Conquest of Avalon

Fernan VII: The Farmer of the Fable

“Fine,” Fernan agreed, resigning himself to whatever thoughtless chaos Florette was surely planning. At this point, things are going so poorly that I might as well let her try. And what an indictment of his own plans, to allow things to get to that point. “Please don’t make me regret this.”

Florette answered with a nod, turning away to walk towards the center of the crater, into the waiting throngs of spirits.

Off to create the sort of mayhem her plans always seem to.

Fernan was here to court spirits to his side, to try to persuade them that there were better candidates than Flammare. That had seemed important before, but meeting the spirits now, it was clear that it was essential.

Otherwise an entire nation would be exterminated by the most powerful creatures alive. Even if they were led by an egotistical asshole, they still had a right to exist.

And yet it seems more impossible now than ever. The spirits hadn’t applauded or anything, probably because they didn’t do that, but it was obvious enough that most approved of what Flammare was saying. And even the ones that disagreed, they didn’t gainsay a thing he said.

“Fuck,” he muttered, even knowing that there might be a spirit who could hear it somewhere around.

“Is this venture not now at an end, Fernan?” Gézarde asked, his bright green aura showing shrunken posture. “I have no desire to be rebuked as Fala was.”

“Not yet.” Fernan sighed, looking over his shoulder at Florette, apparently engaged in conversation with thin air. Presumably that Fallen spirit, though knowing Florette, it’s not a guarantee.

No point in engaging with that. There had to be something he could pull from this gathering. Even though Flammare just ensured that no spirit of light or flame would dare break ranks in his presence.

Fernan had to control his breathing, trying to calm the flame within himself, lest it emerge unprompted. The night air helped, though the massive gathering of flame spirits was doing its best to counteract that. He kept his face away from the crater for a few minutes, trying desperately to think of a way out of this.

“Didn’t think you’d show up. This doesn’t really seem like the place you’d want to be.” Laura leaned on the rock wall next to him, apparently not caring about the effect of the dust and dirt on her no-doubt ludicrously expensive clothing.

“I’m here with my spirit,” he said neutrally, mindful of her attitude back at that farmhouse. “It seemed prudent to introduce him, since he hasn’t seen these spirits in decades, if ever. Good to get an impression of Flammare, too. He has quite the way of speaking.”

“You don’t see it much anymore, outside of poetry. My family still has to do it when they address him, though. One of the first things you learn.” She exhaled red flame through her nose. “It would be one thing if it were just ten syllables per line, but you need to get the stresses right, too, da-dun-da-dun-da-dun, like a heartbeat. It’s a huge pain to make sure it’s right every time.”

“Sounds awful.”

“It is what it is.” Laura shrugged. “Anyway, a decade’s not all that long, for beings like them. Your spirit might not be as forgotten as you’d think. I do see the point, though.” She pulled a warm box from a pouch on her belt, removing an inert little rod thing that looked a bit like a stick. She seemed to catch him staring at it, and laughed. “I know I probably shouldn’t, but just one won’t hurt.”

“One stick?”

She shook her head, holding the object up to her lips. A thin jet of flame burst out of her index finger, gone almost as soon as it appeared, but it left the end of the thing with a smoking red circle. “Hand-roll. I don’t have a pipe because I try not to make a habit of it.”

“Oh!” Fernan nodded. “I guess I hadn’t… ‘seen’ one before.”

“Probably not much to look at before it’s lit, the way your gift of sight works.” She shrugged again, the roll hanging from her lips. Something seemed off, but it was hard to tell quite what. “You’re welcome to have one if you’d like. Should probably get rid of these as soon as I can.”

“Why’s that?” he asked as he waved her offer away. Not the night to try new things; I need to keep my head clear. “Florette mentioned Avalon saying they killed you, but they say that about everything. They’ll hang you over mushrooms. It’s just propaganda.”

“No, not that,” she scoffed. “But too much and you’ll get winded faster. Hard to last as long, hit as hard. It’s not a good choice for a fighter.” She blew a stream of warmth into the air around her head, creating a glowing cloud to frame her face. “Ultimately, that’s what I am.”

“Not every fight’s the same. Like that trial.”

“Sure.” The aroma of smoke emanated out from her, crisp and inviting as a summer’s bonfire. And yet she barely shrugged, keeping her body against the rock.

That’s it. No energy! Laura was always moving, always jittering with anticipation if she had to sit still. Even at that trial, when decorum had been hugely important, she’d been practicing boxing stances before the event had begun.

Seeing her like this was strange, to say the least. “This fight’s definitely going to be the usual, though. Flammare’s going to fuck em up good, make that ice queen wish she’d never stuck her nose in.” If she’d sounded more enthusiastic about it, he’d have left right away. But something in her tone…

“He wants to eradicate everyone with her blood. That’s pretty much her entire kingdom at this point, not just the ones she brought here. Farmers, potters, tanners.” He deliberately inflamed his eyes brighter, squared directly against hers. “It’s not much of a fight, at that point.”

“Yeah…” She exhaled another stream of warmth, this time pointed off to the side, as if her face was twisted. “It is what it is. Once everyone’s agreed, at least we’ll have a sun again. Things can go back to normal, maybe.”

“But you don’t have to—”

“You know I do. I’m sworn to serve Flammare. Shit, if you fight him on this, I’ll probably have to fight you back. Please, just don’t. It’s like the Farmer and the Forager, you know? Take the situation as it comes and make the best of it.” She jumped up from the wall, throwing the remains of her hand-roll to the floor of the crater. “We get to fuck up an evil ice spirit, at least. And who knows? If you and Gézarde pitch in, it could mean good things for you.”

Fantastic. Still, there seemed to be some level of reluctance there, some hesitation. Or there’s not, and you’re just too eager to see the good in people.

He almost asked her about the Farmer and the Forager, since he’d heard a few versions of it, but it wouldn’t really change what she’d said.

The setting changed depending on who was telling it, but the one Fernan had heard most happened during the War of the Three Cubs, when the Fox Queen’s heirs had warred and the whole continent had bled.

Massive armies had moved across the land, in need of massive stores to feed them. But it was impossible to take your own grain very far, since the animals carting it around needed to eat, too. And so, the further from home an army ventured, the higher the necessity of ‘living off the land’.

In name, foraging. In practice, stealing.

The Forager of the tale was a knight entrusted with ‘procuring’ supplies from a local village, his army in dire need of rations on the eve of a momentous battle. He came upon the houses of three successful farmers, their fields ripe for harvest, and requested the lord’s portion of the grain, the threat unspoken but not unheard.

The first farmer was a patriot, a true partisan loyal to his sovereign above all else. He could not countenance a season’s hard work feeding the mouths of the enemy, granting them fuel and respite on the eve of a great battle, so he refused.

The forager ran him through with his sword, and all his grain was gathered up before his blood was even cold.

The second farmer fancied himself a businessman, more educated than most of his like. He knew the position of the army, and thought it gave him leverage. He asked the knight for five thousand florins as recompense. More than the field was worth, to be sure, but not ridiculous as an opening for negotiation, especially given the army’s desperation.

He and the knight haggled long into the day, slowly approaching an acceptable middle ground, as the knight grew more and more frustrated. Eventually, an accord was reached, and the fields were harvested. Once the work was done, the forager left the second farmer rotting in a ditch for daring to waste his time, his debt unpaid.

The third farmer was small and humble, and knew he could not oppose the forager. He opened his gates, and bid the knight take to his heart’s content. He even threw a banquet for the army, slaughtering a cow in the honor of their impending victory.

And when the day of battle came, the army won their victory and defended their camp, leaving the third farm untouched by the flames of war. In recognition of his kindness, the knight offered the third farmer a ruby ring that would last in the farmer’s family for generations, a reminder of the rewards for the right choice.

He’d heard Guy Valvert tell the story once, and it had ended there, the kindest farmer rewarded for his generosity, but every peasant knew how the story really ended.

After the merriment was over and the army marched on its way, destined for glory or defeat, the fields were still stripped bare. When winter came, the farmer starved, for what little food that remained was only enough to feed his children. Not himself.

The best option in a scenario without victory still meant loss.

If Laura was using that story as her rebuttal, whichever version, it probably meant that her mind was made up, even though she could see the problems with what Flammare was proposing. But he had to try, at least. “You know, I’ve been thinking about something, Laura.”

“Yeah?”

“Spirits can’t lie, and they don’t. They honor all their deals, they play everything straight, at least in a certain sense. Their heads are only ever in reality, the tangible.”

“Ehh… I’ve met more than a few you’d call ethereal, but I think I get what you mean. The way they think.”

“Yeah, exactly. I don’t know if they can even tell stories, but I don’t think they’d be inclined to even if they could. It’s kind of antithetical to that whole thing. Language can limit imagination, in that sense. It shapes the discourse. I’ve only ever heard history from them, at any rate.”

“Huh, I guess so.” She tilted her head, taking it in. Hopefully. “Never really thought about it like that.”

“Mara prompted me to think about it, when she mentioned learning proper dueling form.”

“She remembered that?” It was easy to hear her voice light up. “I guess it was more of a demonstration than a lecture. That always helped, for me.”

“I’m sure it helped her, too. But I think what I’m talking about came into play as well. You know, it’s a strict set of rules, a proper procedure. You might do different things at different times, but if you’re perfect, you’ll react every way to the same opponent fighting the same way.”

“If the opponent were completely devoid of creativity, maybe. Nobody really fights like that.”

“Sure, but… You know, Mara and I both got here around the same time, we both knew barely anything about this city, or life here. My whole village could fit in some of the houses in the spirit quartier with room to spare. It was a shock, you know? But I adjusted. So did she, coming from a background even more different. Some things faster than, some much slower. And dueling isn’t much on its own, but to remember something so specific, something that barely even applies to the way she fights beyond as a novelty…”

“She’s better at the tangible,” Laura finished his idea, nodding her head thoughtfully. “She was raised by a spirit and others like herself, embedded in the way she thinks. I’ve seen what you mean when we spar. It’s not like she isn’t creative; she can do it, but it comes harder. I got her with the same feint for weeks on end before she picked up on it.” She scratched her chin thoughtfully. “You think all spirits are like that?”

“It fits with the ones I’ve met, anyway. There’s a standard of good faith that’s higher than anything we could manage, but it makes it harder to imagine anything else. When the imaginary is totally outside your vocabulary, it’s hard to really conceive of things being different. Easier to envision the end of the world than the end of ‘the natural order’ that Flammare was so eager to talk about.”

“Hmm…” Laura fiddled with another hand-roll, then opted not to light it, tucking it back into the pouch.

“But that doesn’t mean it can’t be done. I mean, Soleil couldn’t have imagined he would meet his end that way, but he still did. Nothing is truly set in stone. And if we—” He stopped as he saw Florette’s creepy poison spirit dissolve into the ground in front of her, Florette addressing Flammare directly.

Oh fuck. Why did I let her do this?

“Oh Great Flammare, the Guardian of the Hearth, I have just one more thing before you go, while I still have the honor of your ear.” Florette stood tall, chest puffed out, though her hand was at least nowhere near her sword, suggesting that she hadn’t quite gone completely insane yet.

“What is she doing?” Laura hissed.

“If only I knew. Excuse me,” he said as he started walking towards Florette, as fast as he could manage without looking too panicked.

“Wait, you shouldn’t get involved with—”

He felt Gézarde’s warmth sidle up next to him as he approached, falling into step at his side.

“And who are you, you lowly, feeble girl, to ask even an instant of my time?” Flammare’s flames remained level, unperturbed. And why would he be, really? It wasn’t as if Florette was a threat to him.

“I am the one who truly took up arms, instead of merely spouting empty threats. And more than me, Gézarde’s children as well, uncowed by her audacious words and deeds, did take the fight to Glaciel and live. We’ve even won, much of the time with ease. Persisting, certainly, and often more, even without resounding victory.”

“For that, you felt the need to make demands? What you describe is much as I propose.”

“What you propose, Flammare, but have not done,” she said with force. “You claim that spirits here must choose you soon, to lead the fight against the winter queen. And yet another spirit of the flame has already struck back against the ice. Only Gézarde has demonstrated strength.”

Fernan felt his mouth drop open. That is legitimately brilliant. She even seemed to be copying his manner of speech, speaking to the spirits on their level, in a voice they’d been proven to find commanding.

“It is true that this human defied Glaciel before even you, Great Flammare,” Corro added, materializing alongside Florette. “Could we not simply end her before our deliberations?”

“You might as well propose the end of light, you glory-seeking, reckless fool, Corro. Should Glaciel triumph, the world could end, subsumed by darkness as Khali threatened. The meek successes of a mere human—”

“Are proof enough that victory is near, within our grasp should we reach out and fight.” She smiled brightly as Flammare blazed, livid to be interrupted. If Florette hadn’t chosen her moment carefully enough to maintain the pattern, she might have been dead already. “If e’en the likes of me are not afraid, then what exactly do you have to fear? Gézarde has seen no need to tarry long. Instead, with me, he takes the fight to them.”

Better still, Florette was using her relative weakness against them. How could a great spirit be shown up by a mere human and a few children of a lesser hermit? It demanded an immediate response without giving any explicit disrespect.

She should have talked to him first, though. That much still seemed to be a problem. Though in this case, she’d been right that he’d have agreed. They were out of any better options.

“Ah, here, this is good Sire Fernan Montaigne.” She twirled her hand towards him with a flourish, inviting him in closer. “He too has crossed his blade with Glaciel. First sage, and best, of brave Gézarde, he is, and likewise without fear to fight her wrath.”

Oh, great, just cue me up without any warning… Still, this was necessary. He’d come in order to be involved anyway. “It’s true, I am the sage of flame…” Shit, 2 more syllables. “who fought,” he finished. “I filled the halls of Glaciel with flame, as my companion slew the servants of…” Fuck! Florette had probably known to practice this, but he hadn’t. “...her fatal loins, the children of the ice.” There, done. Better than good, it was good enough.

Florette’s aura flared, her posture confident enough he could be sure she was grinning. “What does it say of you that ‘mere’ humans have already achieved what you propose? Spirits ill need a savior such as you.”

“The power of the spirits filled your veins, you boy who tumbled down the mountainside.” Flammare turned his fiery gaze from him back to Florette. “And you, who lack the sense to shut your mouth, your work was done, in gross, by spirit-touched. I have no doubt of that, despite your zeal.”

Fernan hid a grimace. True enough, but Florette’s just one person. Of course all of the geckos together would be doing more.

Fortunately, she didn’t seem bothered at all. “Indeed, without Gézarde we might have died. I’ll not dissemble there, for it is true.”

“And who is this Gézarde, who lacks Flammare’s trepidation?” Corro chimed in, not bothering to maintain the pattern, but still probably more helpful than not, on balance. Relatively speaking, he was a peer here in a way no human ever could be, and he didn’t have as much to prove. “One might think his expertise most useful against the Winter Queen.”

Slowly, the rhythm was shifting. It was hard to tell if they were truly winning them over, but heads were turning towards him and Gézarde, standing proudly next to him. Pressure was being applied. It’s working.

The flames within Flammare burned white and gold, his anger crackling off him in waves too plain to miss. “Perhaps I’ve been remiss with you, Gézarde, spirit of flame beneath my wide aegis. A commendation, you deserve, and soon. I promise that you’ll see your due reward, upon the moment I ascend my seat, if not before. You’ll get what you have earned.”

Fernan felt his eyes blaze in response to the obvious threat, but Gézarde either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“And yet, I see the Winter Queen persists,” Flammare continued. “Your efforts have been miniscule, if brave, and failed to truly weaken her at all. Abominations dead, or even less? Tis well that it were done, I won’t deny, but still the greater threat remains at large.”

“True,” Gézarde said, speaking for the first time in his echoed voice. Corro might be able to get away with it, but I’m not sure you can afford not to play his game. Then again, probably better not to even try if he wasn’t sure he could manage it. Appearances were everything, here.

That was Camille’s first and most important lesson.

“Then I would hope that I have your support against this fearsome threat we must defeat. I see now that you are a fair soldier, and wish you luck upon the fields of war. But we cannot allow ourselves to miss the dire importance of good leadership.” Flames writhed around the metal of his wings as he ascended, rotating to face each of the assembled spirits. Clearly, this was about to be the moment where he reiterated the case for himself, but—

“The best of leaders know when they must act,” Florette announced, not allowing him to finish. “The time to act is now, you must see that. But then, perhaps you don’t? I couldn’t say. Good thing that your opinion matters not.”

“If you dare speak another word, you wretch—”

Corro’s slimy aura curled around Florette, his head poking out beside her own. “I offer her my protection, until she’s finished speaking. Any spirit with sense would do the same, so long as they did not fear what she has to say. Easy enough to kill her after, otherwise.”

Gulping, Fernan readied himself to jump in, to rescue Florette from her lunacy, but the moment never came.

“I did not mean any offense, Flammare,” she lied blatantly. “I simply meant that we are not in need of your great talents or your leadership, though I am sure that both are without peer. But you have said you wish to wait three months, and that, we simply can’t abide at all. How fortunate then, that we need not wait. You see, we can defeat dread Glaciel without your help or e’en your wise guidance, we lowly humans and Gézarde’s children.”

Since fucking when? Lucien and I almost died just trying to hold off their opening salvo. And Camille’s uncle had secured a peace until the sun was chosen. No one could even mount an attack without forfeiting all protection he’d secured. We might be fucked after that, but… He glanced at Florette, wishing for the thousandth time tonight alone that she would just coordinate with him in advance. Her face shone against the dark night, aura fierce and strong as he had ever seen it.

But that won’t matter if we’re all dead after another three months of dark skies.

“We humans have secured a deal of peace,” he began, earning himself a few turned heads, Florette and Corro among them. Serves you right. “We are protected from the Winter Queen until a new sun spirit’s in the sky. Any of us who wish to take up arms, we must renounce…” Our safety? All… recourse? “—any protection gained, and leave ourselves fair targets for her wrath.”

Florette nodded, seeming to understand. “Fernan is safe, for now, from Glaciel, but I have never had nor needed it, no benefits from that accord, in fact. Because there simply was no need at all. I mean to end her foolish ambitions, ensure she ne’er again threatens the world. I am resigned to face this task alone.” She let out a low chuckle. “But then, perhaps some others wish to fight? To seize the day and act without regret?”

“I too will make a stand against her now,” Gézarde growled. Really? Don’t you just want to go back to hiding under your mountain? Perhaps Fernan hadn’t given him enough credit. “Her spawn have taken my children from me,” he added, as if anticipating the thought.

“I see the wisdom in this course as well,” Corro added, to no one’s surprise. He’d been by Florette this whole time, leaving the unsettling implication that this was his plan more than hers. But it was too late now, regardless.

The mantis spirit scuttled forward, jostling the enormous pack atop her back. “By oaths I’ve sworn, I must decline this fight. But others would be wise to heed her words.” Not as good as true aid, but it was still support.

No one said anything for a moment after that, possibly because a spirit whose speech wasn’t comprehensible to humans was talking. Perhaps they were just taking a moment to ruminate on what was happening.

And then the shimmering rabbit bared its fangs, a tinkling sound emitting from its mouth that caught the air, forming ethereal words. “Why wait? The Arbiter of Light concerns me not, but Glaciel is a threat to us all.” It nodded its head towards Florette, fangs glistening in reflected light from the flame spirits. “Khali’s end tore holes in Terramonde through our carelessness, and I would sooner avoid the same mistake.”

Flammare looked halfway towards being the sun already, the way his heart was burning. “I thank you for your thoughts, fair Miroirter. But surely you can see the folly here? We must unite the light, and that takes time. We must give all consideration due, and only then expunge ‘Queen’ Glaciel.”

The light caught Miroirter angular face just right to suggest a sneer, though it was hard to be sure. “Across countless realities, I see no need for hesitation save your self-interest, Flammare. Do as you like, but so shall I.”

Flammare ignited into a giant sphere of flame, causing Florette to jump back, hair singed.

A red sun, just as he had formed in the sky on countless days. “You reckless fools may do as you desire, but all who join this madness earn my ire. We can afford disunity no more. This fractious mess will sort itself, most like. But any of you who even remain won’t long survive your lack of wisdom here. I have the power to enforce that now. As Arbiter of Light, it’s trivial.” His fire dulled, leaving only the red-hot metal frame and the corona of flame around it. “Spirits of light and flame, with me. We’re done.” He took off into the sky, followed by almost half of the spirits. Nearly all of the ones under his authority and influence.

After a tense moment, most of the rest began to disperse too, floating and crawling and skittering off the mountainside before there was time to much more. Even the ones who’d been in support, like Corro and the shiny rabbit.

Fernan took a moment, making sure that there was no one left to leave unimpressed, then ran to Florette, flame at his heels propelling him faster. Luckily the damage looked superficial, her skin unmarred by flame and heat, but his sight was somewhat limited, and not all wounds left scars. “Are you fucking crazy?” he whispered as he offered a hand.

“What?” she asked, pulling herself up. She sounded fine, at least, if a little winded. “I did things your way.”

Had Fernan still possessed his old eyes, they would probably have been bulging out of his skull right now. “My way?”

“Yeah. With the sun sages, with Camille, even spirits, you’re always blending in. Playing their game, even if they’re total assholes about it. Like that trial, or the council meeting with King Lucien.”

He blinked, mind racing to see if her words were true. “Do I really? I just… I’m doing the best with the circumstances people put me in.” He directed a stare her way, with that. “Sure, play their game, if you want to call it that. It’s better than getting stabbed for flipping the table.”

“That’s why you need to do the stabbing first.” Florette laughed. “But this was your thing, so I thought it best to do it your way. You know, an approach you could agree with.”

“I think we might have very different definitions of agreeable…” He trailed off as his eyes rested on the last remaining aura, a flickering candle against the night sky.

Laura’s eyes caught his for just a moment, and then she was gone.