Standing Steady in the Storms Ch. 41-42

An Assignment from the Enemy

Notes:

And now you will learn why Amrah is here^^

*****

Janner recognized the woman before him, he knew he did but at the same time, he didn’t want to. She was a distance away in the arms of the Bat Fang, safe from anyone who tried to kill her with close-contact. Though someone could still shoot an arrow or throw a spear or send Uncle Artham hurtling toward her and it would do the trick, he thought. “I’m sorry, who are you?” he asked her, hoping beyond hope that she wasn’t her and assuming what he hoped looked like a defiant stance. If the circumstances had been normal, it certainly would have been. There was a good chance, though, that he looked like a scrawny teenager at his wit’s end. 

The woman stared at him and Janner swore he saw her eyes ignite in fury. “My name,” she said, her voice trembling with rage. “Is Amrah. Amrah, the Stone Keeper.”

Janner closed his eyes for a second and seethed inwardly. Why did his hunch have to be right? And how was she even there? She and Murgah had melded with fish and flopped into the Sea before his and Kalmar’s eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” he challenged her. How he wished Sara had let him bring his sword. 

Amrah glared at him in frustration. “You and your brother really aren’t very original, are you? You look at me and the first thing you say after learning who I am is, ‘aren’t you supposed to be dead?’ Well, I am very much alive. Why even bother asking?” She curled her words angrily and, without intending to, Janner stumbled backwards, bumping into Sara as he did so. 

“Sorry,” he said quietly. Sara nodded, her eyes wide with confusion, fear, and worry. 

Janner looked at Amrah, a million thoughts racing through his head. She was the woman who had been speaking with Kal in the vision, so she obviously knew where Kal was. Not only that, but she was the one holding him prisoner. Why was she here? To ask for some sort of ransom? To try and re-conquer Anniera?

As he pondered all these questions, Janner became dimly aware of the sound of beating wings, large, strong, graceful wings that cast the air around them into swirling currents. Artham. He glanced behind him and saw his uncle rocketing towards Amrah, clearly on a mission to knock her out of the sky. When Janner looked back at Amrah, though, she was smiling. 

“Stop now, Artham Wingfeather, or the High King Kalmar dies,” she thundered wickedly. Artham froze mid-air for a split second and slowly lowered himself to the ground. 

Janner just stared at Amrah. He felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him and he’d been hit in the head with something frightfully hard, because in the next few seconds, he heard Sara’s voice in his ear saying, “I have you. Sit down here. Good. Just breathe in and out.” 

Janner found himself listening to her without meaning to, and by the time his mind came back to reality, Artham’s firm hand was on his shoulder. He looked up at Amrah, who was watching the scene with apparent amusement. 

“Oh, so wrenching Kalmar away from you after you drove him off into the wilderness like he was some sort of beast did something to you, did it?” Janner winced and Amrah smiled evilly. “I’m sure it was quite a delight to witness the screaming fit on the beach and the run through the woods, the chase across the island, and then the utterly hopeless venture across the Sea. How unfortunate that I only have this Bat Fang’s word on how things occurred.

“But of course,” her eyes glinted. “I have your word, don’t I, Failure and Rejector? Is it or is it not true?”

Janner closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, trying to figure out where his thoughts were. They were everywhere and Amrah was only making them fly faster before he could even consider what one of them said. 

Janner opened his mouth to respond to her, but Artham beat him to it. 

“I don’t know why you think you can come here and insult the Throne Warden of Anniera,” he said menacingly. “But if you do it one more time I will kill you. And I will do it without hesitation and without regret.”

Amrah laughed. “Artham, you are indeed a precious thing. But you will not be doing any killing. The second you kill me, this Bat Fang will begin its flight back to Castle Throg. You will probably manage to kill him as well, so all the Fangs in the castle have instructions to kill King Kalmar on the spot if I do not return in six days. Do you really want the blood of another High King on your head, Artham Wingfeather?”

A jolt of fear shot through Janner and Amrah wavered before his eyes. He forced himself to breathe and remember Sara’s gentle touch as her hand brushed against his cheek. Artham squeezed Janner’s shoulders tightly and shifted behind him, his wings seeming to rustle nervously. 

But with his uncle’s next words, it became clear that they were not rustling in nervousness but bristling with fury. “What you speak of is long past me. I no longer fear the mention of my brother Esben or his name,” Artham said evenly, fixing Amrah in a steely gaze. “I know better than to listen to your manipulation and lies. They are all you have. You have no power here.”

Yet even as his uncle spoke words of such strength and wisdom, Janner felt a seed of doubt and fear twisting its way into his heart. 

Amrah smiled wickedly. “I think I do have some power here, over a certain Throne Warden who recently failed in his duties. Isn’t that right?” She looked directly at Janner, and he tried to still his racing heart and rapid breathing. 

Maker, help me, he whispered as he blinked back tears. 

Peace, His Voice replied softly, filling Janner’s mind like a cool breeze of relief and wonder. It was such a profound and relieving, nourishing and restoring feeling that his mind and body entirely forgot the anxiety, terror, and exhaustion from before. 

Janner looked up at Amrah and stood without trembling. When he opened his mouth to speak, his voice was sure and steady. “Uncle Artham is right. You do not have any power here. Because out of His boundless mercy and goodness, the Maker brings forgiveness to the mind and rest to the soul.”

Amrah’s eyes hardened and for a second, Janner saw her bare her teeth and fix her face in a horrible look, though not so terrible as her mother’s had once been. 

“You are all being rather annoying,” she hissed. “So I have decided that rather than being nice, I am going to make this difficult for you, Failure.” Amrah stared at Janner again, but this time, the words did not trouble him. “I have your King imprisoned in Castle Throg, at the top of the highest of the Killridge Mountains.”

Janner nodded, distorted pictures crowded with trolls, fangs, the VOOM carriage, hunger, thirst, and fear flipping through his mind.

“All three of you can come to the base of the mountain. I will tell you more instructions when you arrive at the, but for now all you need to know is this,” she narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice, fixing Janner in a foreboding gaze. “I will test and try your love for your brother, Wingfeather. Your journey will be far from easy, and even when you reach Castle Throg, the hardest will be yet to come. I will pit High King against Throne Warden and we will all see what survives the storm.”

Janner felt his heart waver with uncertainty but did not allow it to show. “Is that it? We can just come to Castle Throg at any time?”

Amrah laughed patronizingly. “You and your brother have such an innocent sense of humor — I must say, I love it. I really am looking forward to this. What I have in mind is a long and arduous journey which you are not — how shall I say this? — fit for. You look as though you will begin trembling like a leaf and collapse as soon as I leave. Begin the journey trek in two weeks or so. Kalmar is not being mistreated, nor will he ever be. He can afford to wait.” Amrah smiled again at their looks of confusion and frustration. “And bring something warm to wear.”

Then the Bat Fang turned around and flew away and just as fast as they had come, they were gone. The three of them stood there in silence, Artham staring after them with a look of anger on his face, Sara with a look of confusion and worry, — for she had never before seen Amrah or a Bat Fang, though she had been told stories of the both of them — and Janner with a look of fear, fury, and devotion all twisted together into a knot. 

As Amrah became smaller and smaller in the distance, Janner’s mind felt oddly numb and his tongue felt heavy, like if he tried to talk it would only sit there, totally unresponsive. His legs trembled and — why did Amrah have to be right? — gave out on him. 

Artham caught him before he hit the ground. He lowered Janner the remaining feet to the ground carefully and placed his hands on his shoulders. “Are you alright?” he asked softly. 

Janner closed his eyes and nodded. 

“Are you sure?” Sara asked him, and when Janner opened his eyes again, he could see worry and fear written on her face. 

“I’m alright,” he whispered. He paused for a few seconds, trying to convince his voice to come forth strong and steady. He really only half-way succeeded. “But Kalmar needs to be rescued. And it seems as though Uncle Artham and I are going to be doing it.”

Sara shook her head. "If you think I'm actually going to let you out of my sight so soon, you've gone crazy, Janner Wingfeather. I'm coming with you."

Letting out a shakey breath, Janner weighed between aruging with her at that moment when he really didn't have the energy for it or taking it up a different time. He chose the latter. "Alright," he said almost inaudiably. "We'll do it together."

Sara smiled. “That is for certain.”

*****

Notes:

Okay, so I edited Sara's and Janner's bit at the end to make him more physically vulnerable and also to clarify that she probably shouldn't trek a mountain even if she does want to be with him. Janner does think it's a bad idea 0.0

Fencing Practice

Notes:

If you happen to be reading this on here and on a different site, you'll see a few differences. One of these is that I've increased the amount of time Janner stayed in Anniera after coming out of the whole...mess...because I realized a longer period of time was needed. As such, it may seem like I'm ignoring Kal or Leeli or other characters for a while, but it's not because I am, necessarily, it's just because now there's more time in between chapters.

*****

“You’ve been screaming lately, Elquinn, but you’re nowhere near teething. I feel like there should be some rule against it.” Janner stood up from the blanket where he and Sara were sitting with the twins and held Elquinn against his shoulder. He was getting ready to squeal, and if neither Janner nor Sara stopped it, the garden was about to get incredibly loud.

“Oh, please don’t make me think about that,” Sara groaned as Evnia lay calmly in her arms, occasionally letting out a happy gurgle at a flutterfly that flew past. “I’m already struggling to get enough sleep as it is. Of course, this little flutterfly isn’t causing any trouble at all.” She smiled at Evnia and cooed at her. 

“And you wanted a boy,” Janner teased her. Sara looked at him sideways, and he laughed. 

He bounced a little in an effort to calm Elquinn down before the screaming phase. “Well in a few days you’ll get a break from it. Mama and Arundelle said they would watch the twins while we’re gone.”

Sara looked at him, and he could see the hesitation in her eyes. “You don’t have to come,” he said softly. “Uncle Artham and I can go alone.” He left unvoices the words, and I don't think you should come. They would only frustrate her.

“No, Janner, I’m coming with you. I told you I would and I’m not going back on my word.” She fixed him in an earnest gaze. 

He nodded a bit reluctantly and went back to murmuring softly to Elquinn, who was starting to get better about responding to more methods of soothing. 

In truth, Janner wasn’t certain whether or not he was comfortable with Sara going. He wanted to spend time with her, of course. He desperately wanted to relish every lucid moment in the rest of his life that he was able to spend with her. He had been separated from her for far too long, and as much as he desired it, he could not have that time back. 

He would never be able to stand by her side as she struggled through the twins’ birth and he would never be able to look his children in the eye and clean them and hold them. No, those were lost moments. But when he held Evnia and Elquinn for the first time — oh, that was amazing. Janner smiled at the memory. 

Yet all that he had missed aside, what if something happened to them while they were at the mountain? Or at Castle Throg? Was she even physically capable of climbing a mountain after having twins a moon* and a half before? What if someone died or they were killed? What if Sara died? The thought turned to ice in Janner’s stomach and he felt panic rising inside of him for just a moment before Elquinn’s little hand flailed and hit him in the neck, so lightly that it felt  like a mouse’s paws. 

Janner turned his eyes back to his son. His son. The wonder of it all. Not only his son, but his daughter, and his wife. His beautiful, beautiful, feathery-haired diamond-eyed love. Sara. Janner had a family. He was the father of a family. A complete family where no one was missing or lost or hurt — for the most part — or beaten. 

Bruised and scarred, yes. His scars still showed plainly, and he had a feeling that like the stripes he received from his brother, they always would. But Sara had scars, too. Scars from the Overseer, both mental and physical. There would always be a part of her — the fearless part that he had known before the world turned awry — that would stay slightly broken. Fear and hopelessness would creep in unexpectedly, and when they did, Janner’s arms were open. He would always hold her.

The scars that were hidden grieved him, but it was the scars on her body that made his blood boil.  The visible ones that were harder to hide were long, thin lines, snaking onto her arms like forked snakes’ tongues. They were pale pink or white now, but Janner knew what and who had placed them there mercilessly. And for what, trying to find a way out? A way to escape? A search for hope in the darkness?

Now is not a time for anger, Janner, came the Voice he had come to know so well. Now is the time for strength and striving. I have judged the Overseer as I see fit. I have healed Sara as much as she needs to be healed. I have replaced the grief in your hearts with love and peace. Believe it.

Janner closed his eyes and smiled, tipping his face up to feel the sun’s warm rays on his cheeks. 

“Sara, Janner!” came Leeli’s voice as she ran toward them. 

Janner looked at her lovingly. She had returned week before — the day after Amrah had come with her demands — and been inexplicably thrilled that he “returned” to her, as she had said. Everyone had been grateful. 

Sara rose from the blanket with Evnia nestled in her arms. “Leeli, what is it?”

Leeli stopped abruptly in front of them. “Uncle Artham wants to practice fencing with Janner, since he’s probably going to need a refresher course. When was the last time you actually wielded your sword in whatever way you’re supposed to?”

Janner thought for a moment, going back in his mind to try and figure out exactly when that had been. “Uh, I’m pretty sure I used it when the squeeblin was attacking me in the woods, but that was...seven weeks ago? Eight?”

“Yes, and that’s why we’re going to go over this.” Janner found himself squinting up into the sunlight as his uncle descended, wings out and looking like a majestic falcon. He had always thought the title, “birdman,” was rather demeaning. No, Artham was far more than a birdman. He was a skyflier, a cloudsailer, a windstrider. 

When Artham had landed on the ground and handed Janner his sheathed sword — the one Rudric had given him, which he had also had on the island — he folded his arms. “Hand Elquinn to Leeli because I don’t think Sara wants him trained in fencing quite this early.”

Janner would have laughed, but the look on Sara’s face made him stop. “What’s wrong?” he asked her, even though he already knew when her brow was furrowed. 

“It’s just,” she hesitated a little bit. Her gaze flickered between their faces, resting the longest on his. “Are you sure you can? You’re not going to hurt yourself or anything?”

“Oh, Sara,” Janner whispered. He passed Elquinn to Leeli, laid his sword on the blanket, and took a step towards Sara. He cupped her hand in his face and looked at her lovingly. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine. Uncle Artham isn’t going to hurt me.”

“And I assure you, I will not be letting Janner hurt himself either,” Artham stated pointedly. 

Sara’s gaze shifted beyond Janner’s face and fixated on (most likely) Artham’s for a few seconds. “Alright,” she said finally. “Please be careful.”

Janner nodded and pulled away, picking up his sheath from the blanket and buckling it around his waist. He went and stood by Artham, secretly looking forward to the training exercise. He tried not to let it show on the outside, though. Sara was already scared. Janner didn’t blame her one bit and he longed to give her more comfort. But there are going to be times in the next weeks when I can’t, he thought unexpectedly. And I’ll have to rely on the Maker to do His part in her heart.

“Now, I think you should start with some warm up exercises, making sure to test both your left and right grips. I don’t know whether there was any permanent damage because of, well, the rope,” Artham indicated towards the scars on Janner’s palms. The one on his right hand was bigger than the other, and Janner knew half the reason why. “But now is as good a time to find out as any.”

Janner nodded and drew his sword, assuming various fighting stances and postures, as well as the jousts, parries, and feints that accompanied them.

He heard Leeli whispering from behind, “we can leave if you want to,” and Sara’s soft answer, “I’d rather watch and make sure he’s okay.”

Janner smiled at the words and tossed his sword up in the air, twirling gracefully, and watched it land deftly in his left hand. He had mastered that a week before the sailing incident, and he was thankful his muscle memory hadn’t forgotten it.

“So you did remember,” Artham called from about ten feet away. “I must say, that’s impressive considering how little you’ve been practicing. So I would say no permanent damage to the hands, correct?” 

Janner nodded as he parried again, but felt a twinge in his heart as his grip fumbled and the sword wavered. That had never happened before. He brushed it off as a result of not actually using his sword in his nondominant hand for weeks. At least, that was what he hoped it was. An unsteady hand — whatever the reason might be — could be the death of a fighter in battle. 

Artham took a few steps closer. “Are you sure about that?” 

Janner thought he saw his uncle’s wings twitching and wondered if he had noticed the mistake. “Positive,” he said quickly, hoping that it was true.

Artham narrowed his eyes just slightly and nodded. “Let’s practice combat then, shall we?” 

Janner stopped and sheathed his sword. He wiped his brow — Anniera was warm in the summertime — and stood, waiting for Artham to get into position. 

Soon, his uncle stood in front of him, a large gap separated them. He drew his sword and held it in his right hand. “Now, do you want to do it at my advantage or yours?”

Janner grinned and pulled his sword out, once again twirling it into his right hand. “Let’s do it at yours.” This was the best place to get the practice in without any chances of getting killed, and he was already excellent with his left. Practicing with his right wouldn't hurt anything. At least, I hope it doesn't, he thought uneasily as there was another odd tingle in his hand. 

“I won’t go easy on you,” Artham said, raising his eyebrows. 

“Yes, you will,” Sara called from the blanket where she and Leeli watched as they held the twins.

Artham rolled his eyes. “Alright, so I’ll go easy on you. I won’t do my worst. But I may do my second worst.” 

Janner laughed at his uncle’s words and shook his head. 

“Ready?” Artham asked. Janner took his beginning stance. “Then, commence.”

Swords clashed and sent metal bells ringing in the summer midday. They parried and jabbed, twisted and feinted.

Janner ducked out of the way to avoid one of Artham’s swings and caught his sword as it jabbed at him again, trying to catch him unaware. 

“Impressive, I must say,” Artham said, approval and determination mingling in his tone. Janner smiled as he stepped back just slightly to avoid another jab and returned it with one of his own. They went back to exchanging parries and thrusts, and silver swords swiped synchronously, up, down, left and right. Back and forth, over and over again until Janner managed to position his sword just right so that if he angled it correctly, he would be able to disarm his uncle. 

It was a difficult move that was either mastered or unlearned, and those who could learn it were few. Even fewer could do it with either hand. The process was so short that it only took a split second to complete, but even the slightest hesitation or wavering of arm or blade would destroy the move and cause the user to disarm themselves.

Janner took a breath and shifted his gaze to misdirect Artham, then began. He twisted his wrist up and caught his uncle’s sword on the right side, swung his arm carefully, then twisted his hand just so, waiting for the triumphant zing as the sword flew through the air. 

A sword did fly. But it was not Artham’s. 

It was Janner’s. 

His mouth set in a tight line of frustration, Janner looked at the sword that now lay point-down in the dirt, mocking him as it vibrated. He walked over to pull it out of the ground and did not even hear Artham coming up behind him. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. 

Janner clenched his teeth and did not answer for a few moments as he worked to sort through the frustration and irritation that clustered in his mind. “Yes, I’m fine,” he said, a bit more huffily than he wanted to, but not more huffily than he felt. 

Janner turned around and looked at his uncle who stood straight and tall, his sword already sheathed, his hands clasped behind his back, and his head tilted downward just slightly so they could look each other in the eye.

“You didn’t mess up,” Artham said quietly. 

“Yes, I did,” Janner replied testily, sheathing his sword and crossing his arms in front of him. 

Artham shook his head. “No, Janner, your skill is too high for that to have been a mistake. Something else happened. And I think you know what it was.”

Janner struggled between his urge to argue with his uncle again or slump his shoulders in defeat. He knew what he had felt when he tried to disarm Artham with that move: an odd numbness or tingling in his palm. It had become more apparent after he arrived back home. Janner guessed it had been a problem when they were on the island, but he had not done anything detailed or meticulous with his hands when he had been there. It was only when he began writing again — and, now, fencing — that he was becoming more and more aware of it. It felt almost as though part of his hand wasn’t there, like he couldn’t use it the right way, and his sword had slipped. So because he knew the truth and the pointlessness of a lie, he chose to admit defeat. “I do know. But, can we please not talk about it?”

Artham nodded. “Just be careful. Don’t wield your sword in your right hand unless you truly need to.” 

Janner shrugged dejectedly and looked away. 

“Come on. Let’s practice some more. Left-on-left, eh?” Artham’s eyes twinkled, and Janner couldn’t help but smile. 

"Left-on-left," he replied happily, a smile coming onto his face. 

In the afternoon sun while Sara, Leeli, the twins, and Galya— who eventually made her way over there — watched from a short distance away, Janner and Artham faced each other as men while their swords sang. 

*****

Notes:

In my defence of the nerve-damage-thing being illogical and totally un-mentioned up until this point, my defense is that a lot of the chapters in Part II (when this would have been the most obvious) were not from Janner's perspective. In addition to that (if we're looking farther back into Part I when it should have been evident) Janner hasn't really done much of anything intricate with his right hand up until this point.

Oh, that brings up one of my many headcanons: I have a theory that Janner is left-handed; that's why his left hand is his dominent sword-fighting hand. Another theory is that he has asthma, but we don't need to delve into that just yet.

Also, Janner's tiny dislike-of-the-title-"Birdman"-rant is my rant because I actually can't stand that they call Artham that. It seems so degrading :/