Chapter Text
“Maybe he won’t wake up at all… it’s been ten years.”
Philip was looking at the ceiling.
The ceiling of the large cave was stone and uneven, strewn here and there with the remains of stalactites. As carefully as possible, stalactites were thoroughly cut off from the ceiling, which was crumbled by time and hardworking but not very skillful hands. The ceiling, covered with dozens of round runes, was quietly flickering in the twilight.
They’re called glyphs, he thinks.
“It seems he woke up, though,” someone behind his head said carefully.
Philip rested his head against the stone where he was lying (which was just a stone, by the feel of it, and not something softer). He arched his neck, throwing his head back. Upside down in front of him stood a group of humans wrapped in cloaks. A bright ball, warm as a small sun, burned over their heads, casting sharp shadows with rough creases on their faces. Shadows wrapped around the cloaked figures, obscuring their silhouettes. Philip twitched his lip and rolled over. His body was obeying him quite well, considering it was laying there motionless for a decade. And the figures took a normal position – head on top and feet on the floor. And upon closer inspection, they weren't humans.
“And now what?” arose a reasonable question.
Philip tilted his head to his shoulder. This made the group of young nonhumans tense up.
The human girl, the only human among those present (apart from Philip himself), yelped and jumped back, dodging the blade that pierced the floor next to her.
“Ah, there you are,” she sighed in relief, pulling her staff out of the air. “I was starting to get worried for a second.”
Philip was smiling, returning his sharply elongated hand back to him from where it hit the floor. The blade at the end of his palm quickly split into five clawed, green fingers. He looked at his other hand. It quickly flowed from a normal human shape into a new form. Philip casually swung, sending shards of stone flying and witches scattering as a long green whip lashed the stone floor between them.
Philip flowed down from a high oblong stone (what is it, he wondered, a pedestal? an altar?) and straightened up to his full height. No, not full yet, though. He can get taller. So that the horns will scratch the ceiling. There were five staves, pointed towards him. Philip swung again the long thin blade on his snaking hand.
“You said he would be weak after sleeping for so long!” the dark-skinned boy yelled at the human girl, with a wave of his hand building a wall in front of her, through which Philip could not aim to strike.
“Do you see him transforming into his full monster form? And do you see any giant fireballs flying at us? You’re welcome!” she yelled in response, running out from protection of the wall and dodging a new wave of Philip's hand that had become a whip again.
Fireballs, Philip thought. A good idea, indeed.
His arms came back to him, tightened, and shrunk back to their normal shape. He put forward his palms, evoking a sensation in his memory, after this long-long sleep cloudy like milk. Wanting to give form to magic dissolved in the air. He felt the natural language of the islands, carved on his hands in strict order, light up familiarly. And…
Nothing.
In front of him, as he remembered it, a fireball should have appeared, but ... it didn't happen. Needles of magical energy pricked his skin, and he knew that glyphs were now burning red under the sleeves of a gray shirt that was once probably white. But the magic didn't obey him.
Suddenly his wrists were wrapped up by green vines almost as flexible as his own hands, which could become either a blade or a whip at his will.
Spark!
Something beat loudly in his temples, and it was not blood for sure.
Spark!
He lay on the floor, pinned down at the throat by a pair of crossed staves.
It hurt, a heavy blow to the back of the head, ringing in his ears, and it seemed that his hands and feet were frozen into the stone.
“Okay, it really wasn’t that difficult.”
“You bet! Don’t you remember the state they left him in when they imprisoned him here?”
The state he was put in here Philip himself did not remember. But he quite clearly felt how hard he had taken this little fight. His body was shackled, like a numb limb, cottony and pressing, and everything swam before his eyes.
“Well, I almost got scared when he heard about the fireballs and took it as a call to action.”
“But the magic-suppression cuffs work,” Luz replied smugly, putting her hands on her hips.
Ah yes. He does know her name.
“Luz,” he said out loud, tasting the name. The first word in, how long did they say? Ten years? A very long time… so long that his tongue burned, almost losing the ability to move from the lack of use.
Luz froze, looking down at him. Looking with narrowed pupils, with an unreadable expression.
Philip licked his iron flavored lips, and her eyes caught the movement tenaciously.
She put her foot on his chest, Philip exhaled with a chuckle, and Luz leaned closer.
“So you can talk,” she said flatly, “and not only wave your claws.”
Philip was looking at her, squinting lazily. For some reason he wanted to sleep.
“But we'll talk another time.”
With these words she harshly stepped on his face, and the world sank into darkness.
And then, as always happens after sleep, Philip opened his eyes.
~
Another time, seeing a stone ceiling with glyphs above him, Philip lay motionless for a while, getting used to the sensations. His body was incredibly weak.
The attempt to get up made the ceiling spin, sparkling and glittering, showering stars on him, leaving him lying with his head thrown back and gasping helplessly for air. When he was able at least to turn over on the side, leaning on his elbow, he met the eyes of a tense, wary group of boys and girls. This time a young basilisk was with them.
“Hello, children.”
The words escaped before he had a chance to think about them. Escaped easily, as if these lips had not been silent for ten years, escaped meaningless: these “children” all bore the tired eyes of grown up people. But he always had such a role here. He needed to call them kids and act condescendingly. Otherwise, the game wouldn’t work. It's like when he and Caleb play witch hunt. Caleb laughs nastily and makes faces, pretending to be a witch with all his might. This is how Philip is now playing... who is he playing?..
“Hi, Belos,” Luz was smiling. Her smile had become not just cheeky and boyish, as it was before, (not that he could remember “before”) but something else too, something Philip in this reality had cultivated in his own smirk for years.
Philip shifted on the rock and saw how all the witches jumped at the same time. The girls clenched their fingers on their staves, ready to fight. One guy (Philip frowned a little, trying to figure out where he had seen his face) even pointed the head of his palisman, a red crested bird, in Philip’s direction. The basilisk seemed to squeak softly, hiding behind Luz, who remained motionless.
He tried to straighten up again, but the arm beneath him gave way. Swallowing in large gulps of air, trying to kill the lump of nausea in his throat and dispel the dark spots that unfolded before his eyes, Philip carefully lay down on his stomach, resting his head on a pleasantly cool stone.
“Sorry, but last time it was impossible to talk to you,” Luz's voice came from the darkness.
“Why would I talk to you?” Philip breathed out on the verge of a whisper, in the gap between heavy breaths.
“Maybe this will interest you?”
First, the soft clatter of the wood against stone broke into his perception. Then his eyes caught a blue gleam. His gaze slightly cleared and determined that a small twig lay nearby. The hand reaching out to grip the twig tingled, and the feeling crept like a vine along his arm at the familiar sensation. Sparks ran through his fingers. This was a tree charged with magic.
“Are you luring me?” Philip asked sarcastically.
“While you're acting like a wild animal, how else can you be treated?”
This was not a completed palisman. But it was still pure, living magic. And his stomach twisted with a howling hunger, and his temples pounded, as if his head was about to burst. The damn basilisk didn't leave a drop in him. Even after ten years of sleep he had more strength. Enough to turn his hands into blades, to get back on his feet. Now he barely had the strength to break a thin branch of the palistrom in half. And for a moment the world was covered with a veil of greenish smoke he breathed in through his nose.
“Be a good monster, and you will get another one,” and Luz (he now saw her clearly) accepted another stick from one of the witches. Philip couldn't help but glare at it greedily, making Luz lift one corner of her lips.
Well, he may be a good monster. It does not contradict the rules of the game. He is also a clever monster after all.
Philip finally managed to lean on his elbows quite steadily. He did not take a look at his guests. All his attention had to be focused on not falling back. It was only the beginning, but at least in this position he was no longer swaying.
“We have some questions and we want to hear answers.”
Philip closed his eyes, listening to the state of his body. Such a tiny piece of magic was quickly absorbed without a trace, but it seemed to become a little better. Like a drop of oil was added to a rusted clock.
“Hey, look at me when I’m talking to you,” Luz said harshly, striding towards his lodgment.
She grabbed him by the jaw, forced him to look at her, lifting his head, and his mouth opened a little involuntarily under the fingers pressing on his cheeks.
“I said I want to hear answers,” she caught his eye.
An attempt to turn away did not bring results. As well as an attempt to free himself from a rough grip. Philip's lips tightened into an annoyed line.
How dare she?
Philip felt anger seething in his chest. How dare she?! Doesn't he deserve at least some respect? At least the respect he had always shown to his enemies. He understands mocking superiority. But did Belos humiliate someone, just to humiliate? Philip narrowed his eyes. He doesn't have magic now, but...
He tossed his head and licked the fingers that were digging into his face.
“Ah!” Luz springed back, releasing him, shaking her hand in disgust. Her palm, however, remained as dry as Philip's mouth. “Belos, what the hell?”
His head fell back on his hands. Philip giggled. From the side his laughter must have resembled a strangled cough. Or as if he’s shaken by sobs.
Yes, Belos would never allow himself such behavior, of course. But Philip couldn't allow himself to be treated like that. And he acted the best he could. As he used to. It worked for Caleb too, who was already too old and was afraid of licking and spitting like it was fire. In a play fight where Philip was still physically losing to his brother, he always had this final argument, this last trump card.
“I dare you to try it again,” Luz began threateningly.
“Next time I’ll take a bite,” Philip promised, looking up at her calmly.
Luz clenched her fingers into a fist.
“Listen, you...”
“I won’t listen,” Philip finally sat up. The cave this time remained standing still. He was now looking away from Luz and started to explain to her in a measured voice, “It was you who came to me. You have come to question me.”
But is that how you ask for help? If they really needed to talk to him, it was at least not very polite to suck the last drops of energy out of him with a basilisk, and then as if he were a dog, generously throw him a stick to sink his teeth in.
However, he probably also should have at least said “hello” before swinging his blade over their heads. But for some reason he was sure at that moment he should attack. For some reason it was right.
“I just won't listen to you.”
Luz clenched her jaw.
“Probably,” Philip added. Stroking his chin mockingly, as if deep in thought, he held out his open hand.
“We shouldn't follow his lead,” the dark-skinned boy said, watching Luz hesitate.
“But there is some truth in his words,” objected the bright-haired girl. “He can no longer harm us. In this condition. We can’t just beat him into submission, right?”
“Why not?” Luz asked. Asked in a pragmatic way, without a bit of sadism. She was simply interested in the practicality of the method.
“I doubt he can be forced into cooperating by threats,” said the boy, who still aimed his cardinal staff towards Philip.. “And I doubt it’s even possible to cause more pain than his curse does.”
Philip smiled at the corners of his lips. Wow, someone here, besides him, knows how to use his head.
Luz hesitated for one moment more, but with a sigh she handed him a palistrom stick. Philip weighed the branch in his hand, hesitating before breaking it.
“And what do you require from me?..”
“Think of it as a prepayment,” Luz was looking at him, scowling.
Philip chuckled to himself. Under such conditions we can talk.
A hot wave gushed through the body along with the magical mist that poured into his nose. The numbness that was gripping the muscles before, now was gone. And for some reason the cold came. He wanted more.
Philip licked his lips. Sliding off the lodgment he got to his feet quite steadily (only now discovering that he was barefoot). Ignoring the way everyone but Luz fled away from him, he took a step towards her. The girl looked up. If he came too close, the kid would have to breathe into his chest. Philip tilted his head slightly to one side.
“Shall we sit?”
Luz agreed and got down to the floor first. The girl next to her, the one with bright hair, readily took off her cloak and spread it on the stone surface. Luz nodded to her gratefully as she sat on it, settling next to the girl. Philip, with nothing but his own shirt (sleeves pulled up to the elbows, revealing bracers of brushed, blue-tinted metal engraved with glyphs) and pants (roughly cut off above the ankles), sat down straight on the floor, his hands on his bent knees. The others exchanged glances and sank down to the floor in exactly the same way, forming a semicircle around the lodgment and Philip, who leaned his back against the stone.
Philip and Luz were finally looking at each other almost equally, neither looking down on the other.
“You wanted me to look into your eyes,” he said quietly. “Well, now I'm listening.”
Luz looked at him with a strange gaze, with a slightly embarrassed expression, as if all her former bravado and confidence suddenly disappeared somewhere when it was time to speak on equal terms. And it seemed to him that she was again the little girl who once… who what?.. Oh, God, what is with his memory?
“You were right, we came to ask you some things.”
Despite the implication of her words, (that she, the hero, now needed something from him, the villain) Luz kept the confidence in her voice with dignity. She even spoke in a somewhat condescending manner. “And, probably, it does not make sense to voice our request right away. So first, will you help us at all?”
“So you actually want more than just answers for your questions? This was what you said earlier,” Philip singled out the main thing from her words.
Luz twitched the corner of her lips in displeasure. She probably didn't want to give him the gist of their request before he'd set the fee.
“Who sets the price without knowing the goods?” he said. “It makes sense to voice what exactly you need.”
Luz shook her head.
“Let's be honest, it’s very easy to turn this situation around,” Luz said. “A few minutes ago you lay in a semi-conscious state. You could quickly become the one asking for help.”
Philip squeezed his own wrist with his fingers. Bone-chilling cold was slowly growing from the inside of his guts.
He eloquently arched an eyebrow, staring at Luz with a bored look. She chuckled and shook her head at his silence.
“No, of course you wouldn’t ask for help. Even if you were dying. But let's imagine for a second that you need a certain service,” Philip pursed his lips at this word as the girl continued, “and the payment would be a certain service for us in return..”
“You know what I would ask for.”
“I can guess,” Luz nodded excitedly, as if she was pleased just to get an answer.. “Let's haggle? First, we offer you the opportunity to stay awake every day–”
Philip laughed. His laughter was offensive and harsh.
Luz looked at him in surprise.
“No. That doesn't count,” he said. “You need to wake me up so I can help you. Other offers?”
“We are allowed to enter your mind without removing the sleep spell,” Luz began threateningly, frowning.
“And you have tried it already, of course,” he countered.
This would indeed be the safest and most convenient option. What could he have done to them while staying under the - Philip glanced at the glyphs on the floor that traced the circle around where he woke up - the sleep spell, obviously? Even his mind would remain much less dangerous, cut off from the outside world. Maybe there, in the depths of his mind, he would also remain asleep? He didn't know how exactly the spell worked. The circuit on the floor was unfamiliar to him. And so, for some reason, they chose not to do this, but to communicate with him face to face.
Surely they must have realized that I would react something like this, Philip thought, looking at that place on the floor some distance away where the blow of his blade-hand had left a large scratch in the stone.
The conclusion suggested itself:
“You didn't get anything. And now you're here,” Philip finished, nodding to himself. He smiled coldly. “Offer a fee, girl.”
There was silence for a while. Nobody interrupted them, leaving any negotiations to Luz. The witches’ gazes only slid from her to Philip, as if the phrases of the conversation were a ball that two humans tossed between them, which their small audience eagerly watched.
“The palistrom wood is still in short supply,” Luz began again after a pause. From her voice Philip sensed that this was not entirely true, but not a blatant lie either. “But we are ready to give you as much as you earn. According to the value of your help.”
Very streamlined wording. And besides…
“Firewood only fuels hunger.” He clenched his stiff fingers into fists. He was already freezing as if he had a severe fever. Where did this cold come from, damn it, why does it only get worse with a semblance of satiety? “Without those sticks, I would be useless. It's not a payment, it's a necessity.”
Luz was looking at him yearning. There was one last option.
“We can bring in more wood…”
“Palismans,” he said firmly. “This is my requirement.”
And he got up, putting an end to the conversation. A little more time, and he would no longer be able to hide the shivers that struck him from the cold (hunger).
Luz looked back at her friends.
They got up almost simultaneously, moving away from Philip to gather closer to the high doors streaked with magical printings, and there they began to whisper. Philip could snatch some phrases. "It was better than I thought." "He's surprisingly accommodating, actually, well... for him." "He's just not desperate yet, maybe he's forgotten what it's like to live with hunger for weeks and months." Philip didn't want to stay here. He was increasingly pierced to the bones by a pulling cold.
The blond boy, who reminded Philip of someone he knew pretty well, had left his cloak on the floor.
The cloak turned out to be surprisingly cozy.
He hadn't been on the Boiling Isles in a long time... but it seemed to him that cold-weather clothes were almost never needed here before, especially a woolen cloak lined with fur like this one. Wrapping it tightly around his body, he lay down where he’d found himself twice before now (...or was it more? What’s with his memory?) lying in this cave after the gaps of darkness between dream and reality. To prevent his legs from sticking out from under the edge of the cloak, he had to pull them to his chest, almost curling up into a ball.
The vile cold did not go away, but it became softer on the lodgment, as if he could feel calmer now. And it even began to seem that he could smell the scent of his home – freshly cut wood under Caleb's hands.
He just wants to wake up.
“Has someone seen my cloa- Uh, hey! That’s actually mine!”
Philip didn't move. His consciousness began to gradually float away. Reality was becoming less and less clear. He closed his eyes, and there was nothing left under the darkness that covered him. Just a voice that added in confusion:
“Okay, you can keep it...”
~
Philip opens his eyes and sits up abruptly on the bed.
“Caleb!” he jumps up, running to the bedroom door. “Caleb, I had that dream again!”
The curtains, illuminated by the morning sun, are blown by the wind from the half-open window.