The Arcana - Muriel Fanfics!

9. Connection

*hey guys, it's been a while! while we're all being swamped with all the craziness going on, nothing more important then family and loved ones (even if you can't be with them right now.) So stay safe, stay healthy. DMs are always open if you need to vent. love you guys xxx

"And then, there were these huuuuge rocks. Taller than you, Papa," Mor says animatedly, swinging her little legs back and forth. Her mossy eyes are wide, her smile wider. Muriel listens intently, nodding every now and then. I sit curled with Oakie beside the fire. Inanna rests her head in my lap, nudging Oakie's litte toes. The baby peers at her through one deep-brown eye, only mildly perturbed. 

Morga's been describing her adventures in her gate for the better part of the evening. From what we've gatherered, the air smells so good you could eat it. She can snatch stars from the sky and hide them in her pockets. She can dip in the cool streams, and breathe under the water with ease. Wildflowers bloom under her while she dozes, and rings of mushrooms lead her to treasure. 

"...What sort of treasure?" Muriel asks. Mor sticks out her tongue, shifting her new mouse from one shoulder to the other. I was surprised when I first discovered the little creature, curled up beside her as she slept at the shop. We were even more surprised to find she could talk with it, the same as Asra talks with Faust, the same as Muriel talks with Inanna. The mouse's pink nose twitches relentlessly, watching everyone through those strange mis-matched eyes. 

"Lots of things," Mor says in a matter-of-fact sort of tone. "Sometimes it was things like candied violets or pots of treacle. Other times it was piles of smooth pebbles, or even a really, really  big feather." Muriel shoots me an amused side glance, the firelight dancing in those emerald eyes. The same eyes as Mor.

I'm still reeling from those men in the market. The words still whisper in the back of my mind, like a slow leeching poison. Snake. Murderer. Banshee. 

No. 

I'm more than that, I remember firmly, shaking the thoughts away. Muriel sat with me in the bath for hours, until the water cooled and the steam had long since cleared. He massaged my back, washed and untangled my hair. He reminded me that I was strong. He held my hands. I'm fairly certain Muriel even tried singing to me, as much as he says his voice is too gravelly to hold a tune. I hold Oakie tighter, suddenly wanting to stay in this moment, with Muriel and Inanna and Mor and the baby. Wanting to stay with my family. 

Mor carries on chattering away, but I feel someone's eyes on me. I glance up, and Muriel is staring at me. Our eyes meet, and I know he feels the same way. A small smile touches his lips, before his focus slides back to our daughter. 

"...And then there was an enormous plain. It was flat and grassy and stretched on forever," Morga exclaims. My ears perk up at that, and Even Muriel's eyebrows rise a little. "...A plain?" Mor nods, oblivious. "It was so windy. That's where the big rocks were." A little line appears between Muriel's brows. "...Morga, what did the big rocks look like?" Mor is quiet for a moment, chewing her lip and screwing up her nose. Her little mouse huddles up against her neck. "They had little pictures on them," she says, smiling widely. "Animals, little wolves and bears and birds. They were so pretty." 

I sit up a little straighter. Muriel's brows have furrowed together completely. "Were they in rings? Big circles of rocks?" I venture nervously. Morga nods enthusiastically. "I think so. Circles and circles, as far as I could see. When I stepped in, it was like I couldn't control my feet," she says with a giggle. But slowly, the giggle fades, her smile stifling as her eyes become distant. "But...I don't understand it, Mama." Mor picks up her mouse, so small it fits into the cradle of her chubby palm. "That place...everywhere else was fun. Happy. But when I was with the rocks...there was something sad about that place." 

Muriel sits back in his chair, a troubled expression etching lines in his face. Morga plays absently with her mouse, her sombre mood evaporated in an instant. But there's an unease in the air. Mor hasn't been outside of Vesuvia. It was normal for things to appear in magical gates that might not exist in the real world, wonderful and strange, versions of places held dear in someone's heart. 

So why was the Kokhuri's mass grave in Mor's gate? 

I open my mouth, breaths away from pressing further about the stones, when Mor speaks suddenly.

"There was a tree, too," she says abruptly, as if just remembering. "It spoke to me, through the wind." My mouth snaps shut, but Muriel's falls open in a comical 'O'. Morga leans forward on the table, chubby fingers plucking the forget-me-nots from the vase in the centre. "It looked like this. But much bigger," she says, rolling the stem between her fingers. 

Muriel and I exchange glances again. The memories are all too raw; gleaming gold talons, plunging into Khamgalai's chest, seizing the heart that would've been mine. The grave we dug, the stone Muriel carved. The forget-me-not sapling, a sentinel to watch over the graves where Khamgalai couldn't. 

"What did the tree say?" I ask curiously. If the tree could talk...was it Khamgalai speaking? 

Morga studies the flower in her hand carefully, as if waiting for it to sprout legs and start singing. "It told me...about my roots. A place my heart would know," she says. I narrow my gaze to the flowers. There's no breeze coming through the hut, no draft or wind. But it almost seems as though the flowers grow, reaching out for...

I shake my head, rocking Oakie gently. Must've been a trick of the light. "A place your heart would know," I repeat, looking at Muriel with uncertainty. Morga places the flower gently back into the vase. I'm convinced the blue petals are just a touch more vibrant than they were a moment ago. Muriel watches her a moment more, emotions earring in his eyes, before he slowly stands, pushing away from the table. 

"...It's getting late, Mor," he says, holding out a calloused hand. "...Bedtime?" Morga scoots back from the table, propping her hands on her hips. "I'm not tired," she declares. "I slept at Asra's, remember? I can't sleep all day, I'm not a bear." Morga giggles as her mouse nibbles her ear. "Fisk, that tickles!"

Muriel sighs, but smiles anyway. Morga peers up at him. "Asra told me you were a bear, Papa," she says. "For Countess Nadia's mas...mas...mask-raid." 

Muriel snorts, ruffling up her wild hair. "...Mas-quer-ade...and yeah," he says, looking at me quickly. "...I was, sort of." Morga follows his gaze, looking at me curled on the furs with the baby and Inanna. "And Asra said Mama was a deer. He said she looked so beautiful." Muriel's eyes soften, giving me one of those secret smiles that still makes my chest flutter. 

"...She did. She does," he murmurs. Morga beams at me, before turning back to Muriel and holding out her hands. "Will you dance with me, Papa?" Muriel gives her a surprised glance, before slowly extending his hands. He hoists her up, squealing and giggling, until her little feet are standing on his. I smother a laugh at the absurdness of it all. Morga, so little, standing on her father's feet. Slowly, carefully, gripping Morga's hands, Muriel begins to step in a loose formation. But there's no rhythm, and his steps are out of time and ungainly. 

So I sit a little straighter, careful not to disturb the baby or Inanna. Clearing my throat, I begin singing softly, a lilting and steady tune. Mor sings too, a little out of tune but following alone with the melody. Muriel falls in time, revolving around the hut with gentle steps, swaying slightly and keeping Mor balanced. Keeping my voice clear and high, I open my palm from under Inanna, letting magic wash over me. 

Small pinpricks of light spill from my finger tips, drifting like fireflies and casting the hut in a soft yellow glow. With Morga and I singing, Muriel's dancing and the flickering light, it's like our own little masquerade. I think of Khamgalai, wondering if she's watching over us. Watching over the last of the Kokhuri. Humming, I press my palm to the wall. Tendrils of green and brown unfurl slowly from my palm, spreading and twisting up the walls and over the crossbeams of the ceiling. I remember Khamgalai's smiling face, how readily she accepted Muriel into her embrace. 

Small knots of forget-me-nots bloom from the ceiling, gentle drifts of periwinkle-blue petals falling over Muriel and Morga as they dance. Mor watches, eyes wide in wonder. Muriel simply smiles, a little sadly, as the petals land in his hair. I brush stray petals from Oakie's thick coal hair, singing softly still. If she is watching over us, I think blissfully, she'd be smiling. She'd be at peace.