The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 176: A Log of Visitors

Chapter 176: A Log of Visitors

Crowley knew he was being led into the Barrowlands. And he knew this conversation wasn't over.

As the queen led him further into the woods, the landscape changed around them. The trees grew thicker, older, wider, wilder. The demon's ears perked up to noises not heard in hundreds, and then thousands, or years.

He didn't let her see his growing apprehension, with all her curiosity over his snake. And as the woodland creeped closer around them, he began to feel like he was a frog in a bowling pot.

"You are going to let me leave," he joked.

"But of course, Thorn Tongue. Whyever would you ask?"

"I'll stay away from the grub, all the same," he muttered, pulling at his collar.

Aziraphale found himself on a shore after all.

He turned 360, his hands clasped to his chest. The shore, quiet waves lapping, curved away to the right or left, depending on where he faced. He was on an island.

And it wasn't night. It was the brightest, clearest day he'd ever seen. He was nearly blinded by the shine on the water until his eyes became accustomed. Still, it would bee nice to have a pair of Crowley's glasses here.

The smell of the sea wafted to him; the winds continual but not bracing. He looked in the other direction of the ocean, to a slope of sea grass. He began to climb.

The demon felt the woods closing in around him. All the sunlight flittered through sparingly now, nearly snuffed out from the crowded boughs of trees. And he felt that they were watching him. Claustrophobia was setting in, and somehow he knew that even heading underground would feel less foreboding than this forest.

"You haven't told them about my collection of plants, have you?"

"I wouldn't mention it out loud, if I were you," the queen turned to smile to him. She was changing. Her features grew sharper, polished, a pointy dream. "They may tear you limb from limb. Get it?"

Crowley's lip quivered. "Roit."

At last, they came to a small opening in the foliage, and the demon instinctually gasped for air. It was a grassy space, light pooling over a large mound rising above his head. The path led downward toward a set of stone steps carved into its side, and there, a door of roughhewn yew.

The queen laid her hand on the wood, and it almost breathed at her touch. She landed a hand on Crowley, and he felt energy. He fell back.

"Did you use glamour on me!"

"My, Thorn Tongue!" she laughed lyrically. "So distrustful all of a sudden?"

"You're taking me into your realm," he reminded her.

"And you know very well my powers have no effect on you, or yours on me."

The door swung open, light and smell and warmth poured out. "No. But I will still be in the House of the Elves."

He cautiously took her hand, and let her take him in.

"But you are a guest. How rude to threaten a guest."

"Yes, but my position could change any second, could it not? Guest? Prisoner? Hostage?"

"You wound me. I have been gracious with your crude behavior for the sake of old times. Do not push any further."

".....of course....."

Sand was pouring into Aziraphale's shoes and socks. He took a moment to lean against a tree and shake them out, and then he looked curiously at the tree, and at the others trees lining a trail ahead. It was a forest, or rather, a garden. Putting his shoes on, he thought: Well. I'm on better footing here.

Climbing up and around, he noticed with a growing joy that the garden took on the aspect of Eden, as if it were the very same place. He breathed in the air, and felt at home, and then a little homesick. Joy turned to melancholy. He kept his pace up the hill.

The bend brought him to a dry cave opening, and he entered, expecting mustiness but not being greeted with anything but fresh air. Into the darkness down a gentle slope, he was carried until a flickering light appeared on the walls. He entered, and covered his eyes.

The light reflected from the floor, shining from a great fireplace carved into the dry cavern walls. Aziraphale forced himself to adjust to it, and focused upon millions and millions of golden coins. Up his searching gaze went past the coins, and his melancholy turn to awe.

Laying on a huge pile of coins was a great dragon. He wasn't one color. One flick of the eye, one shift of muscles, and the huge scales turned another vibrant, eye watering color. He was as big as a house, and he coiled up like a very self-possessed cat. His great bat wings shivered, sounding like fall in a gail, and he grinned so dangerously and toothily at the angel, Aziraphale wondered if he was being considered for a snack.

Then, the dragon spoke through its teeth, and it was like the purr of a waking volcano. He nudged something resting in the center of its coil. "Love, wake. Our guest has arrived."

Something white shivered. It rose its doe head, and blinked through black, unseeing eyes.

A unicorn. A very tiny unicorn, shaped like a deer.

"Oh, this won't do," she chided with the voice of a wind chime. "Let us take a more familiar form, so we don't stupefy the poor soul."