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It was a late night, and Grian knew that Cherry Mountain was meant to be quiet.
Joel was off-server visiting Lizzie. Skizz and Impulse were hanging out with Tango and Zedaph at the Tango’s base. Pearl and Gem were visiting False, Mumbo was mining for redstone thousands of blocks away, and Scar was having a chronic pain day where he wanted to be left alone. Other than dropping off some of Scar’s favorite teas and cookies, Grian had let him be for the day. Otherwise, his day had also been alone. He had been on his own. It had been enjoyable. Slow. Almost lazy, perfect for a Saturday.
At that moment, Grian had been shoving malted milk biscuits in his mouth, walking around with one between his lips and then a mug of his favorite tea in hand. It was his favorite mug, too, a chicken head made of ceramic that he had been given by Scar. As he walked, the familiar smell of chamomile and peppermint wafted up around him. There was some cinnamon apple spice tea somewhere in his base, lost amongst his mass of Shulkers. He’d find it later, not when it was a nice rainy night. Not when he could settle down in his Jellie-themed cat slippers and robe and read a good book. Another good book. He had already read three that day. Four would be a perfect number, a good number. He had the book tucked underneath his arm, just waiting to be read. He’d even left his communicator in his library instead of having it with him, because he didn’t want to be bothered.
Finally, he walked out onto his balcony. His chair was waiting for him. His new book to read was placed down on the end table, something that he had bought off of an author’s website instead of purchasing from a bookstore. He would love to purchase it in person at a bookstore, or even from the author, but she hadn’t had any events that he had known of. Besides, there was the book goblin part of him that whined at just the thought of waiting to read the book. He had barely managed to handle the wait just for the book to arrive. The others had barely been able to handle listening to him whine the whole time he waited.
Finally, he sat down on his chair, settling in and getting his robe adjusted around him so that the soft, fluffy lining was exactly how he liked it. If he could have, he would have had some old-timey music playing at low volume, just to set the mood. He was cozy, cozy, reading glasses perched on his nose. He propped his feet up on a pouf he had crocheted, picked up his book, and opened to his bookmarked page. The characters had just been about to kiss for the first time, and he wanted to see if they finally managed to do so in this chapter. Now, did he necessarily think they would? Perhaps not, but—
Someone moved inside his house.
Not something. Grian would know if it was a something. Raising his head, Grian tilted his head to the side, looked through the corner of his vision for whoever it was. Hmm. Not usual. Slowly, he reached for his sword where it always sat in the curve of his ear, in its small form as a pearl-shaped earring. The little charm settled in his palm, warming up as he flicked it into full form, standing up.
He turned right in time to block the blow. “There you are! It’s not Demise, we’re not—” His blood chilled as he registered who he was looking at. Or, really, who he wasn’t looking at.
They were invisible. Never good. More than that, there wasn’t a laugh and then a pail of milk being produced. There wasn’t anything that indicated this was another Hermit. Worse than that, there was a knife in their hands. A proper knife, one that was forged with—
With an eye on the hilt.
Swallowing, Grian backed up, brandishing his sword. Okay. He reached for his communicator—which he’d left in the other room. In his library. Which was on the other side of the house from his reading balcony because he liked getting into the reading mood. Hand hovering over his hip, he swallowed. He didn’t dare show that he had missed it, though. If he did, then he was going to leave himself too open. He was going to give them a chance to attack.
He just needed to move first.
Shedding his robe, leaving him in just a t-shirt, sweats, and slippers, he got ready to move. Okay. Countdown, then move. You can’t move slow. If you do, then you’ll die. It didn’t matter if the Watchers were just there to capture him. He’d slice his wrists and throat himself before they got the chance to take him back. He could throw himself into a wall at top flight speed. Something like that. As long as he was moving fast enough, as long as he could break his own neck before they could get to him with a totem or a potion, then—
He lunged, snapping his wings out and throwing himself forward. They sliced for his side, spirals of invisibility rolling off of them. Pain lanced through his right flank. Blood wet his clothes. Still, he managed to get off the ground, whipped around a corner—
It was like being struck by lightning.
Gasping, Grian dropped to the floor. The world was shaking. No, he was shaking. Copper flooded his mouth, the ground slammed into his face—he rasped in a breath. More footsteps behind him. A huff of a laugh, then a heel smashed down on his wing arm. The bone snapped. Grian screamed.
A hand wrapped around his shoulder. A rough grip rolled him onto his back. Looming over him, grinning wickedly, the assassin—dressed in fine robes, white and gold with enchantments shimmering pale blue-green along the hems and collar, Listener’s robes—looked down at him. The Listener was a young woman, waves of golden-blond hair and pale blue eyes like something out of Dune, blue on paler blue. “You are a hard man to track down, Xelqua.”
He stared up at her. When he opened his mouth—pain. It was like being electrocuted. Grabbing at his side clumsily, Grian accidentally smacked himself in the face instead. Poison. He recognized this one. He’d designed this one. It was a paralytic. It didn’t go away with milk. No. No, no, not this, please. I don’t want this—
Crouching above him, the woman smiled eerily. “I should thank you, Xelqua. I get to take your place. Well, sort of. I kill you, bring back evidence,” she tangled her fingers in his hair, ripped his head up and held a knife to his throat. The blade was ice-cold. Swallowing, feeling the knife slice into his skin and the burning familiarity of blood trailing down his neck, Grian sucked in a breath, “I get to take your precious brother Jimmy’s spot.”
“Don’t—” Talking was hard. His tongue lay thick in his mouth, clinging to his teeth. “—talk—about—my family.”
She grinned, nose scrunching up. Pulling the knife away from his neck, she traced it along his jawline. If he had control over his body, he would have shuddered. As it was, he didn’t have the chance. He wasn’t going to be able to move. Not for a while. Not before he would already have bled out on the floor. Even if he had his communicator on him, then he wouldn’t be able to use it. “I don’t think you’re really in the place to make demands, sweetheart.” Leaning in, she slipped the knife against his ear, then right behind it. The cold metal pressed into that soft spot where the carotid lay. They were nose-to-nose. Grian stared at her, their breath mingling. “Hmm. You’re pretty like this. I could keep you. Cut off your wings, trap you somewhere. Make you forget there was ever anything outside of the Watchers or the walls. Or maybe make you wish I had killed you. I wonder…”
Grian tried his best to lean away from her. There wasn’t any room. He needed to move, he needed to get away.
Lips against his ear, she whispered, “How will you look when you’re covered in blood?”
He had time. If he moved, it would hurt. It would hurt like hell, but he had a limited amount of movement.
Grabbing his sword, Grian twisted and slammed the blade into her side.
She screamed in his ear, a sound that rattled his head and tore up the floor. Sonic screech. Not good. Throwing himself to the side, Grian rolled onto some trapdoors. Clumsily, he grabbed the lever, flipped it. Normally, he would use it to fly out of his base.
Now he could use it to die.
He dropped into the night air. Already, he was apologizing to Scar, to Mumbo, to all his friends. He’d be giving the Watchers what they wanted, maybe, but he wouldn’t be theirs. It’d be his doing. His control. Not hers.
The dark green grass was going to look a lot less pretty with his blood splashed across it and his broken body—
A hand locked in his collar. No. He was hoisted back up. The pain returned, leaving him gasping and seizing in the assassin’s grip. “That…” She grunted, dragging him back onto the wooden floorboards. They were broken. A splintered piece of oak stabbed in between his shoulders, into his broken wing arm. Gagging, Grian stared up at her. “Was rude.”
She stabbed him in the chest.
It was right in the soft area of flesh under his collarbone. His right collarbone, not even his left. Not a killing blow. Still, he wailed, grabbing for the knife. His fingers found blood, metal, wrapped around it even as the poison made him clumsy. Copper welled up in his mouth, tears watered his eyes. He looked up at her. His breathing turned ragged again.
“Now that you aren’t going anywhere,” she started, leaning over him with a wicked grin, “we can have more fun. Have a little conversation—Watcher to Listener. How about that?”
Grian stared up at her, heart pounding in his throat.
Joel was woken by Scar hammering on his door.
Around him, the other Cherry Mountain folks woke up, with the exception of Grian (who hadn’t responded to Joel’s summons involving the sleepover once they got back to the Mountain from what they had been doing) and Scar (who was having a bad day and who Joel knew wasn’t to be messed with). Frowning, Joel shoved himself upright. He hurried to the door, opened it.
There, soaked in rain and leaning heavily on his cane, dark circles under his eyes, was—“Scar?” He asked.
“Something’s wrong with Grian.” Scar said simply. “And I can’t get up there, so I need you to go there for me. I don’t know if it’s just me being weird and anxious, or if something’s actually going on. But he hasn’t responded to my messages. I even sent him a picture of Jellie!”
As if to prove this, he showed his communicator screen. Sure enough, there was Jellie. It was a cute picture, too, of her curled up with her paws raised to cover her eyes as she slept on her side. Despite that, despite it only being three in the morning, Grian hadn’t responded. Sure, he slept at the proper times, but he often woke in the middle of the night. Joel remembered that from his time with Grian and Jimmy as the Bad Boys. He had always, always been up, always been willing to text Scar. And a picture of Jellie?
Turning, Joel hurried to his armor stand, grabbing bits and throwing them on quickly. In the corners of his vision, he saw the others doing the same. Pearl and Gem were ready first, Impulse and Skizz quick to follow. Mumbo, however, looked tired—“Mumbo, stay back with Scar. If something is going on, then it’ll be good for you two to be able to protect each other. At least watch your backs.”
“Right.” Mumbo glanced over at Scar. Then, softer, he added, “Let’s get you into something warmer.”
“I have clothes you can borrow in the wardrobe over there. The rest of you—” He turned, then hesitated. Impulse did have seniority, technically. “Impulse, you take point. You’ve been here the longest, you know what all of us are capable with.”
“Alright.” Impulse replied. They opened their elytra—except for Pearl, with her wings—and took off the second they were outside. The rain smattered their faces, plastered their hair to their heads. On the bright side, it wasn’t a long flight to Grian’s home. The only reason Scar wouldn’t have been able to investigate was because Grian must have been on the second floor…
When they came around the ridge, Joel’s eyes locked onto the debris scattered underneath Grian’s main cliff house.
No. “Impulse!” He shouted, pointing. Turning to him, Impulse followed his gaze.
They all landed in the rain-soaked grass, sprinting to the debris. The sound of rain on the roof was thunderous. Somewhere, lightning cracked, leaving a brief white flash to light the way. Grabbing a fallen lantern, Joel held it in his hands. The fractured glass had blood on it, but…the spatter looked wrong somehow. He didn’t know how. Frowning, Joel turned the lantern over in his hands.
Pearl was already tearing through the debris. “Grian!” She shouted, voice cracking. “Grian!”
Beside her, Gem and Impulse began sorting through the wreckage. Padding around, ears pinned to his head and tail flicking irritably, Skizz sniffed the air. He whipped his head from one side to the other. “I smell his blood everywhere, but he doesn’t—his smell isn’t here. I don’t—”
Something hot plipped onto Joel’s forehead.
Pausing, he looked up, squinting against the rain. There was a hole in the bottom of Grian’s house, of course. The floor had caved in. Or, no, it had been blown down. It wasn’t quite an explosion, but it looked similar. Could a creeper have gotten in? He wondered, frowning. But how? The place was well-lit. There’s no way that he could have…
He caught a glimpse of fingers, just over the edge of the hole.
Dropping the lantern, Joel sprinted out into the rain. A quick take-off, banking around to the right, he landed on the balcony and rushed inside. “Joel!” Impulse shouted below him. Looking around, chest heaving, Joel squinted against the dark. He grabbed a lantern from his inventory, lit it with the strike of a match. Swinging the light around, he paused.
There was blood on the floor. It pooled out around something, slick and red and dark. “I found him!” He yelled above the storm. Rushing to Grian’s side, he turned for a brief moment, hung the lantern up on a wall hook. Then he turned—
Grian was bleeding on the floor, lying on his back. One of his wings, the right one, was broken. His arm was stretched out towards the cave-in, the other laid across his stomach. Blood matted his skin. His head was tilted away from him. Darting over, Joel dropped to his knees. Shakily, he reached out, pushed his fingers into Grian’s neck.
There was a low groan, chest heaving. “Grian?” Quickly, Joel felt across Grian’s head, down his neck and spine, then across his wings. No spinal injuries, no broken ribs. He couldn’t find anymore broken bones in his wing.
A low whimper escaped Grian.
“Ssh, ssh, Grian. It’s okay, you’re okay.” He murmured. Brushing a hand over Grian’s hair, Joel slipped a hand under his shoulders and wings. The other went under his knees. Normally, moving an injured person was a terrible idea, but Joel really didn’t like the look of that hole in the floor and he didn’t know if it would hold everyone. Raising his voice, Joel said, “I’ve got him! I’m coming down!”
Carefully, he stood, unfolded his elytra, and delicately glided down to the earth below. Impulse and Skizz caught him, Skizz’s nose flaring and Impulse’s eyes burning yellow as they caught sight of him. Pearl choked on something.
Cradling Grian close, Joel looked up. “Do you think you can handle this? Gem, Impulse?”
The two shared a glance. “Let’s get him back to yours. We need to get him treated.”
“Right.” Joel looked down at Grian’s face. Rainwater dripped down between the wood slats, plip-plip-plipped onto Grian’s cheeks and closed eyes. There was a bloody wound to his chest, on the right side. His right forearm was a mess of blood, Joel could see slices through his left forearm. There were dark bruises on his neck.
“I’ll call Xisuma.” Skizz said, already turning towards the admin’s home, “Someone needs to let him know to lock the server down.” Lightning split the sky.
Looking down at Grian, Joel grimaced as thunder pealed.
They’d carved Traitor into her brother’s arm.
Sitting beside him, brushing her fingers through his hair even though he was asleep and couldn’t feel it, Pearl gritted her teeth. There was rage, deep in her chest. It wanted to well up. It wanted to burn, to set the server aflame, to blaze and devour until there was nothing left.
There wasn’t any reason for it. She wasn’t going to waste her time, not on Them. Not when she needed to watch over Grian, make sure no one else got in. Make sure whoever it was that did this didn’t come to finish the job. Xisuma had sent out a call (a warning) to Jimmy, Martyn, and BigB. Jimmy and BigB’s had both come back. Martyn…she wasn’t sure. Honestly, she rarely got a reply from him. From what she knew, Ren had gone to find him. If anyone was going to find him, it was Ren. He’d make sure Martyn came back.
On the server, though, Xisuma had sent out his best fighters and trackers—Cub, Etho, xB, Beef, Tango, and Zedaph—out after whoever it was. Impulse and Skizz were the best fighter-tracker team (other than Beef and Etho, maybe), but they weren’t leaving Grian’s side. They weren’t leaving the community house. Instead, they were stalking around the perimeter, watching it with the help of Doc, Cleo, False, and Joe. If They were dumb enough to come anywhere near the community house, near Grian, then Joe would see it and the three brawlers on his team would be able to take them out without prejudice. They wouldn’t stand a chance.
For now, Pearl would stay by her brother’s bedside. He looked small against the infirmary’s white bedsheets and the bandages wrapped around him. A thin tube traced its way down from some machine or other to Grian’s mouth. Scar had identified it as an endotracheal tube. Something to help him breathe better.
There was poison in his system.
It wouldn’t respond to potions, it wouldn’t respond to milk. They were having to filter it out of his blood with some sort of system even Scar didn’t understand. Just looking at it made Pearl ill, made her turn her head away. Joel had gotten in contact with Jimmy, warned him—and told him not to come. Hermitcraft was locked down locked down. No one would get in or out without Xisuma’s permission—or without him knowing.
“You’re going to be okay, Grian.” Pearl murmured to him, looking at his face. If she looked at his face, she didn’t have to look at the bandages wrapped around his wings, or his arms, or taped to his chest. She could pretend that the bandages around his neck, soaked in creams and salves to soothe the deep, blackish-purple bruises to his throat, were just a weird-looking white turtleneck. “I promise you, Grian. I’m going to watch over you. You won’t go anywhere.”
She didn’t care if he couldn’t hear her.
She was going to say it all the same.
“How’s he doing, Gem?”
Gem turned to look at Scar as he walked up. With a sigh, she turned back to Grian. He laid limp against the bed still. “He’s…alive. I don’t think he’s in any pain. That’s as good as we can give him right now.”
Scar looked strangely disappointed by that. Turning to him, Gem tipped her head to the side. He just…she glanced back at Grian. Oh.
“Please tell me you didn’t just figure it out.” She said. Green eyes sad, he looked at her. “Oh, Scar.”
“Don’t worry about me.” Leaning on his cane, holding Jellie on his shoulders and Katy Bee and Mr. Finnegan in a basket slung over his arm, Scar limped over to the bed. The cats crawled out, Katy Bee settling on Grian’s chest and purring and Jellie settling in Scar’s lap. Mr. Finnegan sat at the foot of the bed, staring at Gem with sharp eyes. “He’s not going anywhere, right? So I’ll be here, when Pearl isn’t.”
He pulled out a sketchbook. Looking at him, Gem sighed and went back to making sure Grian’s stitches were clean.
The letters carved into Grian’s arm were stark, an angry red against his pale skin. They weren’t infected. She’d checked, she’d asked Impulse to check, she’d even taken Xisuma away from searching code to make sure Grian didn’t have any stray viruses in his system. This was something different, sinking into his arm with a weight Gem wasn’t sure could be lifted.
With a quiet sigh, Gem turned back to wipe down Grian’s skin again, this time to give him another dose of antibiotics.
Grian woke screaming.
It hurt. Everything hurt. Snapping his eyes open, trying to flail his wings, he whipped his head around. Pain shot through his wings, his chest, his stomach—his arms. The assassin’s voice lingered in his ears. Crying out, he threw a punch.
Someone’s wings wrapped around him. Wings, soft wings, familiar—he knew the smell, knew the feel of feathers under his hands—“Pearl.” He whispered, turning and burying his face in her neck. She wrapped her arms around him, held him tight. A hand brushed over his hair.
“Ssh, ssh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” She whispered softly. Gently, she pressed her lips to the top of his head. Tears wet his hair, her shirt—neither of them cared. “You’re safe.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Grian clung to her.
He’d face everything else later.