Summer nearly died. There had been more blood than Spring could’ve credited, it had taken the combined magic strength of the wand and the heat from the whole of his territory to provide enough magic power to heal her again. She’ll still have a scar.

Is it a boy? He studies the baby carefully. Or is it a girl?

Its skin is what worries him. Its skin is bronzeish peach from the waist down and incredibly pale, like fresh snow, from the waist up. It reminds him of Summer’s skin- the bronze, that is, and the pale could only belong to Winter. Very curious. In all his time pretending to be a doctor he’d never seen anything like it. Generally babies resembled both father and mother, but not having seen the father Spring can’t fathom what he looked like.

He decides it’s just a mystery. No sense finding out now. As his grandfather had always said: “It’s nothing to do with the money, all I really want is a drink, so here’s a hundred coins, go out and buy me a damn good drink or I’ll lop your ear off.”

Actually, when he’d got older he’d just sort of learned to take the coins and buy himself the drink. After his grandfather was dead, anyway. It’s not like he was going to use the coins. But ah, the mind does wander in old age. What was he thinking about?

The baby, that was it. Summer and Winter’d probably notice the difference in skin color and have a row, but it’s no big deal to Spring.

It’s not his baby, after all.

Winter stirs on the mat, and he starts, staring at her again. Will she wake?

She does.

Her eyes snap open, and she sits bolt upright, rubbing her arms, and sweating profusely already. Her eyes wander about the room until they lock onto Spring.

“Who are you?” She asks sharply.

“My name is Bringer-of-Spring,” He says smoothly. “You are Winter-Long-Frost, I suppose. We’re brother and sister.”

She seems to think about this for a moment.

“Yes. My belly feels sticky.”

She looks down at her belly, then turns and seems to notice the redness that soaked into the mat. Summer’s blood.

“Is this a hospital?”

Spring thinks for a moment about how he should answer that. “Yes and no. It’s more a refuge for the faint of soul.”

Winter, ever sharp, shrugs and sighs. “What’s going on? Why is it so hot?”

She focuses then, stares at the bundle in Spring’s arms. “That’s Summer’s baby,” She says flatly. “Why do you have Summer’s baby?”

“Well, aside from giving her hospitality, she had a forced birth on the mat you’re sitting on,” Spring replies dryly, all cheerfulness replaced by the tired feeling of explanation. “And, since you ask, I am holding this baby because Summer, obviously, cannot hold it herself.”

“It’s hard to think,” Winter says blearily, though it’s unlikely she heard herself. Her eyes are drooping for some reason. It’s the heat. Yes, that’s it. Heat saps her strength. She remembers that now. “It’s very hot.”

Spring blinks, then smacks his forehead and snaps his fingers, murmuring a word which drops into the air like flash-ice. Immediately a cool breeze floods the room, blowing in through a window and over Winter, clearing her thoughts and blasting through the heat fog.

“Ah!” She cries. “Summer’s baby! Is she hurt? Summer is bound, I can’t take care of her baby for her! I don’t know the first thing about it!”

Spring rolls his eyes and gives her a lopsided grin. “Well actually I think I’m the one meant to take care of it. Seeing as I helped to birth it and have a degree in medical science. Not that science is really valid here, I suppose. But if it were then I would be overqualified.”

Winter’s eyes narrow. “A bit overeager, aren’t you?”

“My dear woman, my sweet sister, why would I lie to you?” Spring asks quietly. His voice sounds as weary as Winter looks. “Think.”

“Well,” Winter begins, and then stops. “I don’t know. Who are we? Are you my brother? Really?”

Bringer-of-Spring stands up, easing tension in first one leg, and then the other. “Yes. We are related by blood. Only Summer knew of it. Well, technically only Summer is related to me by blood, but you’re both in one package.” He smiles. “You are related to me by mind.”

“That,” Winter says slowly. “Is a bit of a stretch. I barely know you and it’s a bit of a-“

“What I mean is,” Spring interrupts hastily. “We’re alike because we are both outshined and outmatched by our older siblings. Well, to be frank, your older sibling. Not your body-mate- in that you are sisters by coincidence.”

“My older sibling?” Winter says, though there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach and she can’t say why.

“Better known by his name and title, Fall.”

At the precise moment that Spring utters the name, there is a rumbling beneath Winter’s rear- beneath the foundations of the shrine itself. Before she can react, everything is twisting and trembling.

The entire shrine is shaken to its very rafters, the lamp hanging from the wall guttering, the flame finally doused by its violent shaking and in a flash of sparks, a crash as it strikes the floor. It burns there, a tiny flickering fire, before a cold wind douses it again.

After the aftershocks fade away, and Spring relights and replaces the lamp, and only after that, does he talk again.

“Sorry, ah, He-Whose-Name-Shakes-Mountains,” Spring says sheepishly. “I forgot.”

“How the hell do you forget something like that?” Winter asks irritably, rubbing her head where it smacked into the floor. She sits up again.

Spring’s only response is a shrug.

“Hey! You changed the subject on me!” Winter accuses. “Why are you so eager to look after Summer’s baby?”

“Why are you?” Spring snipes back, cradling the baby as if it were truly his own. “Tell me that, eh?”

“I’m not,” Winter snaps. “I’m just-“

“Excellent! Then I’ll do it!”

He rushes over to the desk on the far side of the room, picks up a quill from its surface and begins to write. There isn’t a chair for him to sit in, but it doesn’t seem to bother him.

“So what do we do?” Winter asks, peering over Spring’s shoulder. Her mind-brother shrugs again, flashes her a grin.

“That all depends on what you’re willing to give up,” He says quietly. “What would you do to have Summer unbound?”

“Would it solve my memory problems?” All Winter can think about is how nice it would be to have her memory back.

“Yes and no,” Spring hazards. “To be honest, I have no idea what it will do. I’ve never had need of it before.”

“How encouraging,” Winter mutters to herself. She glances again at what Spring is bent over. On the desk in front of him, the baby cradled in one arm, he draws frantically with a quill in what she prays is red ink. From the smell, though, thick in her nostrils, it’s probably something closer to liquid red licorice. The scroll he writes on is almost smoking, and his hand is moving in a blur she can barely even see.

“Why aren’t you using a pen?” She asks. She picks one up from the table and stares at it. Something about its length, about the words written on the plastic catches her eye…

“Put that down,” Spring answers without looking up. “They’re much more dangerous than mere pens, or I’d have more than two of them. It’s a wand.”

Winter arches an eyebrow, but says nothing, setting it back. Part of her feels uncharacteristically sharp, and she can’t put her finger on it…

I’m here, you doofus.

“Oh,” She says, very quietly. “I wondered when you’d wake up again. Did you know you had a baby?”

Yes. Spring is holding it.

“So you have paid attention,” Winter says, more dryly than she means to. Her belly is boiling with something like anger. It also still hurts, as if she’d been cut instead of her sister. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”

I didn’t think it’d come up so fast!

“Well how much time were you going to allow for it?

Look, I never thought that time would progress for me while bound. Sure I was on the brink of bearing when I challenged He-Whose-Name-Shakes-

“You knew about the baby and you still decided to fight him?” She shouts, and then stops. Spring is giving her a queer look.

“Ladies,” He says softly. “Please calm down. You’re scaring the baby, and if it wakes up and decides it’s time to cry, if I get one rune wrong, this entire shrine could explode. While I’m sure I’d be fine, it’d hurt the townsfolk and probably kill you and Summer in your weakened states. Kindly save the shouting match for later. Thank you.”

His voice is quite soothing, so Winter decides to force a smile and a nod. On the inside she’s stone cold, and every single part of her trembles with barely contained fury. Summer had the nerve to talk to her as if she had no right! Clearly the woman has no sense of honor or duty or anything, always going on as if she can…

Her memory buzzes for a moment, hisses in her ears and her mind. There’s a splitting sharp pain searing through the top of her head. It drops Winter to one knee before it passes. What happened? What was she thinking about? As the pain fades, she straightens and leans on the desk. Suddenly her thoughts are worse than ever. But…

Yes, Summer. She really had no right to the baby. Winter is sure she can take care of it just as well as the woman in her head could. Which is a full change from before when she was equally sure she couldn’t, but she’s not about to admit it.

What is she going to do about Summer, anyway? How could she go about getting rid of her? The woman has been nothing but trouble so far, after all. Nothing but… trouble.

Winter stares at the desk, and at her hand splayed on the desk. Her vision swims, and for a single moment, her skin flashes bronze from pale white.

“Steady! Winter!” A voice says sharply, near her ear. She sways, is unsurprised when an arm wraps around her waist and a too-hot hand covers her mouth for a moment, forcing something between her lips.

“Swallow.”

Whatever it is in her mouth feels like a red hot coal, but she swallows it without thinking and lets it burn. At least the horrible chill will leave her for a moment. She’s so cold in a moment she’s sure she’ll be shivering. And so angry.

The arms release her. Her vision clears and her head stops spinning. She shakes herself to clear the feeling as well, but the cold doesn’t quite leave her. Which is right. She’s Winter, yes?

She turns and glances at Spring, who is shaking off frost and snow. She glances down at the floor of the shrine and notices, for the first time, that snow and ice have taken root in the floor- for want of better word- snaking in lines wherever her feet touch.

“Do try to stay calm,” Spring pleads. “It’s best for us all when I don’t have to touch you in order to keep you from going bonkers.”

“Oh,” Winter replies stupidly. “Well then. What have you made?”

“It’s… a latent ability preparation system. Or LAPS for short.”

“Laps,” Winter says flatly. “Really?”

“Oh shut up,” Spring snips irritably. “Anyway, it’s a pill which will keep you from needing to switch places with Summer for seven days. At the end of the seven days it releases the energy built up and allows Summer to function in her body for seven days. Then the cycle should, in theory, repeat.”

“What, forever?” Winter asks suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch is that Summer’ll have to let you out at all,” Spring says dryly. “The only reason I’ve developed this at all is because it’ll piss her off to know she’ll need to allow you any time. And because I know it’s best to let Summer out as well as Winter. You can’t have one facet without the other- it damages your memories. This device-“

“It’s a pill,” Winter points out. “You can just say ‘pill’. I had it. Tasted like a burning hot coal.”

“-will make sure that you don’t go insane,” Spring finishes, ignoring Winter’s interruption.

Now that piques Winter’s light-headed interest. “Insane?”

Spring sighs. “When one of you is trapped, the other one gets all the stress of being confined. You’ll feel caged and it will get on your nerves to the point where you eventually snap. You have to feel both Summer’s and your own emotions, as well as the terror of being trapped which Summer can’t feel because the chemicals in her body aren’t active. Only yours are, so only you will feel it. Don’t ask me why it works that way, our brother is responsible for it,” He finishes smoothly. “As for why Fa- er, He-Whose-Name-Shakes-Mountains- did this, I have no idea. I’m sure Summer could tell you some things.”

Winter listens carefully. She understands completely, of course. It all makes perfect sense. She nods when Spring seems to have finished. “Okay. I think I’ve got the idea. Thanks!”

Spring rolls his eyes and stands up straight. “It’s the least I could do, really. My sisters, now I need your help.”

Awfully to the point, isn’t he?

“You remember him, does he usually do this?” Winter hisses back.

Yeah, pretty much.

Spring ignores this and waits.

“Well, you did help us. What do you need?” Winter asks warily.

“A drop of blood,” Spring replies, suddenly sheepish and not looking at Winter’s face.

“I should think you got enough of Summer’s,” Winter says flatly. “It’s all over the mat.”

“Yes, yes,” Spring says hastily. “No, I mean I need some of your blood in particular.”

“How can Summer help with that?” Winter isn’t feeling so comfortable about this. But the man did help her, after all.

“She already has,” Spring says. “No, all I really need is for you to hold still and hold your arm out.”

Winter lifts the limb and stares at her brother warily. “What are you going to AH-“

She immediately tugs it away, clutching a hand over her arm, crimson seeping out between her fingers. Spring didn’t appear to move. One moment she’d stood there, arm out, the next Spring is holding up a vial filled with her blood and she’s clutching her cut limb.

And then as Spring returns to the desk and gently replaces the vial back on its surface, Summer notices the silence.

Something is wrong. It’s day still, isn’t it? There are no crickets, no birds. It’s dead quiet out there. And look at the windows!

Winter glances around. Darkness has flooded the world. It can be seen through the bare windows of the room. While never exactly bright, the shrine is now so shrouded in the black from outside it reminds Winter of the cave, back with her Servant.  She hadn’t noticed at first. Her eyes had just adjusted to the gloom. She’d assumed night had fallen…

But even then there’d be owls and similar making noises, right? But there’s not a sound from outside, and as Spring straightens and turns back, she can see that his smile has turned to a tight-lipped frown.

“Night comes awfully early around here,” He says quietly. “But it most certainly does not come this early. Something else is at work-“

The lamp flickers and gutters as another cold breeze hisses in through the windows. Spring moves to close it and reels back as another gust of wind hurls a flood of red and yellow leaves into the shrine. “Oh,” He says quietly, adjusting the baby in his arms. “Well.”

There’s the distant sound of the double gate guarding the entrance slamming open, then footsteps on stone.

Moments later a man bursts into the room, and Summer, still watching from Winter’s head, recognizes him as Thomas the gate guard. The baby, quiet until now, decides it’s time to cry.

“Bringer-of-Spring!” He shouts, panting for breath, trying to be heard over the baby’s wails and Spring’s desperate attempts to get it to hush. “A man, hooded, has appeared at the gates! He claims his name is forbidden and that he seeks a woman- by short name name of Winter! What should we do?”

Spring’s eyes lift from the baby- which hasn’t stopped crying- and pierce Winter, nailing her to the spot. Her blood runs hot under the pressure of that gaze. “I think it’s about time you told me why you’ve got your brother’s binding upon you in the first place, Winter,” He says grimly. “And I don’t even care which one of you it was who provoked Him.”

Outside and on cue, the wind howls as it tries to tear the shrine down around them.

Demimind: Chapter 7

I’ll make a long story short and just say that it’s been complicated lately. I’ll post more about it monday, maybe sooner. Until then, enjoy Chapter Seven (7).

Oh, and about that. It was sort of wrong, for me, when I wrote it. It’s not that I think it goes too far, just that the way it was originally written did not quite fit the characters. I’ve since gone through and messed and tweaked and snipped at it to my satisfaction, and in some places it’s been completely rewritten. But that’s fine, because I do like the end result better than the original.

While not necessarily more concise, it gets the point across less clumsily than before. And believe me, it’s possible- I was fevered when I first wrote the chapter.

Anyway, enjoy, again,

-Eris

(7)Shrine

“Do come in!” Spring says cheerfully, nearly dragging Summer bodily into the interior of the shrine. “We have so much to discuss. How long have you been with child?”

What? “What?” Summer asks, bewildered. “I’m with-“

“Child! Is it a boy, a girl? Did the doctors tell you a bunch of nasty lies? Don’t listen to them, you know, can’t trust doctors. They’re all bastards, take it from me- I used to be a doctor.”

Memories come back to Summer in a trickle. “You used to be a policeman, too,” She says warily, trying to focus. There’s a crunching noise and Spring lets go of her hand. She shakes it absentmindedly, and stares at the man. There’s a nagging voice in her head that won’t go away. Her belly feels peculiar, too, though she’d never admit it aloud.

“Yes, yes!” Spring shouts, hopping on one foot for a moment and rubbing his toe. It would appear he rammed it into the last stone step on the way up. “I was once an officer of the law as well! It’s fortunate I ran into you before you met up with the gate guards, but how on earth did you get in?”

Here is a long hallway, lined with torches and lit by candles. The torches are not even aflame, which strikes Summer as odd. Still, Spring hops down the hall and into the room beyond, circular by what shape of it is visible. When Summer steps in after him, she affirms this for herself. Yes. It is circular.

She pauses in the doorway, unwilling to continue in. It’s not that she doesn’t trust him, of course. She just doesn’t trust him.

“Oh, you know,” She replies vaguely. “I gave them what they wanted.”

“What did they want then?” Spring asks brightly. “Coin? A dinner date?”

“A show,” Summer says flatly. His attitude is actually starting to wear on her nerves, and she’s just now begun to remember why she never liked him in the first place. She gazes around again.

All around the walls curve- she’d always been fascinated by that sort of wavy element to Spring’s shrines. There Spring is, massaging his foot, sitting on the mat in the middle of the floor, still beaming and smiling so wide his mouth endangers the sides of his face. He’s short- the size difference outside was due to him standing on an upraised stone step- barely an inch taller than Summer. His strange hair waves a little as he looks up at her.

Though his hair is short, sticking straight up it looks long and extends a good foot upward from his head. His body is long and lanky, and very thin, like sticks held together by spit and sheer brightness. Summer can only stare.

She realizes she has so many questions and she’s not at all sure she can ask them of this man. She knows so little about who he is, despite being related to him as one of the Seasons. She opens her mouth to speak, to accuse or shout or something, when it happens.

It is by no means gentle- it’s a squeezing, as if every muscle in her belly and thighs tightened up at once, painfully so.

Summer’s belly feels heavy all of a sudden. There’s a jolt, and suddenly she’s leaning against the doorway for support. “What?” She whispers. Her free hand drops down to her belly, strokes it incredulously through the impromptu woven garment. Is she pregnant? There’s a kick, from inside, and it frightens the life out of her for a moment.

You can’t remember? Well I have no idea. It’s not part of my memory. All I can do is watch when you do something stupid.

Spring’s face is still cheerful. “So when is it due?” He asks bluntly. His piercing blue gaze locks onto Summer’s. “The baby.”

“I don’t know,” Summer mumbles.

Why are we even here? Why are we talking to this man, we don’t even know who he is! Or at least, I don’t. I think. Have we met him before?

“Really? How long have you been carrying it?”

“Carrying…?” Summer’s head is ringing, her arms and legs feel far too heavy. Lead. In her body. In her blood, weighing her down. And there’s another frightful contraction, thighs burning, head spinning again. It hurts. Is it supposed to hurt?

“The baby!” Spring says sharply. “Summer?”

“I….” There’s a gripping, sharp pain in her stomach for a moment. It recedes slowly, ebbing away. She takes a deep breath, and then shakes herself to clear her fogging mind. Her body feels so heavy. “What’s going on?”

Then her voice again, answering herself, free from the pain. “You’ve lost your memory, Summer.”

Spring stands up abruptly, expression blank. “Who are you?”

“I am Winter. I remember meeting you now, at least a little,” Summer feels herself answer. “Do you remember me?”

“Winter was shorter,” Spring says sharply. “So you’re in Summer’s body.”

“I am currently bound within Summer, yes.”

“How are you talking?” Spring asks.

“I don’t know,” Winter admits through Summer’s voice. “But the important thing is that I remember some of what I didn’t before, and now Summer is the one who has forgotten, and-“

Summer feels her whole body tighten, tense up again, burning agony now in her belly and her blood, like fire, like a star in her womb. It tears at her, and for a few moments she’s blind, her eyes are shut tight. Her limbs lock up and her fingers suddenly clench with pain. It eats at her, tearing her up from the inside. What’s happening?

Blood, something slippery, inside of her. She can feel it running down her arms and legs, though when she looks, panicked, they’re bare.

And pain hits again, in a wave, in a stream, gripping her waist and her abdomen all at once and shaking her, twisting her like a fist, though she can feel her feet on the floor. Her legs shake for a moment, and her mind snaps out like a candle.

Her head smacks the floor with a thud.

Spring stares, pausing for a heartbeat, then curses loudly, striding to the desk on the far wall, then turning and staring at Summer again, shaking his head.

Stupid!

While no true expert in medical science, Spring feels as if the situation has turned more than a little dire. This is no time to be going through his notes. It is written: Hesitation is failure, failure is death. He’d said that himself, some time or another.

Spring takes three steps and kneels next to Summer. He snaps his fingers, and a tendril of wood grows up from the floor, like a new sapling, tiny and thin, and he snaps it loose quickly. It takes a new shape in his hand, forming a long wand. He mutters to himself for a moment.

“No, it’s complicated now,” He murmurs quietly. “It won’t do to lose them both, whatever it is that’s happening is not normal. The nearest doctor is… nonexistent, in this time. Damn. Not just Summer, but Winter too? Unacceptable. And in her condition she wouldn’t survive that kind of magic.”

He draws the new wand down across Summer’s garments, cutting it all loose in a flash. With a businesslike flick of its tip, he marks her bronze skin- below her navel. A word drops into the air, flashing, smoking, and where the smoke collects on Summer’s body, lines appear. Her vital lines, her life lines, the place where a cut would mean death. Spring’s spell hums in his mind.

Carefully, lips pressed together, Spring taps the tip of his instrument to Summer’s belly. Yes. He can feel the baby, twisted around, unable to move, wanting out too soon, exercising power it shouldn’t have. Some strange lifeforce, hot and cold at once, burning with the power of a nova and yet frozen in her as a chunk of pure winter. No wonder the poor girl passed out. The baby doesn’t feel quite developed, but there are ways to… speed things along, for which Spring is profoundly thankful.

“I’m sorry, Summer,” He says, and there’s not hint of a tremor in his voice, though his hand shakes. “I’m sure, were you yourself, you’d want me to stay out of this, but Fate is a fickle mistress.”

He takes a deep breath, steadies himself, and makes his first incision.

Demimind: Chapter 6

(6)Summer-Heat, Spring-Bringer

“There’s a naked woman at the gates!” A guard yells to his partner. “What do we do?”

“Is she good looking?” His partner asks, plainly bored.

“Yes!”

“Just gawk at her until she leaves. If she doesn’t have any clothes she’s probably a prostitute, and we’ve no shortage of prostitutes.”

Summer hears all of this as she’s walking up, and has half a mind to incinerate both of them. She’s not sure what stops her, really. It’s as if a part of her rebels against the idea on general principle. Strange.

“Hey!” She shouts up at the guards. “Let me in! I need to talk to Bringer-of-Spring!”

“You and every other pregnant smith’s daughter around here, milady. What makes you so special as to take Spring’s ear? He’s a very busy demigod,” The bored guard replies, though not impolitely.

“My name is Summer-Heat-Rising. I’m here to talk with Spring about a very important problem. And he isn’t a demigod, I can tell you that much!” She says fiercely. Boy, she really is tired of… wait, what was her problem again? She blinks. She knows she had it a second ago.

What is it about being physical that makes memory so weird? She shakes her head to clear it. “Look, just let me in! I’m not a prostitute, I just want the chance to talk to Bringer-of-Spring!”

The gate guard sighs. He seems to think for another few seconds, tapping his chin and staring at Summer intently. Then he nods to himself before he answers.

“Okay. My partner here can show you around town-” the gatekeeper says, glancing across at his friend’s shocked face. His partner hasn’t said anything since Summer started talking. Admittedly the woman has a nice voice, but there isn’t really any call for that sort of behavior. Totally unprofessional.

“I don’t need any help,” Summer says cheerfully. “Just open the gates and I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Begging your pardon, milady, but you’re not even half dressed. If you pop on in here lookin’ like that…. Well, I should think the madness of Spring spread in half the men’s heads- without an escort you’ll end up on your back and bearing well before your nine months is up and might earn another baby besides! Let Thomas here walk you around town, even the madness won’t let men touch taken women.”

Summer blinks at that, and then looks at her belly, which is rounded, moreso than usual, and maybe a little heavier than she’s used to. She’s pregnant?

She rubs her belly doubtfully. She doesn’t feel pregnant. She doesn’t remember doing anything to get pregnant! But her stomach is much warmer than usual too, and it doesn’t fit with her small frame. Or what used to be small. As Summer-Heat-Rising- she changed, right?- she is almost five foot six inches, taller than most men.

She hears a sigh and looks up. Thomas is giving her a look one part frustration and one part longing. She gives him her brightest smile instead of torching his lips off. Men can want her if they like. It doesn’t bother her like it used to. Does it?

She beckons. “Come on down then… Thomas? Show me around the city, won’t you?”

“Y-yes ma’am. Right away,” The guard comes to himself, snapping out of his stare with a blush. Now he’s making a point of not looking at her as he walks down the ramp leading up to the tower and closes the wicker gate that leads up to it.

He walks right up next to her, pointedly keeping his eyes on her face, though she notices them flick down over her body out of reflex several times. Hm. It was fun to be naked before. What makes it less fun now? She forces the beginnings of a blush down. This feeling is making her uncomfortable.

Summer-Heat-Rising can’t help but feel that it might be better, under the circumstances, to have enough coverage to keep people from staring nonstop. Whatever she might tell herself, she gets the feeling she doesn’t actually like being naked in front of lots of people.

Good to see you’ve some common sense, a cool voice whispers in her mind.

Summer pays it little enough mind, at first, but it occurs to her that it wasn’t her thought. Strange.

She gathers her power, pulls it into herself, and forces strands of it outward, lips pressed tight with concentration. Grass uproots itself, twines around her tightly, weaving breeches- and then a skirt- long enough and woven delicately as any work by hand. She twines it, tweaks it with little flicks of her power until it also forms a T-shirt- all green- and the two articles connect, woven as strongly as a second skin, flexing with her body and her curves.

Thomas just watches, open-mouthed, barely daring to believe his eyes.

Once Summer is done, she gives Thomas a smile, coyer than the last and indicates the city with a wave of her hand. “Do show me around. That’s what you’re here for, right?”

Thomas the gate guard nods weakly, and leads her past the open gates and into the bustle of the town.

Summer, for what  it’s worth, follows after. She isn’t quite skipping, but it’s only a matter of time. She feels light and happy for some reason.

All eyes are preoccupied, in the town, much to Summer’s relief. Thomas can’t help but think that’s rather strange- Summer is very noticeable, even in her makeshift grass clothing- perhaps especially with it. But there’s a certain something in the air that seems to have infected all the people. Couples giggle, strolling around, hugging, kissing openly. Stalls and stores are left unattended. Houses are left with their doors wide open.

“Why isn’t anyone working?” Summer wonders aloud. She knows Thomas will answer her before he opens his mouth. So simple.

“It’s Spring, miss. The first day, he came and now- well, every fortnight he holds a grand festival, every three days he declares a day of rest, and he encourages people to make merry and love in the streets.” Thomas blushes and doesn’t meet her eyes. “I thought you said you knew him, miss?”

Summer shrugs her curved shoulders and gives him a silly grin. “I may and I mayn’t.”

“What kind of answer is that?”

She rolls her eyes. For a moment Thomas can’t help but feel that she’s making fun of him constantly. “An answer to everything.”

He is very careful not to let out the derisive snort that wants so badly to escape. It doesn’t work, of course. Summer can read him like a book. He can keep nothing from her- and they’ve just met. But it’s like that way with everyone, for Summer.

“Don’t believe me?” She asks innocently.

“Miss, you do play me for a fool,” He says quietly. They walk down the street, occasionally stepping over a coupling couple. It isn’t quite that obscene, Summer thinks. But there are people sleeping together in the streets, even if they aren’t sleeping together in the streets.

She finds the experience distinctly odd.

“You could just tell me straight off that you don’t want to say anything on the subject. Oh- we’re here,” Thomas says, stopping short directly in front of the entrance to a grand, luxurious building. The words ‘Spring Shrine’ are emblazoned on the sign at the top in Eldritch. Summer recognizes them immediately, of course. How she’d forgotten them… she can’t quite remember- it’s as if her memories are slipping through her figurative fingers.

She knows she’s seen similar runes before, but for the life of her she can’t remember where.

“This is it?” Summer asks. She doesn’t need clarification, but it pays to keep up appearances.

“Yeah,” Thomas mumbles. “Uh.”

“We can talk more when I come out. Do be a dear and go back to your post. Thomas, right?”

“Yes miss. And you’re Summer. Nice meeting you- I’ll just, ah. I’ll just go, I guess. Give me a shout if you need anything!” He says brightly. He starts off towards the gate, and Summer walks up to the entrance to the shrine.

It’s built of hard wood- mahogany reinforced with iron. Around the edges of the roof- which slants sharply- there’s copper, and pillars of brass hold the structure up. It’s quite extravagant, and Summer can’t help but admire the use of such pretty metals. Hm.

There’s that voice again.

Iron… oh, that sounds dangerous… do be careful…

Summer scratches her head, but the itch in her mind doesn’t go away. What was it about iron?

It weakens us on contact, you dummy. You sure forget a lot when I’m gone….

The cold voice sparks recall, all at once. Just as the man known as Bringer-of-Spring steps in front of her, out from behind a pillar where he’d been waiting all along. He smiles warmly. “Well. I wondered how long it’d be before you came. I’m glad you’re here now, though, it saves me the trouble of finding you again.”

Summer is about to take a step back, but her foot moves forward instead, and she finds herself standing too close to him. Her skin heats up, and she means to step back, really she does, but her body doesn’t want to obey her. Bringer-of-Spring grins down at her, showing off too-white teeth. This close, he isn’t warm, but cool, frighteningly cool. Summer shivers, despite herself. Too warm for Winter, too cold for Summer, she thinks.

Spring’s skin is greenish. He stands much taller than Summer- by almost a foot. His hair stands straight up from his head in a moronic fashion, and one tooth is missing, giving his smile a gap-toothed effect. It’s probably his genuinely punchable face, Summer decides. He’s full of life, animated, but in a way that reminds her of a plant or a sapling being pushed by wind rather than any animal she could care to remember and name.

And just then, with Spring looming over her uncomfortably, the clouds in the sky obscure the sun and rain begins to fall. She feels distinctly uneasy. Part of it is her gut, but mostly it has to do with the face staring down at her, with the eyes. Those cold, cold blue eyes that gaze at her, eyes she remembers. That piercing gaze had last been set on her by He-Whose-Name-Shakes-Mountains.

But those same blue eyes rest in the skull of Bringer-of-Spring, and his expression, though on the outside speaks of genuine joy, on the inside hides sparkling ambition and lies, Summer thinks. I recognize it. He-Whose-Name-Shakes-Mountains had a look on His face just like that when He was chasing us around. Well, sort of. It was more like actual good cheer.

Of course, it could just be her imagination. Summer gazes at Spring for a while, letting the moment drag out into an awkward staring contest. Yes, Summer decides, staring up at Spring’s innocent grinning face, it’s probably her imagination.

No one with hair green on the bottom and brown at the tips- standing straight up and waving like grass in a breeze- could be anything other than a complete idiot. If she had something to fear from morons she wouldn’t have let that man- Thomas?- lead her about. It stands to reason that Spring isn’t a threat, or she wouldn’t have been headed here in the first place.

Well then, Winter says in Summer’s head. Are you going in, or are you going to stay out here in the nice cold rain?