Season of the Witch ending

“You know-” Calla gasped as we ran faster- “I think I had-a dream about this once.”
“Really?” I puffed back.
“Yeah.  When I was-maybe five.  I don’t remember everything-just being chased by the house.”
“Did it have chicken legs?”
“Yeah.”  Her eyes widened.  “Maybe-an early vision?”
I shrugged, wincing at my already-aggravated broken wing.
“Wouldn’t-be surprised.”
I awkwardly pulled the towel out of my shirt,* and threw it over my shoulder.
“What’s that for?” Calla yelled.
“Is it doing anything?” I yelled back.
There was a gasp.  “Yes!”
Just in case, I looked over my shoulder.  And yes, just as I’d hoped, it had become a vast, glassy lake, right there in the forest.


Why Baba Yaga kept items in her hut that could be used against her, especially in easy reach of others, was anybody’s guess.  And you’d think she’d have learned from previous times dealing with people who used the same trick.  But maybe it was for the same reason that she wanted to steal the sword.  Arrogance.  Or following the proverb of “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
It slowed her down as we kept running; Baba Yaga couldn’t swim, and as I suspected, she didn’t have the patience to go around.  So I saw her forcing the hut to wade into the lake.  The hut didn’t like it; it squirmed, and shook, and finally jumped out of the water and refused to go back in, water dripping from the floorboards.


“You okay?” Calla suddenly asked.  Since the witch was briefly inconvenienced, we were going a bit slower-though not slow enough to be overconfident.
“...You’re asking this now?”
“You look pale.  And I’m not having to struggle to keep pace with you.  Tristan, I think your wound’s worse than you’re acting.”
“I’m fine, kid.  I’ve got my adrenaline-”
Which is when I started to see colored spots before my eyes.  Because whoever is control of these things loves their moments of irony.


Calla muttered something that was almost a curse, but not quite, and then grabbed my arm, draping it over her shoulders.
“That’s gonna slow you down,” I protested.
“I’m not leaving you.  Xen would never forgive me.”
“Better get this out, then.”  I fumbled around until I got the comb.  “Lake’s probably not gonna hold her for long-”
Sure enough, we heard the sound of the mortar riding the wind across the lake.  I didn’t bother to look this time, focusing on running.
Calla said indignantly, “It flies far better for her than it did for me!”
“Well-” I gasped- “it is her mortar.”


Time for the comb.
I tossed it, just long enough to see it starting to grow into a giant impenetrable forest,** and kept going without looking back.

***

Much to my relief, Baba Yaga did not continue chasing us.  At least, not that I could sense, even though my abilities were a little off par at the moment, so she could have flown past us dressed as a belly dancer playing an accordion, and I might not have noticed.


Eventually we made it into a town with a teleportation mirror, and took the first opportunity to get home.  We materialized in the kitchen...where I’m ashamed to admit that I promptly passed out.
Hey, it had been a long week for me, okay?  And I’d just gone through a lot of physical exertion while suffering from severe blood loss; don’t judge me.


My last conscious thought was, Well, I can add this to my list of Times Tristan felt Useless.
It seemed like all I’d done the entire time was be captured/at the mercy of more powerful beings, and rely on others to do things for me.  I mean, it’s not that I wasn’t grateful to Xen, Morgan and Calla for finding out what I wanted to know, or the vodyanoy-duck for leading me to where the soul was kept...I just felt like I spent more time being acted upon than doing any acting of my own.  Definitely not my finest hour.


I regained consciousness to find myself in bed.  My limbs felt heavy, making me realize after a moment that Xen must have bitten me to keep me paralyzed for some reason.
How long have I been here?
My eyes slowly flicked open, and caught sight of Xen sitting by the side of the bed, glaring at me in a way that made me nervous.
Seeing I was awake, before I could even try to speak, she leaned down and kissed me.  Which felt wonderful, after everything I’d been through.
When she finally stopped, I gasped, “For a moment I thought you were going to hit me.”
“I did consider it.  But decided I’d rather do this.”
“Is there a reason why I’m paralyzed?”
“So you stay in bed until your blood cells have sufficiently multiplied.”
“Geez, doc, you’re taking your practice very seriously.”
She glared at me again.  “You have a bad habit of underestimating the extent of your injuries.  While that can be an admirable quality, it also makes me occasionally want to strangle you.”


“...How’s our son?” I asked.
Xen finally smiled.  “Waiting for his daddy to get better.  He keeps wanting to come in and play with you.  I had to be firm and tell him to let you sleep.”
My throat constricted.  “Well...can I at least see him before bedtime?”
“Of course.  Until then, go back to sleep.”
“Yes, boss,” I sighed.

***

So far there have been no nasty repercussions from Baba Yaga or Koschei the Deathless.  But we’ve been on alert, just in case.  And trying our best to recuperate.  Xen’s had me on a lot of bed rest while my blood cells regenerate and my broken wing finishes healing.  Phil plays with me as often as he can, and hopefully soon I’ll be strong enough to carry him on my shoulders again.  Calla’s been very quiet and thoughtful about whatever the witch told her.  I haven’t pushed about it, figuring she’ll tell me if she wants to, but I am undeniably curious.
For now, though, I’m trying to enjoy life with my family until some new catastrophe hits us.

* Snapping off a button in the process; dang it.
**Which, if the story was correct, she wouldn’t be able to go through, and every time she tried to fly over it it would just grow higher.  And trying to chop down the trees with her iron teeth would just result in splinters in her mouth.  Hopefully she wouldn’t try her magic instead; I wasn’t sure if it was resistant against that.

Season of the Witch part 22

To my relief, we appeared right at Baba Yaga’s front gate.  Also to my relief, my stomach had not revolted much during the last two trips.  Maybe it was just too tired for its normal nausea; I didn’t dare to believe that it was developing a tolerance for teleporting.
Wearily hefting the sword, I set down the vodyanoy, and cracked open the gate.  Then, from above and behind me, a voice called, “Tristan?”
It doesn’t sound like she’s gotten older...but you can’t be too careful about these things.  It doesn’t prove anything anyway, since she ages so slowly.  She could be any age, she could-
A mortar flew over our heads, landing in the yard.  And out climbed Calla, looking fresh as a daisy-if a bit dark around the eyes, which were moistening as I looked.  She stumbled forward, and wrapped her arms around my waist, burying her head in my chest.  With my free claw I rubbed her head.
“How...long?” I asked, fearing the answer.
“Two days left,” she murmured.  “You’re ahead of schedule; usually the hero shows up at the very last moment.”
“Well, you know me.  I’m no hero.  I don’t believe in following conventions.”
Calla snorted.


Baba Yaga looked extremely disappointed when Calla and I showed up with the sword.*  However, a bargain was a bargain, so she sighed and took Kladenets from me.
“Very good, Chernobyl,” she said begrudgingly.
“Thanks.  We’ll be going now,” I said, also returning the pack of supplies.  She barely noticed, instead smugly running her long hands over the blade.  I had a feeling she was trying to find out what it did.  And something told me when that happened, she would be most displeased.  So it was probably best to get going now.
On one of the shelves by the fireplace, I noticed a blue towel and fancy wooden comb laying side by side.  Remembering an aspect of one of the tales of Baba Yaga, I inched my way over and picked them up, tucking them into my shirt.  Since I’d foolishly forgotten to ask Koschei to heal my broken wing, and Calla’s healing skills were erratic at best, we were probably going to have to run soon.


The witch turned to stare at Calla.
“Remember what I told you, myshka.  I mean it.”
“Yes ma’am,” she whispered, averting her eyes.
I was curious, but now wasn’t really the time to ask.  I caught Calla’s arm, and quickly pulled her out of the house as the witch went back to the sword.
“What’s the rush?” she asked, tapping the door frame; as she did, the house lowered itself, and we jumped out onto the lawn-much better than my previous experience with the place.
“She’s probably about to find out that the sword does nothing but make good borscht,” I explained.  “We need to get away before that happens.”
Her little jaw dropped, and she covered her mouth after a second with a slightly hysterical giggle.  “Really?”
“Yeah.  It’s not our fault, but she might try to take it out on us regardless.  Go faster.”


We had barely made it into the woods when I heard a horrible, ungodly screech, followed by the thuds of giant clawed feet thumping across the ground.
Shoot.  The whole house is coming after us.
Calla gasped.
I risked a glance; if you’ve never seen a house on giant chicken legs chasing after you, it’s hard to imagine.**  A little wobbly at first, probably from not having to move so much in such a long time, it thudded after us, giant claws scraping the ground and leaving ditches in their wake.  Baba Yaga stood in the doorway, hair blowing back, eyes of fire burning even from this far away.  And I could see that her pale face was twisted in a fury that gave me an adrenaline rush.

*The vodyanoy had been returned to the lake, and his true form-though he still disliked the rusalki, he figured it was safer than being somewhere closer to Koschei’s influence.  Calla promised to keep in touch somehow, and has even been considering introducing him to the world of the Internet, if she can create a spell to make a computer waterproof.
I asked her later why on earth she made him a duck, of all things.  She explained that she’d been trying to make a firebird, for dramatic effect, but his watery nature kept struggling against it, and finally it seemed easier to just make him something actually connected with water.  Besides, they were on a tight schedule.
** Unless you have a very creative imagination, or have seen it happen in a movie with very convincing CGI or something.

Season of the Witch part 21

Koschei was bored.  He’d been waiting for almost a full day, and there was no sign of “Mr. Tolstoy.”  Not that he expected him to actually find the right tree.  He just hoped he’d come back and concede defeat, so he could find something more fun to do with him.  The hot blood of gargoyles was said to give them a high tolerance for cold temperatures; it would be interesting to find out just how cold.  Or see how strong their tough skin was when faced with the opposite extreme of intense heat.
Koschei had won yet another game of chess played against his oldest and most loyal manservant, Igor.  The man had some talent, yes, but he was only a hundred and fifty years old, and his opponent had centuries of experience ahead of him.  If he did say so himself, Koschei viewed himself as a chess master.
Sometimes he wondered if he could ever persuade Baba Yaga to play with him again.  The crone so hated to lose at anything, and hated even more to admit how talented he was, but they had enjoyed a few games together in their lifetime.  Maybe if he gave her the sword willingly, she’d be willing to join him for a few rounds…


The Deathless One sipped thoughtfully at his vodka.  There was another day and a half yet; he had plenty of time before-
His body jerked violently, spilling vodka all over himself, staining the fur of his robe.  Koschei leaped up, spluttering and cleaning himself off.  He’d felt something strange in that moment-something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time…
“Sir?” Igor asked.  “Are you all right?”
Before Koschei could answer, his arm moved on its own, and he found himself casting a spell.  A spell that opened a portal.
Before he could try to close it, a gargoyle-bedraggled, pale, with one wing dragging broken at his side, covered in mud and blood, and carrying a very ugly duck under one arm-stepped through.  In one claw he clutched a golden egg.

***

Believe it or not, getting ahold of the soul was the easiest part of my trip.  Because yeah, I broke my wing and lost some blood I couldn’t afford to lose fighting a giant rabbit-duck automaton that sprang out of the chest when I opened it, but the solution for that was simple: destroy it before it could destroy me, then remove the egg from its innards.
Oh, sorry, were you actually interested in reading about that part?  About the big, dramatic action scene?  So you like reading about me getting beat up by some eldritch abomination and having to scramble frantically to a position where I can dig my claws into its belly and rip it open and pull out its wiring, getting myself splattered with oil and grime and being generally crushed and tossed about the whole time?  What kind of monster are you?!


Hefting the egg, I said, “Found it.”
Koschei glared at me.  “So you did.”
“Now give me the sword, before I smash it.”
With a world-weary sigh, the sorcerer handed it over.  Then he asked, “Out of curiosity, how did you find it?”
I nearly said A little bird told me, but I didn’t want him exacting retribution on the innocent creature, so I said, “Just lucky, I guess.”
His eyes strayed to the duck anyway.  And he realized, as I did, that it was under a spell of some kind, and his face twisted with a kind of dark hatred.  “You!”
Whatever connection he had with it escaped me, but I quickly stepped back and brandished the egg.  “You’re not allowed to do anything to hurt this creature, in duck form or whatever its original form is.  Or come after me, or my family or friends.  Promise you won’t do any of those things, and you can have this back.”
Koschei blinked.  Then he said, “Then why bother returning it at all?  It’s nothing short of foolish.  And you could have all you want and more if you just keep my soul.”
Meaning he’d be my servant, like the Dark One’s dagger.*  But I just said, “I don’t think I’m qualified to bear that kind of responsibility.”  Then, more firmly, “Deal?”
He sighed.  “Deal.  I will not do anything to harm you, those you care for, or this-” his lip curled- “vodyanoy.”
So that’s what it is.
“You also need to promise not to entice anything to harm any of us, or act in any way, shape or form that will do so.”
Maybe I should have created a contract.


Looking exasperated, Mr. the Deathless agreed to all my terms.  Once I was sure that the bases were covered, I started to place the egg in his hands.  But then I hesitated.
“One more thing.  What’s Kladenets do?”
He grinned mirthlessly.  “It gives the bearer the gift of making very excellent borscht.  Nothing else.”
You have got to be kidding me.
“Is that the truth?”  I jiggled the egg a bit.
Koschei flinched, but told me, “I swear it on the souls of my ancestors.”
Dramatic, but I decided to believe him.  I placed the egg in his arms.  And for a split second, I saw a bit of a change in him.  The washed-out-ness faded a bit, and I saw something more...human** in him.  Then he glared, and opened a new portal, which swept me and the vodyanoy-duck away.

*From Once Upon a Time, a human TV show that was good, but sucked after season 3.
** For lack of a better word

Season of the Witch part 14

I awoke with a jolt.  A second of confusion, and then everything flooded back to me: Baba Yaga, Calla, Mr. the Deathless, the sword, capture, bleeding-how long had I been asleep?!
I jumped up, feeling an adrenaline rush-and nearly fell over as my vision became covered with colored spots.  I used my left hand to grip the chair, but finally had to slump to the floor and lie down for a few minutes until I could see straight again.
Right; let’s try this again.  First of all, better check my hand.
I pulled it up from my chest, where somehow I’d been able to keep it for all this time, and took a look.  Thank goodness, the bleeding had stopped.  Now it was just clotted with a lot of dried blood.
I miss Xen.


I tried to make some sort of noise; the spell, however, had not worn off, making it impossible even to croak.  Not that I really needed my voice at the moment.  It would just be nice to have it back eventually, you know?  I decided to focus on getting out of here.


Now that I was actually free, and wearing the shaded glasses, I could see that my prison was made out of some kind of stained glass.  It was actually quite pretty, now that it wasn’t searing my retinas and I wasn’t tied to a chair.  The voices were back, too; to my surprise, their conversation made me suspect they were the voices of tourists.
“Come look at this!”
“How long do you think it took them to make that?”
“Derek!  Come back here!”
“I’m bored…”
“Do you know if we can take pictures?  All the signs are in Russian.”
And those were just in the languages I could understand.


My sense of smell was cut off by the glass, so I couldn’t tell if it was all an illusion or not.  So I began looking around the room, trying to find any other potential spells or curses that might be set up.  Eventually, in the far corner I found what looked like an alarm spell-probably set to go off if I broke the glass, since it hadn’t been triggered by my freeing myself from the chair.
Unless I just didn’t notice it went off, and he’s now watching me, waiting to see what I’ll do…
I’ve got to take that chance.
Quickly I found the loophole in the spell, and unraveled it.  A very big risk, but it might buy me some time.  Then I crouched down, and smashed a hole in the floor with my uninjured claw.


It turned out that I was forced to break a few more holes before it was big enough for me to squeeze out.  But once I did so, I leaned my head and shoulders out, bracing my arms against the sides.  Beneath me there appeared to be an entire horde of giant people walking around, examining Russian artwork.  This startled me, before I realized: They aren’t giants.  I’ve been shrunk!


One of the people had noticed the little shards of broken glass that had fallen, and had gone to a security guard; he was pointing at where I was, and I could make out the words, “...think the bulb burst...might want to get that fixed…”
I’m in a lightbulb?  Must be something like that-those fancy stained glass light fixtures up top would do the trick, if Mr. the Deathless kept a tiny dimension or something inside one, like a genie bottle...Well, better get out of here before they come to investigate.


I jumped out of the hole I’d made in the glass, and glided down to the ground, ignoring the wave of dizziness that overcame me as a result.  I landed in a corner of the room, by the doorway; a good thing, too, because a few seconds later I found myself growing back to normal size (thankfully along with my clothes).
That makes things a bit easier.  Now, question: am I still in the right place?
I suddenly heard a voice call, “Stop that man!” and saw two frog-headed men* in Russian guardsman’s uniforms running toward me.
Yup, I’m in the right place.
Barely taking time to look at my surroundings, I turned into the first corridor I could find and ran.

*Disguised to any humans, of course.

Season of the Witch part 13

Even though she was afraid, and remembering that even though she could swim a little, she was not very adept at it yet, Calla was not willing to give up that easily.  Before the creature could go very far from the surface, she kicked out; even though the water forced her to move more slowly, she felt her shoe connect hard with something.  There was a bellow of pain in her ear, and one of the hands started to release her.  She took advantage of it, and wiggled her left arm free of the lasso, sending a concentrated blast of power over her shoulder at whatever had ahold of her.  Much to her relief, despite it not being a lethal or even hurtful blast, it enabled her to break free, clawing her way to the surface.


She barely took a moment to gratefully breathe before grabbing the plants on the shore, and starting to pull herself up.  However, she had not gotten far before she was being seized again.  Frantically, Calla kicked out, writhing and wrapping some roots around her hands in an attempt to anchor herself in place.  In desperation, and almost instinctively, she raised her head and called out for help-in Ghoulish.*


Calla didn’t even know if there were any Ghuls in the immediate vicinity-it just came out, probably an instinctive result of her connection to Sharky.  And it seemed to startle her captor; the grip faltered enough for her to scramble all the way out of the water, turn around, and come face to face with whatever it was.  Which, if you hadn’t guessed already, is what she did.


It looked, more than anything, like a giant frog masquerading as a man.  He had a wide, sagging mouth, bulbous, fiery gold-green eyes, a large flat nose that sunk into his face, slimy green and brown skin, and long, webbed hands.  Long, green, weedy stuff drooped from his chin and the top of his head; it took Calla a second to realize that it was actually hair, albeit very lank and greasy hair.  And she could see that he was dripping with algae all over.


After her brief examination, Calla, hating to do it but thinking it was the fastest way of communicating with the creature if he didn’t speak English, stared into his eyes.  And was promptly overwhelmed by a flood of strange thoughts and emotions.  They mostly seemed to consist of shock at the moment-shock that she spoke the tongue of the vurdalaki, and shock at how efficiently she had gotten out of his grasp, and shock at what was happening now.  And with a quick scan of his thoughts, Calla learned that the creature was known as a vodyanoy.  It was a Russian water spirit, like the nymphs back home, except this one seemed far more aggressive.  When she probed around to figure out why he had tried to drown her, his thoughts became somewhat indignant.


Drown her!  He had no such intention!  The truth was, he was lonely and seeking companionship.  He had been here for hundreds of years, and the only other sentient creatures in this lake were some silly rusalki** who called him fat and giggled at him behind their webs when they thought he wasn’t looking.
That doesn’t give you the right to just kidnap me! Calla retorted.
However, as she looked at his thoughts, she felt a pang of sympathy for the vodyanoy.  She knew how it felt to be lonely.
Could you try going to another lake?
He twisted around in the water a bit, until he was able to hold up a fat tail.  Calla began to see the problem, since this lake was completely land-locked.  He was stuck here, with nowhere else to go, and despite the other creatures there, he was completely alone.
But there are other ways besides kidnapping…


She spent maybe an hour sitting by the side of the lake, talking mentally to the vodyanoy, whose name she learned was Pavel.  He was overjoyed at finally being able to talk to someone, and determined to make the most of it.  And the mental connection was beneficial for Calla, too; not only was she helping someone and being distracted from her worry about what was happening to Tristan, but it enabled her, after a time, to start figuring out the basics of the Russian language; in a way, killing multiple birds with one stone.


Finally, though, she had to say, I need to go back now.  Baba Yaga needs me to bring these plants to her.
She couldn’t help questioning the veracity of that statement a little bit; both that the witch actually needed the plants, and that she needed Calla to be the one to go and get them.  But Pavel understood; nobody around here ever wanted to cross Baba Yaga.
She would come back, wouldn't she?
...I’ll try.
Calla looked away, rubbing her throbbing temples, and cut some fresh plants to add to the bag, before going back to where she had left the mortar.


Baba Yaga barely bit back a cackle when Calla stepped into the cottage: damp, muddy, a little bloody around the hands, and windblown.
“Have a good time?” she asked innocently.

*Ghoulish had become her word for the Ghul language, if you could call it that, which her blood bond with a Ghul had kind of helped her to understand better.  It’s based on a series of screeches, growls, snarls, and inflections based on current emotions.  A call for help is a sort of long, high banshee-like wail, that if done right, can reach an octave usually saved for dog whistles.
**Russian water nymphs.  Often purported to be the spirits of women who drowned themselves, and well-known for luring young men to their deaths by drowning or something.  A lot like mermaids and other types of woman monsters in mythology, really.

Season of the Witch part 12

Meanwhile, back in my prison, my luck had started to change for the better.  Not that I had gotten free, or anything as serendipitous as that.  That was too much to hope for.  It also appeared to be too much to hope for that Koschei would ever think to feed me.  And even though I started hearing voices (from down below my prison, somehow-maybe I was on the upper floor of wherever I was), I was unable to call out to them due to the spell on my voice, or in any way make noise that would attract their attention.  And even if I could, who was to say that they weren’t minions of Mr. the Deathless, or something like that?
However, I had at least gotten started on getting free from this chair.


When I’d been captured, my pack and all the contents therein, along with a few odds and ends hidden on my person, had been confiscated.  However, Mr. the Deathless had not checked my insides for anything, a fact I was now using to my advantage.  And yes, I am aware of how weird that sounds.  But it makes sense if you understand that before I left, Baba Yaga brewed a special potion that I then drank, and therefore it was now inside of me.  And it was my secret weapon.


See, something people mostly already know about gargoyle blood is that it’s really, really hot.  It makes it difficult for non-gargoyles to treat us when we’re injured.  What many people don’t know, and which is mostly a deeply-kept secret,* is that when we’re under extreme physical and/or mental stress, it sort of boils.  That is to say, it gets hotter.  It doesn’t hurt us, but it goes from burning to scorching for almost anyone or anything else.  And Baba Yaga had given me a potion that would amplify that in such a way that I could use it to my advantage now.


Most doctors would probably advise against purposely making yourself bleed, especially when your blood sugar is low because you haven’t eaten or drank anything for what is probably more than twenty-four hours.  But this was an emergency, so I dug one of the claws of my right hand into my palm (because I am ambidextrous, it didn’t matter which one I used).  Soon enough I felt the sting of pain as I pierced my own skin, and after pressing a little harder, I felt the blood start to leak out.  The pain caused a bit of an adrenaline rush, and I augmented it by thinking about all the consequences of failure: losing Calla forever, dying here, leaving Xen and Phil alone, never getting to see my family again-well, maybe not that one.  Except my mother. And my little brother Elijah.  And Morty, who was more or less family.  I encouraged all my anger and fear and worry to rise to a fever pitch, and could actually feel my blood temperature rising.  I heard more voices somewhere outside my prison now, but ignored them.  Getting out was far more important.


The chair I was sitting in was solid steel, magically reinforced.  However, my bleeding palm began to burn through it like the third eye of Shiva through Ganesha’s head.  Eagerly, I wiggled it back and forth, feeling the metal dissolving under my hand.  It took longer to eat through than I would have liked, but I doggedly continued on.  Even when I started to see black spots before my eyes, and my ears started ringing, and I started having that light-headed feeling like I’d been out in the sun for far too long.
Wonder how much I’ve lost?  I’ll die if I lose more than six pints.  Let’s see, if one drop can dissolve up to two centimeters of metal, and the arm of this chair is about three inches thick, and if it takes .38 seconds to dissolve the steel-
I was distracted from my inane calculations by the fact that that part of the chair was starting to wobble and bend a bit.  Deciding I didn’t want to waste anymore time waiting, I pushed down as hard as I could.  If I’d been at full strength, I could have done it with much less trouble.  As it was, I had to shove and strain and push several times, before finally, with a satisfying snap! the part of the chair broke, giving me a chance to slide my arm free, albeit with the spell attached.  And as I’d feared, it then shrank to fit snugly around my wrist, like the world’s worst bracelet.  But when I dripped a bit of my blood on it, it actually dissolved the part it touched, allowing me to peel it off and toss it away.  Baba Yaga’s magic is pretty potent stuff.


I dissolved my other bonds, and then pressed my now-numb claw to my chest, in an effort to stop the bleeding.  It ate right through my shirt, so I had to press it against my bare fur and flesh (which, luckily, it didn’t appear to be hurting).  I was still trapped in this hellish place of light.  I still had no voice.  I was also starving, thirsty, and possibly suffering from self-inflicted anemia.  But at least now I was partially free.  I just needed to take a rest, just close my eyes for a moment, and then I could find a method of getting out of here…

*So be grateful that I trust you enough to tell you about it.

Freegans part 59

Lucy
All hell had broken loose. Blasts of plasma whizzed over and around us, dead men and pieces of robot (apparently, even the Drones could only take so much) lay on the ground, and screams permeated the air. I was running after Cara and Matt, with Ben and Madiza behind us. We were headed for the submarine, which seemed our only option for survival. I tripped several times over corpses, which made me shriek each time. I wasn't used to there being so much death.

Suddenly, I found my path blocked by one of the soldiers, his rifle aimed at my heart. I skidded to a halt, and felt the horror of knowing that I was about to die. He was about to pull the trigger- when he disintegrated into a blob of mush. I saw Paris standing there, holding a smoking plasma rifle! All I could think to say was, "Th-thank you."
"No problem. Come on!" She grabbed my arm, and pulled me after the others.

In record time, we managed to get inside the sub. Kestrel was lying in a corner, clutching a shoulder, which was dripping blood; he must have been grazed by a ball of plasma. Max, Tower, and Deep Thought were administering to him. The Ox burst in, hair and glasses disheveled. He was followed by a crowd of Resistance members and ex-prisoners. I couldn't tell how many had been lost, but I did know that there was a lot more room inside the sub than there had been. I felt a pang in my heart for all those who had been lost.

Once the door was shut, Ox staggered to the controls, and with a few parting blasts, began steering us out into open water. Through the viewing screen, I could see that the consumerists were getting into their subs too; they meant to follow us.
"Yip-yip!" exclaimed Madiza.
We all turned to her in surprise. It was the first time she'd spoken in hours.
"Huh?" asked Cara.
"It's the phrase Aang uses whenever he wants his bison to fly!" she explained in a cheerful tone.
"His...bison?" Matt raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Yes, it's a flying bison! His name is Appa!"
We all looked at each other. It seemed that Madiza was back to normal.

Freegans part 47

Matt
Finally, we came to a stop. I looked ahead, and saw the reason was a dead end. 'O-kay,' I thought. 'How is this helpful?' My unspoken question was answered when Kestrel reached up, and pushed on the ceiling. It shifted! Some of the others moved to help him, and after a moment, that part of the ceiling lifted up. With a few grunts, they moved it, leaving a square hole over our heads. I could see the night sky, with sprinklings of stars decorating the dark blue. Suddenly I felt very emotional (ssh, don't tell Cara or Lucy). How long had it been since I had last seen that sky?

I could hardly wait to get boosted up out of the hole, just so I could see more. I felt cool breezes over my face, which was really nice. I could feel soft, wet grass beneath my worn-through shoes. Even though there was no moon, I could still see almost everything. I looked at my friends, and saw they were looking happy too. However, our reactions were nothing compared to those of Ben and Madiza. They were actually crying, Ben silently, Madiza in loud, unashamed sobs. They were hugging each other, staring at the stars, the ground, even the shadowy trees, as if they wanted to drink in everything at once.
"They're still here!" Madiza cried out jubilantly. She pointed at the stars, joy written all over her face. "The white coats didn't drain them! They're still out there!"
The Resistance members anxiously shushed her, plasma rifles cocked. That reminded me that we were not out of the woods yet.

As soon as the last of the team was out, they pushed the rock which served as the trap door back into place.
"Come on, we have to get going," directed the Ox. He handed out a few sets of goggles. I put them on, and discovered they were for night vision. Awesome!
"Can we keep these?" I asked Kestrel.
He smiled. "Maybe. We'll see if we survive first." I figured that would suffice for now.

Freegans chapter 13

Lucy
My friends were both really glad to see me. Matt hugged me, and Cara patted my shoulder. She doesn't really like hugs, for some reason. Afterwards, I told them about what had happened. Ben came and sat by us and listened, while Madiza sat in her corner and cocked her head at us, which I assumed meant she was listening. Hearing about Gwilliam's threat really sobered the mood. Matt and Cara looked at each other, and then back at me.
"Are you sure that he'll do it?" asked Cara quietly.
"I know he will," I said. "I saw the toxin, and I know what he's capable of! He would probably like to kill us all!"
"He would," wrote Ben on his piece of paper. "President Sheldon won't let him."

Just then Madiza said aloud, "Take the tunnel to get away! Hee hee hee hee! Take the tunnel to get away, and you'll live another day!"
"What does she mean by that?" Matt asked Ben. He shrugged. "She likes to chant that a lot. It's probably just nonsense."
At that moment Cara stood up, her eyes flashing. "This really stinks!" she yelled, kicking one of the bars. "We're going to die, or be tortured, or stay here until we waste away, with only a crazy lunatic who likes to spout rubbish for company!" Suddenly Cara grabbed the bars and started shaking them wildly. I could see the symptoms of stir-craziness at work. Quickly the three of us grabbed her and pulled her loose, holding her down. After struggling for a few seconds, she said quietly, "Sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I just feel..." Without finishing her sentence, she put her head in her hands. Matt put his hand on her shoulder. "It's all right," he whispered.

"Take the tunnel! Get away! Try to live another day!" Madiza's voice came stealing out of the corner. I turned to her. "What do you MEAN by that?!" I demanded.
"Take the tunnel, silly," Madiza said.
"WHAT tunnel?" asked Cara, taking her head out of her hands.
"This one." With that, Madiza lifted up one of the stones in the floor, revealing a tunnel in the ground. None of us knew whether we wanted to hug her or strangle her.
"How long have you KNOWN about this?" Matt asked, coming towards her. The girl shrank back, her eyes getting bigger than they were already.
"Don't hurt me! I know, I know, I know..." she whimpered, holding her arms up protectively.
"We won't hurt you, Madiza. We're glad you've helped us escape," said Cara.