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Fall, Third Week of Azure Racoon Month, Restricted Hallway, Castle Whitespire, Fillory, Fillory > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >
Martin walked into the hallway and stopped before the large square game on the floor. He shook his head, disbelief that what he sought, the power he sought, was hidden behind a little child’s game. He reached behind and slipped off his rucksack, then rummaged around for the sweetberries. He immediately paused when he heard the click of bootsteps on marble.
“High King?”
“I said to leave me alone!”
“I’m sorry, High King,” the guard stammered.
“Go, now!” Martin listened while the guard scuttled away, then longer to make sure he was actually alone; he had no intention of letting his siblings or anyone else find out what he had found. Martin reached back into the bag for a berry, then turned his attention back to the linear board. He began to hop the squares. At the second-to-last square, Martin tossed the sweetberry onto the bear’s face, then faced the wall. “Honey or die,” he stated.
For a brief moment, nothing happened, and he wondered if any of this was even real or just another tale. Then there was a rumble, and the wall began to move. Martin’s heart skipped a beat, and he smiled when he saw the stairs leading downward. He rushed over and scurried down as fast as he could.
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Ember peered around the opening of the doorway into the vast expanse. He watched as the child King took into himself all the stored magic from the artificial lake a previous High King had created. He scuttled away as young Martin turned around.
Quietly observing from behind a pillar, Ember was momentarily titillated. Martin, knife in one hand, slit his other. Fist clenched, the blood dripping down from between his fingers, the King’s mouth moving to recite the spell, the air sang with the song only gods could hear. Ember smiled, knowing that the song was for him, for his Fillory. He was not as pleased that Martin was gaining power, but that would make things more interesting. And lately he was tired of being so bored….
Summer Evening, Second Week of Cyan Jackel Month, Temple of Ember, Fillory, Fillory > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >
The old witch reverently approached the stone steps, darting her eyes around, scouting for any sign of activity. She gripped the glass vial close to her chest. Mindful of the dead petals that were littered everywhere and made the stone slick, she carefully stepped up. “Oh, Ember, God of gods,” she called out, “I seek you.” Behind her was a rustling sound, but she saw no one, so she continued into the temple. “Great God of Chaos, I seek to know you.” As she entered the temple, there came forth a burst of light from torches being lit. Squinting, she attempted to peer into the areas the light did not reach; she was sure she had seen movement. The sound of clicking on the stone floor was loud, echoing in the chamber. She whirled around.
“What do you want, you old hag?”
The woman bowed before Ember, stifling her tongue’s sharp retort. “I seek to serve you.”
Ember snorted and walked around her. “Since when?” He flopped down into his chair, then scowled at her. “Say what you want. I will not tarry here long.”
“I have something you want.”
Ember perked up. “Oh, a tasty treat?” She was the kitchen witch, after all; perhaps she had baked him something.
“Ahhh, no, great lord of Fillory.” She extended her hand. “I heard you were looking for blood.”
“No,” he said, dejected. He had been looking forward to a snack.
The woman paused, unsure. “But I was told-”
“Blood means nothing!”
“But his blood ….”
“Whose blood?”
“It was said you wanted the blood of a Child of Earth, a magician.”
Ember tapped his finger against his lips. “Oh, that request. Well, it was very specific.”
“Yes,” the woman nodded, holding the vial out further. “The blood of the Believer; the blood of the Fool.” She let go when Ember took the vial. “The blood of King Quentin, voluntarily given.”
Fall, Third Week of Azure Racoon Month, The Drowned Garden, Castle Whitespire, Fillory, Fillory < < < < < < < < < < < < <
Ember stood before the Garden that Martin had created. Recently created, actually, just a few days ago. He rolled the glass vial of blood between his fingers, a smile playing on his face. Martin was young now, in this past time, but powerful enough to have created this trap. Here and now, Ember could change so much, but what was the fun in that? Instead, he focused on changing just one thing, one little thing Martin wouldn’t even notice in this time loop. Until it was too late. He began to speak the spell Martin had used, but this time, it would be Quentin’s blood used to nourish and bind the flowers. Only Quentin could wake and bloom the needed flower. Ember giggled as he sprinkled the blood over the dirt.