Chapter Thirteen: Unbreakable Promises (1)

[manniness]

 

Later, after Mirana has inspected not only Alice’s throat but also the stitches Tarrant had so swiftly sewn on the battlefield and the Pain Paste he had immediately applied, she asks, “How did you manage this?”

Alice answers simply, wearily, honestly, “With an Uplander anatomy text.”

“Elaborate, please, Alice,” her friend orders her.

She does, explaining that while Uplanders have vital blood vessels on either side of their throats, when the head is pulled back and the esophagus exposed a cut to the throat need not be fatal. So long as it is not too deep. “I invited Tarra to try for my throat, judged the distance and... well, since Tarrant already had the needle and thread and the Pain Paste at the ready...”

“You stepped into the blade, trusting your Hatter would be able to stitch you up in a thrice,” Mirana summarizes, glaring at the clean handkerchief now wrapped around Alice’s throat.

“No one sews faster in all of Underland.”

“You are a fool.”

“A Champion. Same thing.”

“I should not forgive you. You endangered your life and frightened my daughter... frightened me.”

“I don’t deserve forgiveness, most especially not from Tarra,” Alice admits, looking up across the field where Leif is assisting her onto Winsommer’s back. She still looks utterly lost; her expression is vacant and pale beneath the splatters and smears of blood that Leif had tried – and failed – to wipe off with his sleeve cuffs. Alice feels a twinge at the sight of her: a broken might-have-been Champion.

Well, there is still time for Tarra to recover. And she may yet. But now the young woman knows what it feels like to take a life. Now she Understands what she, as a Champion, must sacrifice for the White Crown.

The queen sighs, drawing Alice’s gaze back to their on-going discussion.

Alice smiles. “Mirana. I’m a Champion. I fight. I use whatever weapons are at my disposal to win. It’s not honorable. I know that. But that’s what I do. And I won’t ever change.” It feels good to say those words out loud, finally. To feel the truth of them: yes, she is a Champion... and nothing has the power to change that. “Well, unless I die, I suppose.” Yes, Death would certainly bring her Champion days to an End.

Her friend – the queen – sighs once more and then smiles. “Yes,” Mirana agrees sadly. “I know.”

She rubs Alice’s shoulder then looks up. Alice watches through blearily focused eyes as she gestures someone to come closer and, a moment later, Maevyn clatters into view. With a satisfied nod at Alice’s new companion, the queen excuses herself: “I believe I would like to have a word with my daughter...”

Alice grins at the still-young and gangly jabberwocky. “I’ve you to blame for transporting my son to this battle?”

The juvenile ruffles its crest in affront. “Well. There were Thrambleberries involved and... and... how was I to know you were going to...!”

The creature snaps its jaws closed and glances around, ensuring that no one is within hearing distance before lowering its head and hissing, “You never mentioned you and the Hatter figured out how to Stop Time!”

Alice blinks. “I... What?”

“You drank jabberwocky blood and the Hatter drank jabberwocky blood... You didn’t think that just faded away, did you?”

When Alice doesn’t answer, Maevyn grumbles, “I shouldn’t even be explaining this to you...” It sighs with resignation. “The two of you, together, can Stop Time with your will.”

“Because we drank jabberwocky blood years ago?”

“Yes.”

“... I see.” Really, what else is there to say to that?

“Hm... good. And while we’re on the topic of seeing things: I could see it all, you know,” the jabberwocky informs her sadly. “The knife, the blood... Being this close to the Time Disturbance, it would have been hard not to! I couldn’t move, but I could See. Watch.” Maevyn shudders. “It was horrible! And what’s worse: you’re just going to let the princess believe she nearly killed you?!”

“No!” Alice croaks as softly as she can. “Of course not!”

Maevyn seems slightly appeased. “Well, that’s one thing, then.”

“Is there more?”

The jabberwocky nods. “You should know that all those present today who have been touched by the blood of a jabberwocky could see the Truth.”

Alice frowns. “But none of the other jabberwockies are here...”

“No, they aren’t, so they didn’t See. If they were far enough away, I doubt they Felt Time stop, either. But there is one more here who did See.” The dragon informs her, “There’s one other way to be Touched besides by drinking the blood. If you share blood with a drinker...”

Alice’s frown deepens, still not understanding.

“Tamial,” Maevyn finally informs her bluntly. “Tamial has been Touched and his eyes newly Opened, although how that happened, I have no idea...”

Alice thinks of unathorized looking glass travel and a trip to the past and thinks she can make a pretty good guess on that.

The jabberwocky obligingly continues, “He shared your blood while he was in your womb, Alice. Once a Drinker of the Blood, always the Blood remains. As such Tamial is not just your child, but a child of the Masters of Time... and he Saw it all.”

Tamial saw me ask his father to slit my throat? No... NO! And yet... what if he had seen that?

Dear Fates...!

Alice feels her throat work and then throb in protest as she tries to push back the despair and gather her words. The wound aches and she wonders if it’ll start bleeding again and she ought to care about that, but, brangergain i’tall, this is Important!

“Tarrant,” she begs. “Tell Tarrant.”

“I already have,” the jabberwocky replies, looking up and in a direction that Alice cannot direct her attention toward without moving her entire body. “He’s speaking with your son now.”

Alice blinks up at the young jabberwocky for a long moment as its dawn-colored gaze stares back. “Maevyn...?”

“Yes, Alice?”

“Who else knows? Did you tell the queen? Is that why she gave us a moment?”

The jabberwocky shakes its head. “I will tell Krystoval, or course, but no one else will know. Nor should they. This is a very powerful – a very dangerous – ability you insist on exercising with your mate.”

“So I can... rely on you – and Krystoval – to ensure... we never abuse it?”

“Yes, of course, Alice. Of course.”

“Thank you,” Alice sighs out, feeling utterly drained. “Now, why did everyone give us a minute alone if they don’t know...?”

“Ah. That would be because I’m your bodyguard for the trip back.”

“Bodyguard?”

“You’ve got to admit, you need one,” the creature informs her. “You don’t take very good care of yourself, Alice.”

“Blast it. You’ve been talking to Chessur.”

“I have not.” Again, the multicolored crest goes up with the jabberwocky’s indignation. “I’ll have you know he has been talking to me about you. Non-stop since he finished briefing the queen the day before yesterday. So. I’m quite the expert on your self-destructive tendencies.”

“A perfect bodyguard,” Alice allows.

“Especially since my memory is utterly perfect.”

Alice sighs... again.

“Now, can you stand on your own or do you need a claw to assist you?”

“A bit more than a claw,” she admits.

“All right. I’ll collect Fenruffle.” The jabberwocky pauses. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he has Questions for you about that performance. Eyes of a hawk, gryphons have.”

“Blast,” Alice swears... again. Closing her eyes is the only escape possible at this point and she indulges in it. Unfortunately, the next time she opens them, it is obvious that she had not escaped but succumbed to the blackness behind her eyelids.

Her eyes rove around the pale room: Mamoreal. Somehow she had slept the entire return journey away.

“Tarrant?” she rasps. Her lips and mouth dry, perhaps due to the line of fire circling her throat, burning away at her skin.

“No, it’s me.” And then the face of her apprentice enters her field of vision. Tarra still looks too pale even though the dark blood has been scrubbed from her face and her hair has been restored to its natural color. Tension pinches her expression and narrows her eyes.

Yes, Tarra is very Angry with her.

Despite that, she offers Alice a cup of water.

“Uncle Hatter and Tam went back through the looking glass. To say their good-byes to your family.”

“Ah.” Yes, Margaret had probably flown into a Panic when she’d realized Tam was missing from his bed. But that doesn’t explain why Tarra – of all people – has been allowed to sit at Alice’s bedside and watch over her. “The queen is...?”

“Already beginning the negotiations she promised.”

“Then shouldn’t you be there as well? It’s one of the duties of the Queen’s Champion to―”

“I’m not the Queen’s Champion,” Tarra snaps.

Alice watches the emotions chase each other across the young woman’s face. “You could be,” Alice tells her, after a long moment.

“Could I?” Tarra replies on a sniffle. “Tell me something – honestly,” she continues and Alice winces at the bitterness of her tone. “Does it ever get any easier?”

“Fighting?”

“Killing.”

“No. No, it never does. Not even if you desire the death of your combatant with all your heart. It is absolutely wretched every single time.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me that?”

Alice feels her brows lift with incredulity. “I did.”

And because Tarra knows Alice is right – she had been warned again and again and again about the price this position would exact from her soul – they are left in undulating silence.

“Where are we?” Alice asks suddenly.

“At Mamoreal,” Tarra replies, giving her an irritated look.

Alice exerts all her self-control and manages to not roll her eyes. “I meant, where in the castle are we?”

“Oh. First floor.”

“Good. Help me up.”

“What? No! I already got a ten-minute lecture from Uncle Hatter about―What-do-you-think-you’re-doing?!”

Alice smirks as Tarra ducks under her arm. Mission accomplished.

“Damn it,” the girl swears, no doubt realizing how skillfully she’d been manipulated. Again.

“You have every right to be angry with me,” Alice tells her. “Every right. I used you. I used your training to manipulate you into doing exactly what I wanted you to do on that battlefield and I used your sword to make you think you’d slain me. That is what a Champion must do, Tarra. And now I will show you why. ”

“Where are we going?” Tarra asks in a tone that is equal parts exasperation and apprehension.

Alice doesn’t answer. She steers her apprentice out the door and down the hall, careful not to turn her head and disturb the bandages around her throat. She knows she must look a fright and the thought reminds her of Tam... of what he had seen... of what he had – undoubtedly – not been able to understand.

I’m so sorry... she Sends along the heart line and the replying warmth that is both his depthless love and righteous anger makes her eyes sting.

Yes, he will have plenty of things to say about this, that, everything... later.

Step by step, they navigate the halls until Alice stops Tarra in front of a pair of grand and ornately detailed white doors.

“The throne room?” Tarra checks, not bothering to use the correct name for the room: the Royal Reception Hall for Visitors. It is a rather long name, after all...

“Yes. The throne room. Open the door.”

Tarra does. The room echoes with their footsteps – Tarra’s boots and Alice’s borrowed slippers (perhaps whoever had arranged her room had expected her to need them, had known it would be impossible to stop her from wandering around the castle) – as they approach the centrally displayed chair upon the dais.

“Take a look,” Alice invites her would-be successor.

“At... the throne?”

“Yes. Look at it. Really look at it. Because this,” Alice continues, gesturing, “is what a Champion fights for and will die for.”

Tarra, however, does not look at the throne. She turns her head and frowns at Alice. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking,” Alice struggles to explain, “about fighting for an Idea . A Champion must fight for more that just a sovereign, a friend, a family member. A Champion fights for all of Underland, for the betterment of its citizens. Why do you think I’ve always taught you to confront the enemy, embrace them, call them out and count them? It’s a Champion’s job to keep Underland safe and whole and united! That isn’t possible if one enemy is defeated but their conspirators remain!”

Tarra turns her head toward the throne, finally, when Alice gestures insistently once more.

“What result works for the betterment of all most effectively, Tarra? Do we meet on the battlefield or allow shadowy rumors to eat away at our country? Do I defeat you and allow dissatisfaction to grow and fester among those who have lost the fight? Do you defeat me and allow these rebels to undermine the peace that it is the queen’s responsibility to uphold?”

“You died... you nearly died,” Tarra replies softly.

“No, Tarra, I showed them Death. I showed them the dark path they were so eager to take.”

“But... what if some of them had... liked it?”

“That is a gamble I chose to take.”

“I... I...”

“Tarra, the truth is: I am expendable,” Alice insists bluntly, honestly. “One day, I will die. Likely in the service of the queen and because either I am too weak to perform my duties properly or, hopefully, because my death benefits Underland. Think about this, Tarra! Is this the life you want for yourself? Do you think this is the life your mother and father want for you? To die... for a chair?”

“I... You... You fight for...”

“That chair, Tarra. I fight for the person who sits in it. The job that comes with this chair. Peace. Prosperity. The future. That’s what this chair represents. That’s what I fight for. And perhaps that sounds noble, but you already know that the way I fight is not. I will use whatever I must, whomever I must... to win.”

And she has. She has even used Tarrant time and time again. She had used him just before facing Jaspien and his forces, had relied on him to allow her to showcase her false weaknesses, had relied on his silence. And again, she had used him to pave her way in Upland, to strengthen her position in that inflexible patriarchal society of London. And today she had used him. She had used his hand and his knife to make Tarra believe she had cut her own mentor’s throat.

There is no denying the fact that this life has made Alice ruthless in ways she had never, ever even thought would be possible.

But it is possible... because here she stands.

And yet, perhaps, being ruthless is not – necessarily – a bad thing. Yes, anything is possible, if only she believes it is!

I am not evil, she decides, regarding the throne in silence with her student, but I am ruthless.

And she accepts that.

Just as Tarrant has always accepted that.

Perhaps, once day, Tam will understand – according to the Oraculum he will, at the very least, forgive her – but for now... Tarrant’s understanding and her own... that is enough.

“This throne...” Tarra whispers, the tone of her voice changing, alerting Alice to a very Significant Thought occurring in the young woman’s mind.

“Yes?”

“It... Do you see how it... breathes?”

Alice nearly turns her head in Tarra’s direction at that. Nearly undoes all of the progress the stitches and Pain Paste have made. Nearly... but doesn’t. “Breathes?” Alice confirms.

“Well... yes. Do you see how the grain shimmers? Like... like...”

“Like currents in the Crimson Sea?” she ventures, not seeing anything dynamic in the throne at all.

“Yes! Precisely!” Tarra enthuses, leaning closer to the dais. “And the light around it... do you feel it?” She reaches out a hand, an perfectly unscarred hand, toward the throne, palm facing the object of her attention. “Here. Hold up your hand. Can you feel it?”

Reluctantly, Alice does... and feels nothing at all. But... she thinks she knows why. Alice smiles. “You feel it. You see it.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” Alice replies softly, nearly shaking her head. “I don’t have the Vision for furniture making. The Talent.”

“The...? What?”

“Tarra,” Alice muses. “Perhaps your time with Master Setteeson... awakened a natural inclination for the craft? Perhaps you have an... Instinct for this?”

“I... do?”

Alice almost laughs at her befuddled expression. “I think you just might.”

“But... what does that mean?”

“It means, if you choose not to be a Champion... you do not have to be a princess.” And the thought that Tarra is not bound to Championhood as Alice is brings with it such relief that she feels as if she is burning up from the inside out. Fear for Tarra, doubt that she and Mirana had done the Right Thing in allowing her to take Alice’s place temporarily... All of it goes up in smoke... and drifts away.

“You don’t have to be a princess,” Alice repeats. “You could be something Different.”

“Like Ama and haberdashery?”

“No, like Tarra and carpentry.”

“Into-home wares.”

“Pardon me. Into-home wares.” Alice grins.

Tarra frowns. “But... I’ve wanted to be a Champion since... since as far back as I can remember!”

“Don’t let the past limit your future,” Alice replies. “Perhaps you were meant to be a Champion... so that it might lead you to furniture making.”

“... Oh...”

“Just think about it.”

Tarra nods. Thinks.

For several long moment, Alice lets her. Eventually, however, Alice clears her throat and announces, “And now, if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to get back in bed before I’m caught out of it.”

Tarra comes back to the present with a blink, a smirk, and a laugh. “Hah hah! Not so tough now, are you?”

“I’d like to see how brave you are in the face of a very Mad Hatter!”

Tarra snickers. “Oh. Right. Good point. I guess you’d have to be good at self preservation to still be a Champion after... how long has it been? Fifty-some-odd years?”

“Twenty-two. Still having trouble with Maths?”

“Hah. Don’t tell Sir Fenruffle and I won’t tell Uncle Hatter you were out of bed.”

“It’s a deal, madam.”

 

*~*~*~*

 Notes:

1. Is Tarra really her true self at Mamoreal? Yes. She was doing what Alice taught her to do by ingratiating herself with the “enemy”. That included hamming up the bit about being “controlled by the Soul Bond.” The Soul Bond ensures that since Mirana and Dale are not evil or cruel or vicious, none of their children will be, either. That’s all. Yes, it’s still controversial as it does impinge on liberty, but in a good way, I think. Not all limits and restrictions are Bad.
 

2. So, Alice and Tarrant can stop Time? Yes, but only by working together. They cannot stop Time separately.
 

Comments

[makrciana.livejournal.com]

What a utterly brilliant plan!! (and author's idea ^__^)...

I love how all those things, maybe "unnoticed" in some chapter, later becomes in the key! like the "stop time" or the "uplander anatomy text" in this case...

Ahh!! It's because "No one sews faster in all of Underland" than Tarrant, the reason why Alice had to die and not him?