Child

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Set five years in the past.

How Philomel came to have her daughter, Celandine - come inception, to conception and birth.

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It began with a lone ewer of wine.

Exactly why it was alone was unclear. Within the cellar, where it had been found, where rows of empty shelves where other bottles, caraphs and decanters had sat. For some of them, for months. Caught under the dim light of a high angled arrow-slit fortress window, the sorrow of the lack of alcohol was made more effective. Dust and silence where the last torquay's companions, thus it was with regret that the faun added in a sigh, and took the bottle from the shelf.

Clomp, clop, clop went her hooves up the wooden stairs, back to the great hall they had converted into a Mess. "It's the last one," she announced ahead of her.

From the top of the stairs came a small scuffle of a noise and then a grunt. "Well," said the unsmiling man, "I suppose we will have to make it last."

Philomel appeared at the narrow entrance, pushing the partially ajar door fully wide. Her eyes focused straight past the long hall, filled with rows of benches and trestle tables over to the low row of seats collected around the fireplace. These wooden thrones, with their low backs and wide arms made up the seats for the officers, when they ate with the rest of the warriors. Without tables they acted more like lounging chairs, comfortably decked out with cushions aplenty. Philomel had her favourite, as did her handsome, strong friend Vaeron and one of a few second in commands. Currently he sat in his, facing the fire that lit the room in a hazy glory, with his face upturned to greet her.

Gently she smiled, feeling at ease. It was not often the faun who had been through so many trials and tribulations felt this comfortable. But she was in her hidden fortress, surrounded by women warriors fiercely loyal to her. And here was her dear close friend. Barely had a month passed of them being in this place, and she already felt like it was home.

Rameses Oasis Vaeron, the mage who had partially helped to create what she was now, nodded at her. He would have grinned back to her were it not for the two long scars either side of his face, those which he had gained as a priest in service to his Elven star god - those that cut right through the zygomaticus major muscle and disabled him to smile forevermore.

But she could see the sparkle in his eye. The joy of a good night. Already they had consumed what they had found in Philomel's room and ... Well. That had run out. Therefore a fresh rosy joy was in them, and this wine was supposed to last them the rest of the still early night.

"It has been a long week," Vaeron grunted, leaning forwards to grab the empty goblets off the floor. The goblets that were heavily stained already from being fresh that evening.

With a warm, agreeable, "Mmm," and a nod, Philomel sat down beside him, holding out the ewer.

Vaeron set the goblets on the arm of his chair, and took the wine from her hand. Peering at it for a while he nodded, running a finger over the roughly written label.

"Strong at least," he grunted, uncorking it with a single movement. It roughly popped and he began to pour. "It will do."

An hour later and they discovered that the wine had indeed been strong. A fine aged vintage it was found, that was perhaps not all wine but maybe something more profound. Two goblet worths down and the human and the faun were on the ground before the fireplace, leaning against the chairs and each other. Philomel's eyes were half closed, caught in the hazy light of the slowly dimming fire, the cold of the cobble floor barely affecting her furry behind.

Gently she leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed long and slow.

"We've done a lot you and I, my friend."

"Hmm," came her grunting reply. "Since the ship, yes. Two years I've known you."

"And two years I've known you," she smiled, being more lazy in her drunken state than joyous.

"Fancy that," the grumbling man said. Neither was he energised and happy dosed up with alcohol. Instead he was merely more docile and grounded.

The faun let out a merry laugh. "Ah you make me crack up, Vaeron."

Simply, the mage raised his eyebrows, but a shine was in his eyes. A shine of amusement. "Princess," he drawled a little, picking up the ewer and shaking it. A small sloshing sounded, denoting a little liquid left. "I reckon you're going to be something big."

"Pah," Philomel scoffed, taking up her goblet and holding it out to him. She still didn't lift up her head from his shoulder. "Mate, I know I'm going to be big."

With a slightly shaking hand he splashed her a half filled vessel before tipping the rest into his. "Yeah you are."

She grinned, then laughed, raising her goblet in the air. "Because I'm fucking Philomel. Of the Gilded Lily, pirate, whore and bloody warrior. I was once an assassin, you know that."

"You still are," he clanked his drink against hers with a slight hiccup. "You still are, so much. Not free from Lichensith, never ever."

"Man I'm going to be something so big."

"Yup," he agreed, tipping back his head. "Yu-up."

"I should..."

"You should cement it with a legacy," he finished for her.

Philomel lowered her goblet. In her drunken state she paused, and then looked confused. It took her a long time to express her feelings. Almost a full minute.

"Ehhh?"

Vaeron grinned at her with everything but his lips. And he chugged back a huge gulp of his wine. Then, quite promptly, he turned to her and looked at her directly in the eyes, speaking in a very lethargic voice.

"You should have a child."

Drunk Philomel stared, head cocked, annoyed to be shrugged off his shoulder.

Once, twice, three times she blinked.

And she pulled a face. "A child, Vae. That is a bit extreme."

He shook his head, "The mightiest empires all had one thing in common - a bloodline. You are forging an empire here, Princess, and ... kid."

"I can adopt, Vaeron," she shook her head, slightly disgusted.

"Yeah, bu' who else would have your blood? Who else," and he stuck a finger in the air, "Who else would Drys bless."

Philomel paused and frowned. It was a good point. Her power did come from the goddess, who had taken an unusual shine to her. Anyone of her direct bloodline would have her magic running through them, surely. It was a high likelihood ... or at least a high chance that Drys would look very fondly on them.

"But that means I need to get pregnant. Just who would ..."

Cold. Wet. Alien. Sweeping forwards, Rameses Vaeron swept forwards and planted a full kill in his Princess' lips.

The resulting next few moments were some that many could only dream about. Or have nightmares about.

First Vaeron pulled back and wrinkled up his nose. A shiver ran down his spine as his whole body screamed in horror. What was he doing? Across from him Philomel sat stunned, absolutely still, bemused. Raising a hand she touched her mouth.

"Bu' ... Bu' I though' ..." She said, for the first and likely only ever time dropping some constenants.

"I am," he said in an unusually high and confused voice. "I am."

"But ..."

Downing the rest of his wine, the last dregs and the last few drops, Vaeron threw the goblet to the side. Luckily it was made of metal and it clanged off the edge of the stone fireplace. Grabbing Philomel by the hand he pulled her closer and suddenly began working on her belt, strewing the many folded fabrics there aside.

"Hang on, hang on!" She began to yell, waving her hands to fight him off. "Vaeron, this is ..."

"The right thing," he muttered. "What you need to do and I'm the only fucking man you're allowed to have a kid with."

"Says who?" Philomel said, her eyes large. It was not that she found Vaeron unattractive - quite the opposite. He was a well built man, with years of archery training gone into creating a fine chest and muscular structure. However, Philomel knew that Vaeron enjoyed the company over women, she knew it like she knew the subtlies of her own body. It was what made them such compatible friends, such close allies. It was what allowed her to be safe in the knowledge he would never make an advance on her.

That was until now.

"Says me," the drunken man said, hastily trying to work on her fabrics as she fought him away. "You could easily fall pregnant with any other man, but that means they would have a hold on you forever so you don't let that happen. Instead, I'm not going to even be bothered with raising the thing, I'm your friend not your lover so," he hiccupped, "So this works. Much better. Much nicer."

He reached out and grabbed her breast. As his mouth twisted up into one of disgust Philomel shoved her elbows between them and pushed him back.

"Vaeron," she said, sobering very quickly - though a wall of full awareness was in the way for some ours still. "Vaeron, seriously, no. This-"

"Just do it," Vaeron said, sliding back forwards, leaning his face towards her. "Quick and painless. In and out. This is ..."

He grunted and looked at her for a while. His eyes glazed over slightly as he tried to reason with himself.

"This ... You need this. You need an heir."

Solemnly she looked at him. And the idea and the realisation and the knowledge that what he said was absolute truth hit her. Heavily. An heir. If she wanted to build an empire she needed an heir. Yes she had some great women in her side, yes one of them could do, but a true, full blood heir, born of her own flesh and raised in the same way that she was. A faun. A child of Drys. An ...

He grabbed her by the hips and with the strength of forty years of experience he pulled her towards him. She could see the hidden disgust in his eyes, that which he was trying to hide. And she could only but adore him for it. Here he was, trying to rid himself of his very nature all for her.

"Vaeron ..." She said uneasily, a serious tone in her voice.

"Don't take your herbs in the morning," he spoke over her, cutting off her thoughts. "And take advantage that I'm honestly drunk right now. If it doesn't work ... Well we'll order more wine." He began to work on the knots of her material again and this time she did not resist. He looked down and continued his work. "I can get myself ready, you just need to ... Yeah ..." He grumbled under his breath incoherently.

Philomel felt a lump grow in her throat but she didn't fight now. She didn't look away. Instead she just kept her eyes down, watching as he flung away her various fabrics, pushed aside her hidden knives with a clatter to the stone. Jangles of metals rang to her ears and she stomached it all as he cleared a direct pathway to her underside, then immediately he switched and began working on his own coverings.

"It'll work better if you get yourself ready," he said in a low voice. "And I'll do it for me."

Slowly she raised an eyebrow and he shrugged. "You want me to kiss you more?"

"No way, that was disgusting," she replied dryly.

A shine in his eye showed a brief glimpse of amusement. "Hey, I can do better," he replied in a voice much more sober now. "I can try."

They did it on the hearthside, in the fading light of the dying fire. The long, empty stone room echoed with the sounds of their grunts and mutters of effort, broken by silences of forced kisses. When they were done they lay there, side by side, friend by friend, staring up at the glorious beamed ceiling, broke with splinters and odd carvings. No hand lay in another hand, no hearts hammered, save for the expense of energy. Instead they sighed, knowing what they had done should be sufficient.

True to his suggestion, Philomel did not take the herb that was green, budded and pleasant to smell - that which prostitutes of the world swore by. The Whore's Herb it was nicknamed. She did not take it for two weeks, but when the time of her moons came Vaeron drunkenly staggered into her room again. This time he took her in her room, on the chaise lounge, with the briefest amount of contact time possible. No kissing, and no hesitation. Again, she took no herb. However when another month passed and no event occurred the two of them shared looks and knowledge, breathing a deep, shared breath.

When she began to regret her decision, she had a dream. It was of a green field and an azure sky, young saplings all around. Buds were coming from some of those young trees, heralding the beginings of spring. A warm sun beat down and soft clouds floated in the sky, promising later rain. Though the trees looked as if they could be of an orchard, they were not in straight rows, and thus nature was attributed to this happening. Nature, life and -

A glance down and there was a belly, swollen to full term. It felt good, actually, an abundance within it of life and warmth. The child inside was waiting to come out, but had patience. Two hands, two Philomel hands, were wrapped over the bump and she stood there for a while, in that place of succulent plants and early blooming, simply watching down at what would be.

Then a third hand calm into view. Skin the colour of light bark, veins like knotwork. Philomel blinked, and she looked up, furrowing her brows as she looked into the eyes of ...

Drys. Lo and behold. Her goddess. Full grass-green gown, growing into the earth. Massive moth-like wings made of tendrils and transaparent leaves, holding the body aloft. Golden hair, cascading like a waterfall down as her hands were held out before her, towards Philomel. The skin perfect, smooth, beautiful ...

No words. But a single smile. And a slow nod. Hazel eyes met those of steely grey, and a smile flickered onto the goddess' mouth. Her wings beat - once, twice - sweeping up in the grass into a frenzy and she leant forwards, to place a fine hand comfortingly back onto Philomel's bump.

The goddess' eyes closed. And she was happy. And Philomel could simply feel the power coursing through her as Drys gave not only her to have the strength to carry this child, but also the child itself to receive the strength. The willpower. And ... the blessing.

*~*

Thus it was that Philomel van der Aart began to draw apart from her society. After three months she disallowed any lovers, male or female, into her hallowed bed. Even when she was on her great brothel ship, the Feisty Fox, she behaved as a host and that was all. She gave more tasks to her secretary, Gosling, and it came down to Henrietta Starr, the mighty sea captain who had joined the ship, to organise the voyages the Feisty Fox undertook. Philomel withdrew from much of her public life, and it was only when faced with her mother that anyone dared guess what was really going on.

In the corner of the Officer's cabin, Lacey van der Aart cornered her daughter.

"Okay, whose is it's?"

A short pause. A tight expression.

"What?"

Carefully Lacey folded her arms and lifted her chin. "Daughter."

"Mother."

They were alone at least, Lacey having taken the time to click lock the door and check the windows. The same ones she kept glancing at. Underneath them the huge ship swayed and swooned in the calm but still lively sea.

Folding her arms Lacey simply looked at her. Across the room, mostly wooden with the large oak table in the centre and the many maps scattered over it, stood Philomel, as proud as ever. A slant of evening sunlight cascaded through the window and caught her gorgeous violet hair.

"What?" The younger faun stood her ground, resolute in her silence and denial.

"Daughter, I have been a whore longer than you, remember," Lacey lightly stomped a hoof in frustration. "I know what pregnancy is. More than others. I had you!"

"Does not mean that I am."

"I know you, child," Lacey suddenly shouted back. Philomel raised both brows in surprise. In response, knowing she was losing her temper, Lacey shook slightly, then pulled in a groaning breath to try to ease back her anger. "I ... I know you," she said much calmer. "I am your mother. You have been acting strange now for over a month, and are always ill in the morning."

To that Philomel tightened her jaw and looked away, straight at the darkening light. "Mother," she said in a warning tone.

Lacey pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes. "What?"

"It was a decision I have to live with. And that I made. This is my kingdom I am building, not yours."

"You are still my daughter."

"Yes, and that is why you will respect my wishes and remain silent about all of this."

It took time for the older faun to answer. She stood there for minutes, gazing at her own child that she had struggled to raise, been so cautious about. With a strong backbone, Lacey had never been one to let another walk over her, but that trait she had passed down to Philomel. Someone who hadn't had the pain of an abusive husband, nor been too afraid to kill the pimp that ran their brothel, and burn it to the ground. For even strong women get raped. Even strong women can be afraid.

"At five months people will start noticing," Lacey rolled back her shoulders, finally looking away. "You should come up with some excuse if you are keeping this silent."

"I've already though of that," Philomel said in a quiet voice, finally openly admitting it. "Training. With the Crimson Hand."

Lacey nodded slowly. "Some project or other. I'll make it believable."

"Henrietta will be in charge of the ship," Philomel said, "It can take time away from being a brothel, some pirating should help." She brushed a hair back from in front of her face. Dreadlocked, it was thick and matted. "And Gosling will work on the administration side."

Lacey bobbed her head more. "Very well. And -"

"Vaeron will stay behind too," Philomel spoke fast.

There was a pause as her mother's eyebrow rose. "Ah, I see. But I thought he was ..."

"He is," Philomel sighed, "And this was all his idea. So work with him well, knowing he is the father of your future grandchild."

*~*

Two months later.

"Don't worry," his strong voice grunted. "Your empire will be fine."

Looking into his eyes Philomel felt the pain of saying goodbye. Though she did not love him - love for her was nothing more than a falsehood that others told themselves to make them feel happier, anyway - she still felt the pang of not seeing her best friend for such a long time.

For that is what he was for definite now. The man who had stomached through his own distastes to give her an heir.

He squeezed her hand tight and she saw the familiar sparkle in his eye. Quietly she sighed and looked down again, nodding. "Just ... Don't let it fall apart. I respect my mother but ..."

A small throaty chuckle came from his unsmiling mouth. "Don't worry. I will not her have too much power."

They stood on the end of the jetty. The wooden platform stretched almost a quarter of a mile out to the sea. On a private beach to the south of Radasanth this had been a place where the Gilded Lily had begun to rest the Feisty Fox when it was not in business. Ever since the misadventure with setting up their island base - and then opting rather the fortress in Concordia forest - the ship had been more in harbour.

Gently she removed her hands from his and looked over to where her ship was moored. Or, more rightly, the Pirate King Malachi's ship, which she hired on a permanent basis. Certainly the Feisty Fox brought in a great amount of revenue for Malachi's kingdom. She sighed a little, knowing full well that the next four months at least would be set far away from that world, that she was going to be spending a lot of her time exploring Akashima like she never had done, and then would head to that small island base that had never really become a base. Pursuing her lips she looked back to Vaeron and nodded at him.

"Just hold it together for me."

Completely serious he inclined his head. "I will do. This is as much my fault as yours."

"Yeah and it is too late to go back," she sighed. "I cannot believe you talked me into-"

He shrugged and gave an almost apologetic face. "As I said, any other man would then have hold over you."

It was true. She had to admit it. With Vaeron being the father it just made things simpler. He was her best friend. He would never be her heart's partner, her bed-mate. He would never be the one she thought about when she died. Instead he was the donor who gave his seed so that she might carry on the line that favoured Drys.

Her hands settled half instinctively over the small bump that now was situated at her belly. She hid it well for the most part beneath layers of loose blouses and a hand knitted sweater. Carefully, knowing that her very people were watching, Vaeron took her hand from her abdomen and spoke quietly.

"You need to keep it a secret."

Her eyes darkened slightly.

He looked more intently. "This is the best way, Princess. Keep the kid from all of us. Even me."

Philomel began to nod, looking away again to the side open sea beneath the high sun. "She'll be raised in Radasanth. I have a brothel in mind that ... The matron is a good woman. She will raise him or her as her own."

He looked at her for a while, then grunted a last time and stepped back. As Philomel huffed out to the light-strewn world she watched the sailors on the ship heave ropes and sacks. Some stood whilst others clambered up rigging like monkeys, scrabbling with artful athletics. They were highly skilled and highly trained, each an ex-whore, a feminist, a warrior or a combination of the three, most having suffered in their lives under some sort of supposed patriarchy.

And they were all loyal ... To her.

"Just don't let it go to shit," she finally said, rolling back her shoulders and standing taller. "These are all good people, and I do not want to see what I have made fail."

A small smirk twitched at the corner of Vaeron's mouth - the most he could get to the full sly smile. "Do not worry Princess," he spoke firmly. "You will still have a throne still when you return."

~*~

Veridian was only lucky that he and Vaeron appreciated one another's company enough to ensure the beginnings of a friendship, and appreciation of what Philomel's pregnancy meant. Naturally he would be with the faun for her entire journey, for there was no choice in the matter. No one doubted that. And the year of practically living in the Feisty Fox previous had developed sea legs for the small creature. Though an earth spirit he had come to appreciate the sea, with its ever shifting forms and considered it as simply as part of the world he was just not affiliated with.

Philomel, however, was of the earth, and he was determined to see her safely through this. Her having a heir was wise, he considered - it made her impact on the world more absolute. And if she did ever die ... Well in all likelihood he would too. Permanently. Forever. And their bodies would be laid to rest side by side, under that ash tree where they first met.

Until then Veridian would continue to sacrifice himself for her, and bestow upon her future child the grace of a kindly uncle.

He was satisfied with Philomel's choice, just as long as it wouldn't get in the way with her loving him. And through it all, through all her friendships forged she had never forgotten him. Anyway, with her decision to have the child raised separately and secretly there was little chance that Veridian would ever be forgotten.

He knew her the closest, the best, and even though she did not ask his permission for anything except that which directly effected him, he was always willing to understand. To go along with her plans. Because that was what access to her sharp mind gave. Understanding. Knowledge. Love.

This child would be a child forged with an intense future.

He just hoped that he, or she, would be able to live up to it.

~*~

"My name is Sakura," the young woman bowed, from the waist but not too low. As she rose she fixed Veridian with a wink and instantly he liked her.

"And mine is ... Just call me ... Whatever you want, I guess" Philomel huffed, dragging her heavy belly further up the stairs. She didn't want her name to be within hearing of this city. By her side Veridian trotted, tail twitching side to side. "And this is-"

"Madama," Sakura smiled at her. "And kitsune," she nodded to Veridian.

A purse of the lips, Philomel's eyes narrowed slightly at the geisha, standing there at the entrance to the Akashiman okiya - the traditional guest house. After their short journey at sea Philomel and Veridian had been on a tour around the capital city, exploring its temples and palaces over the past two weeks. It seemed in that time that the foetus within Philomel had begun to explode with life, for hardly sooner had she stepped off the ship than her belly had swollen to the ridiculous size it was now. To the extent that even her billowing shirt hardly could conceal her pregnancy.

It did not escape the notice of the geisha.

"And little one coming," she finished with her exotic accent, clasping her hands before her. "How may I help you?"

Philomel arched an eyebrow but gently laid her hand on the blade at her side. Elegantly, despite the bump, she bowed in response and told Sakura why they had been sent there.

"I am told by governor Tadashi that you are in contact with a merchant," she said, "Who is one of your clients ..." She looked the woman up and down, eyeing the glorious kimono, geta and pins holding up the curl of black hair. "A ... Mr Mushi?"

Sakura seemed to beam with interest. "Mr Mushi is a common guest of mine yes. He likes my voice you see."

Songs. Dance. Serving tea. What the geishas in this flower district were known for. What most of them were known for. And that was all. Opposed to rumour, only the rare few have other services.

"I see," Philomel nodded. "And we were told that sometimes you have gone to his ships to perform there."

The woman seemed to blossom like the lilies on her finely embroidered clothing. "He does indeed. And you wish to meet him to partake on a journey on his ship?"

Sharp one, isn't she? Veridian spoke quietly.

Philomel smiled, a glint in her eye. She certainly is. I like her.

Me too, the fox agreed.

"I do," the faun replied to the human. "He is exactly the sort of man I need."

"Asks no questions, keeps silence?" Sakura said in a lower voice. Then she winked again, but this time at both the faun and the fox. And sidestepping she gestured, welcoming them in. "Please come in, Madama, Kitsune. Welcome to my okiya, The Purple Orchid."

With a glance to one another Veridian and Philomel realised that this really was their current only plan. The only ship that they knew of that was heading to Skara Brae for trade, and would ask nothing of a pregnant faun travelling with a fox companion. A small shrug and they entered as one, both their tails twitching in agitation.

They came through the bamboo doorway, into a small hallway lined with panelling and sliding doors. A mat before them offered a welcome greeting and a step. Both of them wiped their feet before heading in - a tradition here.

"Come ..." A gesture of the hand and a smile to an awkward man who suddenly burst through the door. A hallway behind him appeared and he fumbled for a moment before bowing low and hurrying past them.

"Ah, never mind." Sakura conducted them forwards. Philomel and Veridian exchanged amused looks, but followed the geisha at her will, soundlessly agreeing that privacy was the best policy here. They left the startled man to race down the street to the doom of the dimming sunlight.

She took them through a sliding door, along a threshed hallway that creaked and past a room with sitar music flowing out. With cream-painted walls the hallway led to a large room with cushions on the floor surrounding low tables. The thin walls were painted with a heroic scene of a warrior fighting a phoenix, alive with colour and glory. With a bow Sakura finished off her short introduction to her life and spoke again.

"Thank you for your patience," she explained. "But we can talk freely now," she bade them to sit and they did, at the edge of one of the longer tables.

"I am pleased to say that Mr Mushi is expected tonight and you can talk to him then."

A tall man with greying, dark hair and small, deep-set eyes wandered into the room. A long moustache, that trailed to his shoulders identified him as unique. Currently Philomel was lounging, take full advantage of the okiya's hospitality. Spread out on her side she looked like an ancient noble, flicking grapes into her mouth as Veridian snoozed by her hip as if guarding the bump there. As the man strode in to their small but private room, Philomel looked up, slightly stunned. Lips parting she pushed herself up onto her knees and stared back at the mustached man as he stopped, stunned.

Clearly he wasn't expecting anyone.

"Ah ..."

Quickly Philomel arose, cringing slightly as she forgot the weight at her furred belly. She paused and bowed her head just a little.

"Master Mushi I assume?"

The man with the moustache paused, then narrowed his almond-shaped eyes almost suspiciously. "Who is asking precisely?"

After a short pause of awkward silence Philomel smiled slightly. "I ... Call me Lacey," she held out a hand, thinking of all things her mother's name wouldn't seem too strange to her tongue.

Slowly Mr Mushi took her hand, though there was a cautiousness about him.

"I am supposed to be meeting Sakura," he said with a voice of disappointment.

"Ah yes, we are ... Acquaintances of hers." Philomel gestured to herself and Veridian as he stretched his length, just gaining out of his snooze. "This is my companion, Kitsune."

Mr Mushi raised an eyebrow but said nothing. It led to a dull silence that the faun found herself needing to fill.

"I hear you have a ship ... Sailing to Scars Brae."

"I may do," Mr Mushi shrugged, folding his arms. "But I am here for entertainment, not business."

"Cannot both be the same?" Philomel slowly got to her hooves, pushing out one hip. Above it her belly buldged like a rounded pie. Her lips pouted and she grunted as finally Mr Mushi seemed to understand her state.

"Look," she sighed. "I need to get to Scara Brae. To an island called Erstfort. It's off the coast-"

"I'm a merchant sailor, not an idiot. I know Erstfort." The man folded his arms. "Did Sakura put you up to this?"

"No actually I paid her for this," Philomel shrugged, arms folding over her stomach. "And I have plenty of money to pay you just as much."

"Tell me, do you get on with the lord there?"

Philomel made a slight smile. "Baron Marmaduke knows a cousin of mine," she said, pleased with the lie she was weaving. "I won't tell you her name but she has gathered herself quite the reputation. She has given me hope that Marmaduke will take me in and give me a place to rest until ..." She looked down at her belly.

Mr Mushi paused, spiralling his long moustache. "Hmm. I will consider this. I am Sakura's primary customer, you know and if she likes you ..."

"She is just through there," Philomel pointed, her finger indicating a screen door, one of the paper ones that Akashima loved so dearly. "She is waiting for you."

The man seemed to blossom with that. He grinned. "Ah. I will see you later then," he said, before quickly striding out.

~*~

The riot began late that night.

Later, Philomel discovered that the city had been experiencing sustainability issues, as tides of people migrated in from the surrounding lands and the community could not cope. As the number of farmers fell the amount of moving food did also, and so with the move of people from country to city with the promise of new, affordable lifestyles and fanicer occpuations, there had been chaos in terms of societal structure. Disagreements in the council chambers also had meant the welfare office had run aground in terms of producing anything regular. Jobs that had been the hope of so many migrants were not available. The fantastic lives of their dreams were simply just a mirage. And those few merchants, like Mr Mushi, who dared to import and export, were looked upon with distrust.

Philomel knew that the people of Akashima were proud, heroic and brave. She also knew, though, that they were inlooking, focused on their society and nation first. Visitors were welcomed, but treated with suspicion, and those merchants who braved the tentatively xenophobic borders, who might be the saving grace in a time like this ... to some, they were the betrayers.

Hungry and unwilling the riot that had been building for the last week, the latest it was said (they occurred on a rather regular monthly basis). Philomel had barely noticed it, with her concentration on sightseeing as well as protecting her belly, but it did occur to her that she and Veridian had seen rather many few people. And many had not even asked her about who she was or where she had come from. She had received no questions, merely looks, and this, she supposed, was because they were doing most of the talking in whispers behind buildings. The lack of words had been because of a building of anger in hearts, and though they had not acted when she was walking past, they acted now.

Bang. The door opened, revealing Mr Mushi's face in a torrent of black hair and heaped materials.

"If you are coming," he said, amid shouts outside. Many roars, many cries and crashes. "Then come now."

Hastily he was trying to tie on a belt around his long, disheveled robe.

"What?" Philomel looked at him, confused, glancing at the wall where a scream came from beyond it. Her eyebrows crushed together. "What is going on? I thought you said you would-"

"Yes, I said I would think on you coming." Raggedly he managed to tie on his clothes and he stood there, catching himself against the doorway for a moment, panting. "Are you coming or not? They hate me almost much as they hate you."

"Hate me ... who?"

Mr Mushi thrust a hand to the wall, where a faint red glow was beginning to outline silhouettes through its thin material.

"Rioters, Madama ... Lacey, whatever the hell your name is. They collate them starving with my trade, even though it doesn't make sense, but whatever. I am leaving now. Are you coming with me?"

Philomel blinked, but pushed herself to her knees and poked awake a tired Veridian. The small beast opened a single golden eye and growled darkly.

"Madama?"

"Yes, we are coming with you." She nodded.

Less than two minutes later and they were out of the building.

The glow that had been appearing through Philomel's wall was a flame. One that highlighted the shadowy figure of a would-be murderer across her path. Not wanting in any way to make herself reknown here, and despite having enough weaponry to hold down a fort, Philomel had not killed anyone. Instead she had picked up the few belongings that she and Veridian had with them and followed Mr Mushi from the okiya. Outside, waiting for them was an exhausted-looking Sakura.

"They usually riot on a weekend," she said, as if trying to explain herself, "Never a weekday, like today. Mr Mushi always makes sure he is beyond the city walls, so that he does not get caught up in the violence."

"Do your people tend to bottle up their anger over time and then release it so suddenly?" Philomel asked, meaning it mostly as a sarcastic comment.

Surprisingly, Sakura nodded. "Oh yes. It is just what they do. And with the food shortage - well. We have to be careful."

"Food shortage?"

The geisha grabbed her hand and pulled her fast, beginning to run as fire licked up from a side ally. A man with a huge traditional yari began running down there, his face painted with black lines. His head was covered in a warrior's helmet while the rest of him was in normal clothes, and thus the faun considered this rather amusing for a moment. That was, until she realised he was there to kill them. And so, she grimaced, swept up Veridian and ran with Sakura as fast as her pregnant belly could allow.

"But you are a geisha," she yelled to Sakura, "Why are you coming with us?"

"I choose to entertain Mr Mushi, an international trader," Sakura shouted back, "And they do not like that. So every month I just have to make myself scarce."

"Do they usually set things on fire?"

Sakura shook her head, dodging around a narrow corner as Mr Mushi did, the man being just ahead. Less artistically Philomel dodged around also. "No, I suspect it has something to do with a wild foreign ship though that recently docked here. Apparently they tried to badly and raucously advertise themselves as a sea-bound brothel." The geisha rolled her eyes. "Clearly those sailors had no idea what they were doing. They did not know how suspicious Akashimans can be."

Philomel glanced to Veridian, wincing a little. Ah, she thought, I think we may have caused this.

Did not cause it, he replied, his legs hanging as he was tucked under her arm, But certainly your mother has made it worse.

~*~

Wildly, the wind buffetted the sails while below the waves slammed against the wooden hull. Thunderous drums, like those of a death parade by a forest tribe, were resplendent, shaking the structure and the hearts of those inside the ship. Over the deck the odd figure scrambled, ducking in and out of the lightening strikes, their forms cowered over to avoid the spitting, striking rain that fell like hammer blows. No gulls flew overhead - they had all departed before the storm hit - and in some ways this was nature merely relating the emotions that had been felt in the city the ship had departed from.

The Bonzai sailed with uncertainity, rolling in the waves and making little headway. Despite a full wind the forces of the storm had kept her within a similar place for five days now, the progress they made always been shunted back by another fierce gust. This meant that so far a week had passed but they had barely gone more than five miles away from the Corone coast, that cruel nature being the thing that prevented them from escaping the city that hated them, but also the thing that stopped anyone from sailing out to meet them. A strong anchor and an experienced crew did mean that any leaks were dealt with swiftly and any threats were solved without any hindrance - but it had been long now. Supplies of spare wood, rope and other repair materials were getting low, as well as the possibility of an outbreak of disease due to the stagnant water. This mean that one passenger had to stay much out of the way of others, for fear that she might make the foetus in her belly sick also.

Doubled over, arms folded over her swollen belly and head as low as it could go, Philomel sat in the lower catacombs of the ship. She had holed herself up in her cabin at the beginning of the tempest, hiding from all others, knowing that she could not be any more help than panic. Truly she trusted the sailors aboard - one brief look to the crew and she had seen the experience in the sterness of their faces, the determination in their eyes. It was the same looks that she saw in her own crew of her own ship, the Feisty Fox. Being a skilled sailor she could have assisted in some way, but the fact that she had an extra burden meant it was wise to stay behind. It became Veridian's duty to run between corridors and ladders, finding what food he could and providing the comfort she needed.

Another acidic feeling and Philomel grabbed the wooden bucket beside her. As the ship lurched her stomach lurched too, and the small dinner she had consumed ended up as a stinking, discoloured mess. Wrinkling her nose she made noises of distaste, but was cut off as yet more decided to launch itself. Tears sprouting from the corners of her eyes she moaned, clutching her stomach and wishing it could be over. Glancing down at her hand she saw it was shaking slightly, but thought nothing of it. A weak body was what she could expect with all this nausea.

A huge wave slapped the side of the sea vessel. With a groan, Philomel was flung back against the wall of her room, the crate she saw on slipping slightly from under her. It reminded her for the hundreth time that she should ask about getting it bolted down. But who had the time on this boat to possibly come to her and assist. Grinding her teeth together she told herself to pull herself together and stood, uneasily, to her hooves, balancing as great creaks ran up the structure. As another bout of sickness came over her and she just managed to get the vomit into the bucket, the faun staggered over to the hammock, stretched from huge iron mount to another. A footfall and she practically fell into it, moaning loud.

Quietly a face, made up of a red muzzle and a white jaw, poked its way around the doorway. The scraping of claws could be heard as he clutched onto the floorboards beneath him. He blinked, watching her sink deep into the comfort of the hammock, took a moment, then turned and left. Tail wagging he went back to the kitchen to find yet more water that might bring her comfort.

In this horror of a storm.

~*~

Two weeks later they finally made it to the Skara Brae shore.

Stumbling out of the ship, Philomel van der Aart through the merchant Mister Mushi a pouchful of coin, wordlessly. Without ceremony or discourse. She barely even looked at him, simply her desire to get onto land was her driving force. It was wrong for a woman so burdened with another life to have to struggle with a storm or illness as she had. Thus, she did not thank or really acknowledge the man who had taken her from the dangerous Akashima and traversed the sea for her. Instead she gave him what she owed, and more, in the form of a glorious-sounding bag of coin.

With her possessions all in a bundle beneath her arm the faun moved onto the jetty. It beat out a rhythym beneath her hooves, drumming back a steady tune like her heartbeat. For steady was her pace, continuous was her movements, encouraging her body onwards onto true lands. Surviving on instinct was she just now, holding herself together with little more than will. Weakness was in her bones, her muscles and her flesh, but pride was there also, knowing many eyes were on her. Thus, she kept striding, swollen belly before, small fox to the back and a mixture of weaponry and fabrics shoved beneath her arm. The only paying guest of the Bonzai left with dignity and ego, despite all that had gone on, giving them enough gold in payment to replace all that they had lost in the voyage.

Thump, thump, went she down the wooden jetty, and onto the cobbled street of the small harbour village there. She knew eyes were on her, she knew the pressure behind her. She knew they knew something of who she was, and what she represented, but they still knew her as this mystery pregnant faun. Thus, the mystery would keep on, and the mighty stories would live, of the woman who was not seen in a storm, save to stride out on three occasions, look like she knew exactly what to do, fix something, and then stride back away to hide below deck - scowling like she hated the weather and had only come to check on it.

Strength, reputation and image was what made the Matriarch of the Gilded Lily so respected, and even now, she was not going to let that fail. Thus, on she kept, going with full steps and a head held high, barely holding on but hiding it. Last drains of energy, last reserves of willpower, yet she knew those people. She had sailed for three weeks with them, and tales always spread. Moving boldly she went on, a picture of dignity, right up until the doors of the public house right at the harbour's edge. Into that door she went, siezing the handle with purpose, and disappearing inside.

Only to stand there, take one look at the matron at the bar, then burst into tears and sink to the floor.

She awoke to the sound of sea birds calling to the sky. Their ragged, but melodic, single-note caws filled the air, followed by a short silence and then the sound of dramatic splashes, along with a chorus of whistling wind. Beating wings outside the window, fish washed up on the stoney shore, their wet bodies making slapping noises. These were the resonations that Philomel knew, having grown up near the Radasanthian harbour her whole childhood. All that was missing was the thousand shouts of merchants, warriors and seamen, clamouring for a good position in the lively port.

Cautiously she opened her eyes, and found herself in a small, but comfortable room. Light streamed in through shutters on a small window, and there was the faint smell of frankincense in the air. She lay on a comfortable flat piece - a bed by its feel and as she slowly glanced around, a bed by its looks. Her eyes wandered over to the walls, seeing the oak panels, finished with a shiny sheen, a small chest as a piece of furniture, a closed door, a stool, a chair and -

Someone she had not expected to be there.

Quickly, Philomel sat up, eyes huge. Immediately she discovered it was far too fast and light-headedness, as well as unhappy, unwelcome nausea rose. Swallowing air she tried to relay her surprise as well as overcome the discomfort that was savagely attacking her body.

"Ugh," she mumbled in a thick voice, "Ugh, unh, why are - bleehhhh."

Sakura raised an eyebrow, but smiled, remaining in her straight backed position, her hands clasped elegantly before her. She wore a bright, clean kimono, with the sash tightly pulled and her hair immaculate - as if she had never even been part of the storm. As if she had merely stepped from a quiet road in Akashima, and appeared here in the harbour town. Even her make-up was perfect, with brightly polished geta on her feet.

"How - 'ow - are you," Philomel sucked in more breath and suddenly was forced to bend over as pain rippled through her body. It was her abdomen protesting about the foetus, the stress and the near exhaustion she had forced herself into. As she tightly breathed in the scent of frankincense became familiar again and she peeked out the corner of her eye where she thought the smell was coming from. True enough there was a tiny burner, with the small pale rock burning in a ceramic dish at the top.

"Be still," Sakura's gentle and soft voice said, now moving with her. A warm hand was laid on the faun's shoulder. Comforting, precious. "Mr Mushi has moved on, I elected to stay here when I noticed that there were signs of you struggling. Do not think that I am stupid enough not to have noticed the stenches of vomit coming from your cabin during the voyage."

Philomel curled her lip and looked back at her. She growled, but did not move the geisha's hand, knowing that it was much better Sakura was here, rather than abadoning her. Indeed, it looked like Veridian was not even here right now - just the entertainer.

"Mushi will get you back home," Philomel muttered, "The rioters will have stilled by now."

Sakura shrugged and smiled. "Maybe they have, but it is better to be safe. Besides, getting on the Bonzai was a decision made on a whim, and staying here was too. I might as well assist you in what ways I can."

She leant back, now seeing Philomel was able to hold her own, and allowed the faun to sit up. Resume her pride.

"Unless you have an experienced midwife on hand?"

"Experienced?"

"Yes, experienced."

Philomel blinked, before letting out the breath her body needed and forced herself to relax right back.

It was fine. She was safe. Clearly the matron of this inn downstairs had immediately acted when Philomel had fainted. Somehow she had got her up here, and at some point Sakura had come to assist. Likely Veridian had shown them where one of Philomel's six stashes of coin were. Glancing down she saw that her dirty blouse had been removed, and someone had placed it with a cleaner tunic. Aside from that she had no other clothes on. Just the crossed hooves beneath her of her own legs.

"Where is my ...?" she asked, a hand going to her belt.

The question, being unrelated entirely to that which Philomel had asked before, made Sakura pause and be taken aback.

"Your ..." she furrowed her brow for a moment before realising what the gesture meant. "Ah, your luggage you mean? Yes, it is right ..."

She did not get up but she gestured under the bed. With a small strain of her neck Philomel could just peer past the edge of the piece of furniture and spy the end of a sheathed sword poking out the end of a tightly twisted told of material. Nodding once to herself, she looked back up to Sakura and asked another question, still unrelated to the original topic.

"Veridian?"

A pause. "Your kitsune? He is downstairs, apparently trying to order food. Apparently he writes?"

An image, all too familiar, of Veridian with a quill in his mouth, scratching out words on a piece of parchment, however rudimentary, came to Philomel's mind. She nodded.

"Yes, he does. Awful hand though. Seeing as he has only his mouth to do it with."

Sakura blinked. Clearly she had not been expecting an answer like that.

"But he is a fox?"

"He is clever," Philomel shrugged. And offered no further information. Not that he was an earth-spirit, anything. The geisha would simply have to put up with that.

"Right."

"So do you know an experienced midwife?"

Dramatic sigh. Honestly couldn't she let it rest?

No, because Philomel still had not actually answered the question, despite it first being asked over an hour ago. Now she was eating on her bed, spooning amounts of bread and salad into her mouth, as well as the occasional chicken piece that Veridian encouraged down her gullet.

Meat is good, he kept saying. Good protein for you and baby.

A baby I won't even be seeing much of, Philomel muttered.

But one that is in you. Eat.

Washing the last mouthful down with a swathe of oragen juice Philomel took time to pause, and then try to think of something to say that would distract from the answer.

"Umm ..."

"Just tell me."

"I have seen birth," Philomel replied.

And indeed she had. She encouraged any whore who wanted to keep their baby to do so, and to take time off work to keep them well and fed. If they wanted to have an abortion, that was fine as well, so long as they used safe methods. The Gilded Lily actually had few laws internally about safe abortion methods, about rights of the father (there were many, unless that father was a rapist ... then he had probably already been murdered by the Gilded Lily) and about responsibilities for oneself and offspring. The fortress itself had face one birth since its establishment, and growing up in a brothel Philomel had witnessed a birth many times. But never had she taken part in one. That was a job for midwives, and the healers. The Gilded Lily had a series of these of these within their ranks, and outwith, who they contacted if needed.

"Yes, but do you have someone responsible on hand to-"

"Alright, fine, I do not," the faun snapped, shoving her plate down on the bed. "I am sort of doing this secretly, in case you did not guess. Away from everyone, even the father. No one can know that I am here. It is a private birth, I plan to do it with Veridian."

Sakura blinked. And her lips twitched upwards in a smile. "You plan to rely on a clever fox to assist in your child's birth?"

Philomel groaned, looking into the sky. The geisha laughed and leant forwards.

"Look, before I was a geisha, I was a midwife. I can help you in your final months, I can assist you and deliver the child. If you do not want my help ... why then send me away. But my help is here, and I am not just here for your money. I am here because it is the right thing to do."

As the silent and slightly stunned faun sat there, staring, the human woman with glossy black hair straightened her back once more.

"So? What do you say?"

~*~

They headed further inland, the company of them small in number but strong in purpose. Still with all her weapons in tow but with the ability to effectively use them dwindling, Philomel found it easier to keep out of danger rather than actively seek it as she was prone to do. Hence, they travelled by the backroads, and by horseback, quietly and unassumedly. Their clothing was not fine - the nicer things such as Sakura's kimono - they had wrapped away and stored it behind their mounts. Two horses with two bold, strong and cloaked women would be unassuming down the quieter roads of this island. An island Philomel had once hoped to know so very well, but those plans had fallen to nothing.

Erstfort was a minor piece of land that excused itself from the main business of Scara Brae through a narrow sea of water. It was small enough to be thought lesser of, and mountainous enough to only attract the hardiest of individuals. With the majority of the land being wilting, deciduous forest and the only major house being a manor atop the lowest of the hils, Erstfort was a mostly forgotten place which would have been ideal for the beginnings of the Gilded Lily's headquarters. The island was under the regulation and managament of Lord Maramaduke, a baron who was in as many unlawful projects as he was lawful ones. The story went that many years ago, in his youth, he had gotten in debt with the main Scara Brae banks, and from that he had suffered and had to find other ways of earning money - or otherwise be removed from power. Thus, he had sought out irregular ways to make finances meet, and things had simply since then become a tradition more than anything. He had met Philomel one night by the most simple of ways - by hiring her - and the two had gotten talking and ... well.

But that had been another time. Another plan. Marmaduke had broken with Philomel about the project, and the plans about the Gilded Lily's headquarters had come to nothing. Instead, Philomel had managed to improve her ship with the granting of the Pirate King Malachi, and since that day everything had gone easier. It had taken a couple of years after that to establish the beginnings of the idea of the Gilded Lily fortress and now Philomel had her own kingdom.

Yet friendship with Lord Marmaduke had never failed entirely. Though Philomel still felt hurt for his betrayal, she did not blame him. It would have been a risk for him to place in his trust in her to not turn his island into a business that was more successful than his own. Put together. Thus, she kept herself going with pride, contacting him when she needed, and vice versa. He had the need for women to placate those who he angered, she had the need for contacts in Scara Brae, which he could provide in plenty. With his business concentrated on these islands, and hers in Corone their process had become to be beneficial.

And now he agreed for her to hide in this small backwater isle for the last three months of her pregnancy, in a small farmhouse where he entertained those who were not his wife. It would be empty and ready for Philomel and her company to enter and spent their life in peace, until such a time as the Drys-ordained child came.

If only it had been that easy.

~*~

They got to the farmhouse in good time. Cosy and warm it was a small but immaculate cottage. Made out of red brick and a similarly coloured mortar it sat amongst two hills that descended into a tight and comfortable valley. A neat garden lay out to the front, which allowed a view out over a larger valley in which the actual farm lay. Stretches of trees and clearings lay beyond, with the fluffy shapes of sheep chewing and moving steadily. Beyond that was a slow decline to the sea, where a stoney beach was made and a small jetty, in a bay that was otherwise walled by cliffs.

A private beach. A private farm. A private world in which to bring a baby to life.

Inside the house there were two floors. A kitchen to the back, with all the standards of a contemporary home. A long stone worktop. A huge basin for water and an interior pump-tap. A series of containers for all sorts of food and the finest, most modern Aleraran cooking stove one could find. Run by charcoal and magic, if one so possessed the power, with a huge cast iron top and space for cooking bread. From there the bottom floor extended into a large front room, with a generous fireplace, a rough wooden table and a set of armchairs. A back door led to two servants rooms that was situated under a staircase that led upwards to the second floor where three bedrooms and a further sitting room was, half the time it seemed used as a study.

Philomel sighed long and satisfied, setting her bags down. She nodded, slowly, looking around as behind her Sakura and Veridian entered. They glimpsed the long front room uplit with the light of small but numerous windows dotted into the walls.

"I think this will do," she said in a pleasant voice. "I did not see anyone for miles. This will honestly do."

And she turned back to Sakura. "Are you sure about this?"

The geisha, who in her life had been a midwife, a nurse and a server it seemed, smiled pleasantly and nodded. "I am," she replied. "You need the company and I can do with a change of scenery for a few months. I assume you have paid to have food and so on brought?"

"Of course," Philomel inclined her head back. "Marmaduke will bring supplies starting from tomorrow. I doubt he himself will come, as I asked him not to to keep my profile here down, but I sent money in advance for us to be fed and watered for the next three months at least."

Those first few weeks were simple and bliss.

It was how she had described. A quiet, peaceful world of long hours in the sun, watching the sheep drift to and fro across the fields. Occasionally a shepard could be seen with his loyal black and white dog, circling and tending to the sheep. They would sit watching the flock as they drifted between trees and fields, but sometimes in the long stretch of grass that went in a winding path from the farmhouse to the beach. For there was enough of it, at least, to be a clear view.

Peace settled, and the women plus the fox-form earth-spirit settled down into an easy life. Sometimes they would take long walks on the stoney beach, other times they would sit and talk to one another of their hopes and dreams. Books were aplenty, for the farmhouse was well stocked.

Also true to his word Baron Marmaduke sent a young man twice weekly laden with provisions and any other things they desired. It was the same usual thing - a supply of hard cheese, bread, wine, smoked meats and assorted fruits. Occaisionaly also they were provided with a pie which they warmed in the oven. It did not take long for them to realise that it was far cheaper for Veridian to set the oven on light. A simple launch of his flaming bite was enough to send a roaring blaze into the magically sensing vortex. And then the oven would heat up fast, and magnificently - sparking a way into providing a hot meal.

The first time the man came he just blinked, and smiled, gave his baggage and left. Over time, however, he submitted to the conversations of the faun and human, and began to stay for longer time. Through these conversations Philomel actually learnt more about Sakura, for she seemed eager enough to tell the young man things she had only partially described to her. Firstly, she was an Akashiman, but had not always lived there. Instead she had spent her early adult years in Radasanth, serving as a nurse and then midwife to a charity hospital, actually under a project by the Ixian Knights.

This latter feature made Philomel begin to tense. The Ixians, though they were more and more a lessening active membership and scheme of Corone society, had been, to Philomel, an avid enemy through her earlier times. In no small way had they impacted her to fight for those who were outside of the law for personal reasons, living in the chaos and neutrality of life because they had no choice. The Ixians in no small way had been too perfect, too righteous, and had scorned far too many whorehouses for Philomel to ever feel comfortable having them as a neighbour.

Besides. They were the enemy of the Crimson Hand, and that was where Philomel had begun her journey into power. Old hurts die hard.

Later on she confessed this to Sakura, and there was awkward tension in the house, of which not even Veridian or a visit from the young man, whose name turned out to be Harry, could ease. More trips were taken down to the beach, more focus meant on exercising with that massive belly, more time was spent on reading. And every day, when it came time for Sakura to check in on Philomel's baby and feel around the belly with soft, gentle hands, they had silence.

~*~

Despite these troubles it was not the Ixian Knights which separated the two women.

Instead it was something far more oderous and horrible. It was the will of man. Not Harry, nor the shepard, nor Marmaduke. Not Veridian, not the farmers who had noticed the farmhouse was in use again, nor Mister Mushi who was sailing to Raiaera. It was an ordinary man, who had little to do in his life but be desperate - but a man who still had secrets. And he watched the farmhouse for several days as he assessed the strengths of the two women within.

It came with the pitch black of night. A shaking of her shoulder and a hiss.

"Lacey?" the voice whispered

Philomel grunted, waving her hand, eyes still tight closed. "She'm no' here. She'm on the ship."

"No, Lacey, I need you to wake up," a slightly confused tone to the voice this time but nevertheless insistent. Her shoulder shook, again and harder

"Ugh, she no' here, geddit? If you wan' mum then ..."

"Your mother?" a pause, and the pressure at her shoulder was relaxed a little. "Your mother is alive?"

"You'm the one keepin' af-after her ..." Philomel battered the hand out behind her more aggressively. "Tell her I be back after baby is born. I don' want to get up, Maverik. I am too ..."

A sudden, dull silence.

"But you are called Lacey."

There was a beat. A pause in the air as Philomel, woken up and dulled from waking up, blinked, her mind placing the pieces together. Blinking, she stared at the wooden panels that made up the wall before her, the seconds ticking by as she slowly realised just what she had said.

Lacey. The voice had caled her Lacey and then she had denied that that was her name. Lacey was the name she had given for herself to Mister Mushi. The same one he must have inferred to Sakura as being her name and now -

"Shit."

She sat up, bold and upright, turning swiftly to face the geisha standing on the floor by the bed and looking down at her, all the horror of the world on her face. By the light it looked to be about early dusk, with the faint sounds of morning dawn chorus filtering in through the single window to the small but perfectly useable room. Philomel bit her lip, knowing that from now on things would be even more strained between them.

"Gah ... shit," she muttered, raising a light fist to her mouth and hiding half her face, as she gazed with a sort-of apologetic glance to Sakura. "Sorry. I had to use a fake name so that no one would know ..."

"I see." A lip twisted up with distaste and Sakura was suddenly very unamused. "Whatever. What I came to say is that there are people downstairs. And they do not seem friendly.

"In fact they sound like the rioters from Akashima."

~*~

There had been a single man the night of the riots in Akashima, by the name of Buraha Murashi, who had seen the ships leaving the harbour. He had been on port duty, and had a job, but supported the rioters for the simple reason he had friends and relatives who were starving. And that meant all the world to the quiet, lonely blacksmith.

His eyes saw the foreign ship, her anchor in the waters. He watched as various women and men went back to and fro, some looking guilty, others looking pleased. He saw the red silks dangled over the side of the hull and he breathed slowly, putting the pieces together.

It was him who raised the alarm about a non-national sea-faring brothel in the harbour. It was Buraha who said the first words that made the riot turn into one of fire and torment. It was he who cried wolf, and sent other men, who were much more angry and hungry than he was, down the wooden jetty and screaming for their lives.

When the chase for the various, so-defined 'enemy' ships began, Buraha was hesitant. He thought it was not fair going into international waters and following the ahips to their equal ports. He protested, but he was dismissed and sent to follow one of the lesser wanted vessels - one owned by the merchant Mushi that organised trade from Scara Brae. Not too far away from Akashima, so he was not deemed a major threat. Usually the rioters would have not followed the escaping boats, but for this time, with the heinous introduction of the brothel-ship honour was shamed, people were disgusted. It seemed to be the final straw for many, and whilst the imperial guard fought back for control of the city many of the rioters took to sea.

Buraha and three other men, in a small sloop, followed the Bonzai for weeks. They managed to keep them on their horizon for the majoirty of the voyage, only losing them when a large, angry storm hit the waters. For days after they were tossed around, one man eventually losing his life and many of the rations being spoiled. After the weather calmed Buraha and his two remaining comrades, Hiro and Wotari, sailed until their food ran low and their energy began to fail.

For three days and three nights they gathered fever and hunger, coming to a point where they drifted on open sea. It was only luck that they came close to an island and a fishing boat, enough to be rescued by the kind fisherman. For some time they stayed with the man in his lonely little hut, confused at the start but gathering knowledge as they did. Hiro died, as he never fully recovered, and it was only after they had buried him that Buraha and Wotari thanked the fisherman, their minds beginning to alter about their opinion on non-Akashimans.

And they made a pledge to sail home, ready to go back to their homeland and the uncertain destiny that awaited them there.

That was until they came to the harbour town on that island, and heard the rumours of an Akasiman girl and a pregnant faun who were staying in a farmhouse. After some private discussion their altered opinions fading into nothingness, and they ran, knowing who exactly who these people were, and on what ship they had come this way on.

The Bonzai.

~*~

"What are you wanting to do?"

Philomel did not speak as she rolled out of the bed. With lithe movmements that were born of something to do with her goddess she landed, softly, on a rug near her bed. Sakura scurried back a few steps, her tabi, woollen socks making the smallest 'sshh shhk' movements on the floor as the faun tried to move as quietly as her hooves could allow. Searching quickly around she leant and grabbed the bundle that was her fabric wrappings and array of weaponry before beginning to pull and tie it on.

"... Lac- ... Faun!"

It came out as an irritated hiss. Clearly partly because of Philomel's lies with her name.

Twisting sharply around Philomel shoved a finger to her lips and shook her head, bidding the Akashiman to be silent. As Sakura did the faun made gestures; firstly pointing to her head and demonstrating pointed cat-like ears and then waving her hand behind her as if to imitate a tail.

"I don't know where your fox is," Sakura said, sharply and distastefully. "Now will you just-"

"Who's there?!"

The words came from a new and angered voice. One that was definitely male and had command, as well as presence. It spoke with fury born of pain and suffering as well as frustration for a world that had not been fair to him in the last month or so.

Not one bit.

Grabbing the geisha by the hand Philomel pushed Sakura towards the window. Delving into her mind she shouted mentally for Veridian, certainly hoping that none of these men were telepathic in any way. If they were ... well.

It did not take long for Veridian to reply. He sent Philomel a mental image of him already outside, in the shadows and watching the lounge of the house where one man was enjoying a slice of pie.

The other ...

"WHO is there?" the roar came again. Along with heavy, thumping boots that got louder and louder with each second.

"Faun!" Sakura hissed as she was shoved again.

"Just move!" Philomel spat at her, grabbing her armour that was left draping on the end of a chair. She was lucky it only covered her bosom. A whole breastplate certainly wouldn't be useful at the moment, not with her belly so swollen. "I can hardly fight can I? Not in my state."

Sakura, now at the edge of the window ledge, and uncertainly poised over a two storey drop frowned and looked back at her. "Well, you might actually be able to. It just depends on-"

And Philomel elbowed her. Irritated, as the footsteps thundered over to their door. As it flung open Sakura shrieked, tumbling down to the grass verge below. A huge shadow of a man, dark haired and with hatred on his face filled the doorway, giving Philomel just seconds to look at him. She gave a small, curt nod before grasping the window herself and dropping out.

Falling down and away.

They ran with little in their possession, but Sakura's kimono with no shoes and Philomel's weapons and armour - the things she deemed necessary. As they did a wild wind picked up, buffetting into their sides and battering them with frustration. This was soon coupled by a frightful downpour, wet lashing against their fronts and sides. It made the ground underfoot quickly muddy, the soil soaking up the water with thirst that could be deemed unhealthy. The paths became sodden, and in some cases indescernable from the wild land around them. As the dull dawn became normal day the cloud gathered thick and dreary, so the overall light did not change. Instead they scurried as fast as they could with one of them heavily pregnant, and the other in restrictive clothing, the fear of persurers constantly behind.

At one point Sakura tripped, her knees slamming hard into the mud.

"Kuso!" she swore. "Boke! That is my most expensive-"

Philomel grabbed her hand and made no comment. Instead she dragged Sakura to her feet and bent down with a loud groan, even as the rain lashed against her. She took up the front folds of Sakura's now most ruined kimono and roughly hoisted them up, much to the geisha's surprise.

"Stop that!" Sakura shrieked past the howling wind. "You are making it worse."

"Either hold that or tuck it into your obi," the faun replied in a similar volume. "We need to go faster."

"Pah, you are seven months or more pregnant. I have no shoes. We are already going as fast as we can."

"Just hold onto it," Philomel ordered in a heavy, exhausted voice. "Please. Just do it."

Sakura folded her arms, watching as the faun rolled her arms and dropped the folds. They were looser now, due to the undue tugging, and so flapped without ceremony in the harsh breeze.

"You cannot tell me what to do," Sakura retorted, her hair sticking to her face, "You have lied to me all this time, all throughout this month and more. About who you are. What your name is ... how is it that you are in contact with a baron, hmm? Just who are you?"

Philomel groaned, looking from Veridian, sodden and shivering before them on the road, waiting for them to follow, and then back to the geisha.

We can just leave her behind, Veridian whispered. If she really doesn't want to come ...

"I will pay you," the faun said, to Sakura.

"You already said you would for my services."

"Then I will pay you more. Double."

"You seem to forget the fact that all your money is back at the house we just escaped from."

Philomel ran a hand through her soaking hair, droplets flying as she did into the similar droplets falling from the sky.

"Veridian?"

Veridian paused, and hissed through teeth. There was one spare in your fabric.

Philomel looked down and searched. True enough she found one small bag at her belt, filled with perhaps a week's worth of a high-class concubine's earnings.

Which was alright. Still not much though.

She grabbed the bag and tossed it to Sakura, the coins chinking as the geisha caught it, a surprise on her face.

"You will get ten times that amount if you see my baby safe delivered and a further ten if we get back to Radasanth in one piece," she said with a hoarse, low voice. "Do this and then you never have to see me or mine again."

The geisha looked at her for some time, her expression confusion behind the flurry of rain that had settled between the two women. For a while all she did was stare at Philomel, before she sighed and tucked the money bag away.

"We best keep moving," she said, "In my opinion you have been through enough stress as it is and the baby may be in trouble."

Philomel blinked, the dark and angry tone bothering her, but not enough to make her ignore the last comment.

"Trouble?" she asked, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I expect it to come early. Or actually, I think it is already on its way."

She pointed at the between of Philomel's legs, up high near the thighs, where there was enough wet to make it look like she had lathered herself in the rain about, despite the fabric that should be protecting it from damp.

"Tell me. Do you usually manage to soak your whole body during a thunderstorm, or is that just today?"

As the tempest continued to rage around them, and the threat of the enemy ever behind them, Philomel and Sakura had no choice but to find the closest shelter. Without any knowledge of if the men were on their own, and if the entire island had turned against them, they hid in the only place they knew - the forest. Deep in it, by a path that led close to the shoreline they found a cave.

It was not large, nor was it grand with stalgamites and stalactites and ribbons of irridescent colour. Instead it was dull, boring and plain, with damp all up the slippy walls. Leopard rock was the likeliest of minerals that made up their temporary home, which was strong enough to made a shelter. As Philomel sat down she could feel the pain at her loins, that which her body had simply dismissed out of pride and very likely magic also. When she stepped from the rain, shivering but still strong, and collapsed she felt the first of the contractions beginning to rip agonisingly through her.

"Fuucckk," she whispered, collapsing.

Sakura, despite their friendship not being the best, caught her, and carried her over to a wall. There Veridian began to gather a small bundle of driftwood and roots, that which he could find naturally in the cave. As Sakura tended to his beloved he dragged the elements together into a pile before setting them alight with his own breath. Meanwhile the geisha-midwife helped the faun unwrap her fabrics from around her, shrieks going high into the air.

"Shhhh," Sakura tried to help, rubbing her back, "Shhhh ..."

But the pain was immense. And the timing could not have been worse.

"The f-fire," Philomel growled through gritted teeth, "The men, if they - they f-followed might ..."

But she broke off, another wave of agony coming.

"Shhh," Sakura kept saying, her eyes checking for any sign, "Shhh ..."

"But -"

Do not worry about the men, Veridian said with a quiet voice. If they come I will kill them, no matter what it takes.

Philomel smiled at him, in a soft, weary way, befroe suffering another bout. As she did Sakura began to clap her hands, crying out.

"Oh my! Just - on the next one push as-"

And then the earth began to shake, the very walls of the cave themselves. Side to side, up and down the island jostled its inhabitants. Somewhere in the farmhouse plates rolled off shelves and began to crash. Outside somewhere lost a man called Buraha tripped and fell down, splitting open his skull. In a grand mansion, off in the centre of the island a baron called Marmaduke barely held onto his bowl as his early morning breakfast began to slip out from underneath him.

The rocks shook as the storm howled. Mud slipped and trees were uprooted. Wind howled and the earth shattered along fault lines, as a faun somewhere, in the middle of hell, gave birth.

One and a half months early ...

But the child was just as perfect. Designed and wanted by Drys.

Her name?

Celandine.

Philomel receives 6420 EXP and 490 GP!

Rewards include 1.5x Althanas Festival bonus!

This thread will now be submitted to workshop!

All rewards added!