Wrong Connection
Communication was an elemental trait of water. Your least favorite element to cast with. And the one you've almost always fucked up. She always had a knack for it. You tried to concentrate on creating a message in your mind to send, starting basically as a stream of thought before you started to feel a fuck up coming on.
You pushed forward, redoubling your efforts, taking the stream of errant thoughts and pushing it away. It coiled up on itself, feeding upon fear, doubt and frustration, a snarling coil of magic and emotion with nowhere to go. You plucked around in your mind, looking for the connection she had used, grasping but finding nothing, until at last, you found it. Weak, unfocused, a vague and forgotten bond not renewed since your childhood. Not the channel she had used, but the corrupted message you were holding in your hand was starting to bite. You threw it in just as the bullets stitched through your plane.
You ducked, instinctively. Wood shattered, splinters cutting your arms, hands and face. The smell of resin mixed with that of blood. Steam hissed as lucky shot found your radiator. On and on the shots came, the barrage stretching on seemingly forever, until, finally, you were through. White mist whipped all around you, while absolute silence filled your ears. The engine had stopped. Not great, but you could fly without an engine and much as the thought of losing your new plane pained you, you always had your broom. You grasped for the control, grabbing only air instead. You stumbled forward, but what came up towards you was not a terrifying plunge, but the soft loam of a forest grove. A hand reached out, helping you up.
You looked up, following the dark brown hand up the leaf green sleeve. Looking back at you was a familair face.
"Hello, dead niece", Frau Madeline said, drawing out those terrifying syllables. "You called for my aid?"
"I will oblige, of course, but your message was not particularly clearly". She gestures, a tree now visible on the other edge of the slowly clearing grove, where an angry ball of magic was scratching the same words over and over again.
I am your niece. Stop shooting. Hey. Help. Your niece. Stop. Help. Fuck. Niece.
Panic started boiling within you. The witches of Himmilgard agreed on no principles of magic, but of all the principles on which they did not agree, there was one on which they disagreed least. "Never bargain in your own blood". Blood is power, and to give the fae that power, that control, to reveal your barest soul and connection to them only ever brought misery. You had just done worse.
You had just claimed to your blood was that of the Fae. You had claimed that, claimed yourself equal, not just subject, made yourself family, and the Fae had agreed rather than punish you for your impudence.
"Your side of the family rarely returns home, it's true", Frau Matilda offers. "It's such a shame, such a dereliction of your birthright, just to avoid a few meager obligations."
"But enough of that now. I believe you should return to your friends. A retinue does not build itself, and I will not have you disrupt my ball by showing up alone."
The mist is thickening again, shrouding Frau Matilda from view. Before she disappear entirely, she adds one final thing.
"Oh, and tell him he owes me a loyal daughter."
You return to the roar of engines and the smell of fire. Your plane is on the ground, parked haphazardly on the town's improvised runway. . The sky above is filled with birds, huge swarms chasing the pirate planes around, with yet more murmuring protectively around the slowly landing cargo balloon. A plane burns a short distance away, a giant eagle picking haphazardly at the fire, jabbing at the horned figure crawling weakly away from it. "You're back!" Karl all but screams in your mind, suddenly rendering you aware of his previous absence. "What happened? You were a monster just 10 minutes ago. You were gonna kill them all. Just look at the console." You see now, the damage to the console not done by bullets, but long scratches from tearing claws.
"Long story", you answer. You notice the eagle hungrily approach the horned figure, your niece. "We have more pressing matters now." You jump out the cockpit, running towards the pair. By the time you get there, the eagle has almost gotten bored of playing with it's prey. It's claw rests heavily on the figures back, talons softly piercing into the flesh. Pained, your nephew, for that is what he is, looks up at you. The revelation casts Frau Matilda's remark in a new light, and you can't help but smile a little. Way to outsmart the Fae.
"Gloating, are you?" your nephew "Come to finish me off, then?". No, a part of you wants to answer, before the nausea hits you at the thought of a favor given so freely. Yes, a part of you thinks, wanting to see fear on his face for the danger he put your friends in, before the burning pain of a lie nearly spoken chastises you. A pained scream disrupts you before you can answer. Your nephew's pilot, still in the plane, the flames now rapidly closing in. A terrifying fate, a high price to pay for saving, and yet you have no other option but to collect.
"A service" you say , gritting your teeth. " Your life and his, for all that you know about the questions I will ask, and a guide to get where I need to go. And your name."
Your nephew squirms under the eagle's talon, clearly willing to tell you to go fuck yourself. But the pained screams, and the terrifying fate of death by fire, prove more convincing.
"Agreed. And Matthew". The eagle leaps off. "Didn't think she'd stoop so low to get me back" Matthew grumbles.
The bird dives in the flames, carrying away a pilot in it's claws".
"It's not personal, you know" you answer "she just wants a reputable servant, and what better reputation than returning the wayward child."
The eagle lands, depositing the pilot at your feet. No, your eagle. You can tell, and you can feel it. You can see it in it's feathers, colored black and white, with streaks of red throughout. Above you, two more giant birds circle, one a brilliant brown with a collar of blue feathers, the other shimmering white and gray, with talons made of blood. Below them, Edgar and Rya make for landing, the intended riders of the birds all the more clear. Your new retinue, already expected at court.
so I'm unhappy at least
