Where There's Smoke, There's... Dragons?!

Anyone who's been paying attention to this blog for the past year would know that the Traveler occasionally runs into dragons.  As fae, we accept it as a fact of existence, but he feels the need to analyze it.  Something about fog banks and "here there be dragons" and the emotional state of the surrounding area and whatever.  Well, I for one would like to know what in bloody hell caused this one.

Yesterday, I was returning to his dorm (or "residence hall" as the resident assistants keep insisting I call it).  There appeared to be some fog rolling in as the sun set on campus.  It had a distinct boundary at the western end of the grounds, thickest on the road which runs around them.  I like fog so I went to revel in it.

It wasn't fog.  Not in the least.

Smoke.  Not normally a big deal.  There's normally the scent of smoke to accompany the woodland controlled burns which happen in Arkansas this time of year, but this was centered on the road.  And it didn't smell like wood smoke.

I was immediately aware of strange air currents which flowed through the smoky area.  Regular down-blowing gusts.  Never strong, but certainly an unusual direction.  Visibility was such that I could see the sky through the pall of smoke.  Nothing unusual that I could see.

Then the ground shook and there was a wall of shadow immediately in front of me.  The gusts stopped abruptly.  I took a few steps forward to investigate, which was probably stupid given the circumstances.  What I encountered was a mass which resembled a cross between an elephant leg and a sequoia's trunk.  With scales.  Enough investigation for one day.  I did a heel face turn and ran like hell.

It noticed me I think, 'cause there was a cacophonous noise like an army of screaming crack babies on autotuner and it took a few steps toward my direction but it faded out with the boundary of the smoke cloud.  Let me tell you it was massive to the point that the bank was filled with it and I think that's only what could manifest given the bank's size.  I hope that was an isolated incident.

Somehow I don't think it was.

Comatose Daydream, the Traveler's Absence

 The Traveler is comatose. He has been for some months, but it's taken some time to figure out his password. It started after New Year's.  The Traveler disappeared some time ago in Mid-October.  Shortly after the Solstice and what the humans call Christmas, there were rumors of his return.  A post I found here seems to corroborate that.  Two days after what was to be his return to school, the Voice which he has often referred to as a faceless lady crashed a very important masquerade ball. As you can imagine, having no face draws more attention in such a situation than the most garish mask. A la “Masque of the Red Death”, silence fell where she walked as she approached the Unseelie Queen and whispered something in her ear. The color drained from the ballroom and the music stopped. She hastily announced the ball was over and that there was to be court immediately.

Most of the fae disappeared into the shadows along with the ballroom and the Queen's throne materialized in the center. We all knelt as she set, but she uncharacteristically bade us all rise. This was serious. The Voice stepped onto the dais upon which the throne sat and addressed us.

“As you are all aware, the Traveler has not been seen for some time,” she began, “I know that many of you have no interest in the daydream, and even that some of you wish he had never been involved in the court to begin with.”

Silence greeted this, as though they were afraid to confirm or deny her statement.

“I am also aware that he has been invited to court on several occasions, some of which he has declined on account of obligations to the Boy Scouts and other human organizations.”

We didn't really know where she was going with this. The Voice turned to the Unseelie Queen.

“I trust that you are still indebted to the Traveler for the Creative Spark which he recovered for you.”

The Queen slowly nodded. In case you don't know, debts are serious business in the world of the fae. For the Voice to bring up her debt to another it had to be serious business. Any other circumstance would be so crass as to make it grounds for dueling. She turned back to us.

“Then, on the Daydream's behalf, I ask the repayment of this debt.”

There was a pregnant silence for a moment. Then, the Queen rose and said, “What must we do?”

“The Traveler lives with his family an hour away to the east when he isn't here,” the Voice replied, “He should have returned to school two days ago. I would know why he has not, but I am bound to this town until the longest night. I have his phone number, but his phone has been dead for nigh two weeks. My request is thus: that you send an agent to see to his well-being. That agent will then report to me and then in turn carry a message to the Traveler should I require it. Upon the completion of this task, your debt shall not be repaid, but the responsibility for it be transferred to me, leaving you without further obligation. Do you accept?”

“And what of our restrictions?” the Queen asked, “Our kind may not enter a dwelling without permission of one of the occupants.”

“There is one among you,” the Voice said, “Which has standing permission to come to the Traveler wherever he may be.”

They both turned their gazes (figuratively for the Voice) to me. Dammit if I didn't know this was coming from the moment she opened her... started speaking.

“I am willing, Your Majesty,” I sighed, “if that is your wish.”

“It is,” she replied turning back to the Voice, “Then I believe our business is settled?”

“Yes it is,” came the Voice's response, “I can see myself out.”

And she did just that. I met the gaze of the Queen.

“I suppose I'll see to her task, then, Your Majesty.”

“See that you do, Pocketwatch.”

I returned to the Traveler's dorm room to gather what few things I kept there as well as the materials for a flight glamor. (He keeps his stores of magical reagents well-stocked for someone who distrusts magic.) For the past five or so months, I have been living as him. Initially we used a fetch to mask his sudden disappearance, but fetches are strictly short-term. Replace the person, get sick, die, leave no trace. That wouldn't do for him if he was coming back. Using one was actually part of the repayment of that debt as he had asked that we mask any extended absences. The Traveler was gone so long, I (being the closest thing he has in the Unseelie Court to a friend, and he being the only living thing I actually trust) volunteered to wrap myself in a glamor of him and live as a changeling until hopefully his return.

The next evening, I wrapped myself in the form of an owl and flew the distance to his home. The front door opened for me in spite of being locked, which because of his request indicated that he was indeed there. I checked the rooms one by one. Living room, small kitchen, some kind of office, a bathroom, another kind of office, linen closet, some other kind of closet. A ha! Bedroom.

The first thing I saw was the Traveler on a bed by a window. He was on his back, asleep. Around the bed was a circle of white material. Knowing him, salt. I stepped forward to inspect the circle for breaks. And then I couldn't move my arms. With my higher eyes, I was suddenly aware of the flare of an aura. It was a strange gunmetal streaked with glowing oranges, luminous yellows, and the occasional verdant green. The air took on the scent of burning oil. A short (for a human) mostly bald man holding a book and an equally short red-headed woman stepped out of nothing, both staring at me intently.

“What are you doing here?” the man asked, “What do you want with our son?”

The kid has parents. Magical ones. Who knew?

“Just checking up on him,” I say casually, “It's a favor for a woman with no face.”

They shared a glance, then the woman, his mother, looked me in the eyes. Her expression was one of mixed motherly concern and nigh-excited curiosity.

"Has one of the Voices has taken an interest in him?” she inquired, “We weren't aware there were any about in Arkansas."

“As far as I know, yes. Now since you see I mean no harm, do you mind undoing the binding? My arms are getting sore.”

Her eyes flashed pink and I smelled a sweet, milky scent and my arms fell to my sides.

“What happened to him?”

“He was stabbed with a cursed blade,” his father replied, “He isn't dead, but neither of us know what the enchantment is or how to break it. Not yet, anyway”

I stepped around them over to the edge of the salt circle. From this close, I could see the guard of a small pocketknife protruding from his chest.. It was a matte black like it was sucking the light out of the air around it. I would assume the blade was the same. My higher eyes saw it as a knife-shaped hole in the air.

“You haven't even pulled it out?”

“Basic first aid,” his mother responded, “Never take something out if you don't know how to treat the wound.  It might make it worse.  He's still alive, and that's the most important thing for the moment.”

I couldn't argue with that logic.

The Traveler's parents bade me stay for supper before I departed and we took the opportunity to swap stories. Apparently his father has some kind of “mortal peril sensor” which allows him to scry on his kid when he's in the aforementioned mortal peril. The Traveler doesn't seem to have any idea what they are. His dad's descended of wizards. It's been dormant for a while, but the talent manifested in him. His mom's what my people call the “Victoriana”, commonly called flower faeries. The bane of our existence. They were born from the dreams of little girls in Victorian England and have persisted since. She seems pretty cool in spite of that. This explains the daydream thing. And the power.

Afterward, I left to report to rhe Voice. Her usual haunt is beneath the sign of a little taco joint just off the University's campus. Lo and behold, there she was, smoking her usual unusual turquoise-flame cigarettes.

“All right,” she said after I informed her of the Traveler's fate, “I'll need to speak with the other voices, but this has the Evil written all over it. I will have a message for his parents, but for the moment you're free. Thanks very much, Mr. Pocketwatch.”

And then she disappeared in that infuriatingly comedic way that Voices can do when they're feeling mischievous (which is pretty much all the time for some of them). She slowly faded out, leaving behind a grin which hadn't been there before, and eventually that too faded. And all that was left was me, having nothing left to do but wonder what the hell she meant and keep living my semi-stolen life.

Until she called me back, that was.