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The Bell and The Sword

My gift for @adamantineheart for the @sheithsecretsanta ! I’m sorry this is so late Victoria :( but I hope you enjoy it anyways! And happy belated holidays, I hope 2020 is really, really good to you!

I present to you an Old Kingdom/Sabriel AU!

The Bell and The Sword (1/2)

Who will guard the living when the dead arise?

The answer is usually the Shirogane, and Takashi has always been happy to leave it to his grandmother as he works to become a pilot. Some things, though, are beyond the control of even the strongest magicians, and when tragedy strikes Takashi finds himself picking up the sword and the bells of the Shirogane to do what he can to keep the Dead back in Death.

Luckily, he has help.

Chapter 1

Takashi becomes the Shirogane all at once at age 19, while curled up under a blanket in the common room studying for a heinous flight safety exam coming up the next day. He’s squinting at text he doesn’t want to read for one moment, and in the next, Black manifests, the summon that has served the Shirogane clan for centuries. She’s a startling sight at the best of times, unknowable but definitively feline. At home, Black usually takes the form of a massive cat-shaped Thing, stuffed with stars with eyes that glow like dying suns. She also enjoys napping wherever there was a patch of sun, and had a tendency to purr like an earthquake when Takashi’s grandmother scritched her just right under her chin.

Now she appears like a lion made of nothing, large enough to fill the room, and when he tilts his head back to meet her eyes, all he sees is nothingness. It feels like falling, and fall he does, right into-

The Valley of Death is a misnomer. Takashi realises that this isn’t common knowledge, not even to Shiroganes, who are among the world’s most powerful necromancers. Death is a literal place, a river that stretches endlessly into the dark horizon, and those who die have their souls pulled by the current on and on and on until their truest ends, while Shiroganes and other short-term visitors try to resist the pull of the current tugging at their ankles, and avoid spending too long there in fear that a quick trip becomes more permanent. How to safely navigate the gates of Death was among the first things Takashi was taught, as soon as he was old enough to understand exactly what it was that his grandmother did when she disappeared in full regalia for weeks at a time.

There was a lot less training and a lot more screaming when his grandparents realised that Takashi didn’t travel to Death the way the bloodline magic manifested in them. When he goes into Death, he takes his body with him, and for this reason he sees and feels things invisible to the rest of his family, and for this reason he knows that the Valley comes before Death.

He calls it the Astral Plane, even if it’s more like a canyon in the desert on a moonless night. Takashi comes here when he wants to be truly alone, because not even the great Shirogane Amiya can reach him here. The pull of Death calls a little more keenly, and the gravity and the weight and the light in the Plane feel just a little off, but it’s the one place that is truly, undeniably his, and so it’s a place that Takashi finds less threatening and more calming instead.

That’s the usual case, anyways. Today, though, forcibly flung through to the Astral Plane while still wearing his reading glasses and fleecy bright orange pyjamas, Takashi is trying to stay calm and keep his footing, as panic and the current both try to rattle him.

His bare feet slip on the damp gravel of the Astral Plane, but once he’s caught his breath and let the tension leak out of him and into the chilly waters at the start of the river of Death, Black makes an appearance.

Shrunk down now to the size of a particularly fearsome lioness, she rubs her jet-black skull against his hip, the bell on her collar ringing unusually loudly in this quiet place. A gentle headbutt almost has him falling over. “Hey, now,” he chides her, ignoring the fact that his voice is wavering and cracked. “What’s the matter? Why did you bring me here, Black?” Takashi looks around, part-expecting and mostly hoping to see a familiar face. It must be urgent, and it must be related to Shirogane business if Black was sent for him instead of his grandparents simply picking up the phone and calling the boarding school. It takes a moment to calm down enough for Takashi to centre himself and then let his consciousness flow out, to seek a sign of something, anything living.

Souls are a gray area, but souls tethered to living bodies give off some warmth; his grandmother is powerful enough a sorcerer that her presence rings as clear as a bell, but there’s nothing.

A sense of dread creeps quietly up Takashi’s spine, but whatever else might be wrong, Black is here and not another person in the world has so strong a protector. Takashi kneels down to draw level with her, idly rubbing under her chin and trying to ignore how the sensation feels like it’s too-hot-too-cold-too-soft-too-hard-too-sharp-too-blunt all at once. “Is everything all right?”

She licks up the side of his face, with a rough tongue that is neither warm nor damp, before she pulls out of his hold, and moves back to sit on her haunches.

Like magic, a leather bandolier and a sword appear at her paws, and Takashi tries and fails to hold back a gasp of dismay. The tools of the Shirogane office, the seven bells and the silver sword, are not something his grandmother would ever let out of her sight. And for them to be here, passed along to him by Black in this place, means that something has happened to his grandparents.

It’s a battle to stay calm, but there are some things that have been trained right into him. Even as he struggles to keep his breathing even, Takashi pulls the drawstrings from his pyjama bottoms and ties the sword to his waist, before heaving up the heavy bandolier and slinging it across himself.

The bandolier is tied too tight, and again Takashi has to struggle to not lose his composure as he adjusts the buckle a few sizes up from what his grandmother has been using for the last several decades.

He touches the handle of each bell, from smallest to largest, and though they are stoppered to prevent accidental invocation, each one hums a different note at his touch, responding to the Shirogane that wields them.

With time being kinder to Shiroganes than most and his grandmother Amiya as indomitable as she has always been, Takashi had been so sure that he would not be called upon to become the acting Shirogane for many, many more years. That’s why he chose to leave the family home and attend a boarding school, breaking the tradition of home-schooling and endless magical training that have been the hallmark of the childhoods of most every Shirogane.

That’s why he’s in Tokyo, working hard to join the airforce, dreaming of a good life lived in the skies before his grandparents retire and he takes up the mantle, the bells, the sword, and all the responsibilities that come with being one of the most powerful necromancers alive.

He really should have known better. If Death could come for his parents while they were young and powerful and his father was a full-fledged Shirogane, it’s mad that Takashi thought he would somehow be spared the horrors of the job.

Instead he’s a 19-year-old ankle-deep in the waters leading to Death, trying not to cry because there’s a good chance that a Free Magic creature or something from Death has killed every remaining member of his family, and now it’s down to him to go back home to find out what has happened, and become the serving Shirogane.

He touches the hilt of the sword, a golden lion’s head with a raw chunk of quartz in her jaws, and remembers the inscription.

I was made to slay those already Dead.

For a long, long moment, Takashi wishes that he wasn’t a Shirogane, that no one in his family was, and that he wasn’t here in the Astral Plane crying into the black abyss of Black’s semi-corporeal form because everyone may well be dead but already beyond reach.

It’s a good thing that time moves differently between here and the other world; Takashi thinks it’s many, many days before Black nudges him back to Life.

Bare feet on the threadbare carpeting in the common room, chest weighed down with grief and the weight of the most powerful bells in the world, Shirogane Takashi rushes back to his room to pack and leave for the home.

It’s going to be a difficult rest of his life.

-

While belief in magic and magic itself is sparser in Tokyo than in many other places in Japan and leeches away more and more every day, it took the headmaster all of a startled gasp upon seeing Takashi with the bells and sword before his request for leave was granted, and less than an hour after returning from the Astral Plane, Takashi pulls his greatcoat around him, checks to make sure the bulges of the bells aren’t too unseemly, grabs his hastily-packed bag and leaves the garrison and his dreams of being a pilot ordinary in all ways but skill behind.

So close to the start of the new year, the weather is terrible. Tokyo isn’t one for heavy snow, usually, but this year most of Japan has been swamped by a horrific cold front, and even in his coat that his father enchanted for him to keep him warm and dry, Takashi feels chilled to the bone. He isn’t sure if it’s because of the recent revelation of a tragedy, but something sinister seems to taint the air, and the harshness of the weather feels increasingly unnatural.

Black had remained in the Astral Plane, likely because it was the fastest way to travel if you had the knack and the power for it, but it means he is left to handle his travels home by himself.

The miserable weather means that even if he called in all the favours he's owed to 'borrow' a light flyer he could pilot in his sleep, the snow and blustering winds would sooner have him crashing into Tokyo Bay than reach anywhere close to Lake Biwa and the familial home.

The skies are a no-fly-zone, but the perpetual heavy traffic in Tokyo's streets means that while it's all treacherous slush, they are technically traversable.

It's better to ask for forgiveness than permission, and Takashi can find the time to regret his rashness in Death.

Stealing away like a shadow into the night, the golden boy of this garrison sneaks into the garage where the smaller military vehicles are kept, and liberates a bike with wheels enchanted to float just over the ground.

An all-terrain magicked motorcycle won't be the most comfortable ride in awful winter weather, but it’s wickedly fast, and the spells holding it in stasis and primed to ring in alarm are simplistic enough for Takashi to handle. Beggars, after all, can't be choosers.

They certainly can't choose the massive jeep in the back that looks like it could mow down most any wretched thing that drags itself out of Death, no matter how much they may want to.

Carefully Takashi removes the smallest, sweetest bell, fingers snug around the clapper to stop Ranna from singing her lullaby. He's horrendously out of practice, but part of the power of the bells is that they all want to endlessly ring, and part of the power of a Shirogane is their ability to control both the bell and themselves.

Ranna the Sleepbringer, rung by the gentlest side-to-side motion, never more than thrice or the wielder would succumb as well. Nothing can resist her lulling call, and spells are no different.

There's a feeling like the taste of a click, and Takashi revs the engine as soon as he feels the stasis break and the alarms turn off.

Unfortunately, spells fall asleep for only seconds at a time, much unlike people.

Fortunately, Takashi is very, very fast.

By the time the security spells snap back into place, Takashi is long gone into the dark of night, with no one none the wiser.

Well.

Almost no one.

In the shadows, yellow eyes catch the weak moonlight like an oil slick, and a deformed muzzle catches his scent in the air.

-

Even going at full-speed, disregarding all road laws and ignoring his body's desire for sleep and rest, it's still late in the evening of the next day before an exhausted Takashi crests a low hill and sees the glittering waters of Lake Biwa stretching into the horizon. He can't see the house yet, not from this far to the north, but the sound of waves lapping at the shore, the soft susurration of wind blowing through pampas grass, the way even the weak wintry sun lights up the crests of waves, oh.

Takashi takes in a deep breath of home, and feels frost and the fizz of hard, wild magic run right through him.

He loves flying through the skies in a light flyer, loves cutting through clouds and hearing the soft static of the radio, but the raw magic that runs absolutely feral here in the valley of Lake Biwa fills him up somewhere deep, and for the briefest of moments, Takashi feels like the ground is thrumming beneath him and booming right through him and for that moment

the bells ring in his head, and power rings out of him.

Takashi is so taken aback by the scale of magic here that it takes him far too long to notice the taint of corrupt magic building in the air, like smoke from a fire long dead. It leaves him feeling sick to the stomach and it burns his eyes, and fear starts to crawl up his spine. The stench is being carried on the wind, getting stronger by the moment, and primal fear has Takashi racing down the rolling hills, gunning the exhausted engines to outrun them.

The sun would be setting soon, and whatever it was that was coming towards him would be able to move faster and more freely in the dark.

Takashi's never been afraid of the dark, has never been afraid of much at all, having been to Death and back more times before he learned how to read than most people will in their entire lives. Fear comes all too naturally now, though, swift and frigid, and the relief of seeing the island loom on the horizon has him forcing the bike well beyond its capacity.

By the time he reaches the little pier that leads to the island in the lake and the large house on the island, sunset is well underway and the world is tinted pink. Takashi jumps off the bike as it sputters and groans and dies, and staunchly tries to ignore the howls and screeches of the Dead, as dark figures begin appearing on the crests of the hills behind him.

Samhir at his side seems to jump in her sheath, and Takashi hurriedly presses a soothing hand to the hilt of the sword. Unlike the bells, Samhir is less likely to strike back at her wielder, his grandmother told him once. But a sharp blade is like a fine woman, because their beauty belies a spine of steel and a biting edge that's hard to see until it's too close.

It's probably unsurprising that his father and his grandfather were the best swordsmen in the family, but Takashi's interests lie distinctly elsewhere, and now is not the time to have that point clearly illustrated for him.

Deep running water is a good ward against a lot of magic, which is why Shiroganes long gone chose Lake Biwa's larger island to make their home, but summoning a path to reach it is therefore extremely hard to do. Takashi has never needed to complete a full spell himself; it's usually a whole family affair when he comes home for the holidays, a royal flush of stately, loving grandparenst at the rickety train station to collect him, but now all he has is himself, and a thousand howling ghouls galloping towards him.

Painstakingly unclenching both his fists and his jaw, Takashi takes a deep breath. Remember, he whispers to himself as he rips out the shiny silver buttons of his greatcoat. Patience yields focus, his father always used to say, because a younger Takashi always used to be a bit of a hothead.

There are many ways to gain access to the Manor as a member of the Shirogane clan, but for every single one the water must physically be crossed. Takashi's favourite way is the little enchanted reed boat his grandmother would weave with grass and spells and flowers in the summer, and the funniest crossing was when he and his grandfather swam all the way to the island in heavily magicked shorts.

This is the emergency method, and all it needs is the breath of a living Shirogane. Bringing the buttons up to his mouth, Shuro takes a deep breath in, and exhales over them. The magic catches, the circuit complete, and Takashi flings them into the lake as they grow and grow into large floating discs, looking for all the world like the reflection of five moons in the water.

Not taking a moment longer, hearing the whistle of stones and spears and arrows coming his way, Takashi prays that the greatcoat can bear some abuse and leaps onto the first disc, gladdened to find that the platform is solid under his feet. Something hits him in the back, but it doesn't puncture through, so Takashi makes another flying leap onto the second disc, breaking the spell on the first platform and changing it back to a shiny silver button that quickly sinks to the bottom of the lake.

Head down, blood pounding in his ears, Takashi continues this terrifying game of skipping stones, and doesn't try to hold back his tears when he lands on the island, welcomed by the massive, foreboding torii that marks the entrance to the Shirogane home. Then and only then does he feel safe enough to turn and face his pursuers, a mob of resurrected creatures ripped from death screaming as they try to cross the lake, and get burned by the water as a result.

Limbs are falling apart, the grotesque monstrosities seeming completely unbothered by an arm falling off or an eye rolling astray. Where the water touches them, rotted flesh falls off in chunks, and tarry black ooze trickles out in a miserable parody of blood. The stench has Takashi bent over and throwing up into a bush, adrenaline running its course and leaving behind tear-stained cheeks and weak knees. A single figure seems more whole than any of the others, a hulking mass even far away on the shore, covered in mangy fur the colour of a purpling bruise. Takashi has the uncomfortable sensation of being measured up and being found wanting, as the ringleader peers at him with beady eyes that glint yellow in the moonlight.

The thing turns away to commune with its fellow nightmare creatures, and it's as if a spell was broken. Takashi snaps himself out of his daze, scrubs at his face with the sleeves of his coat, and hopes that the night brings a snowstorm with it so that the creatures may be deeply inconvenienced as they seek to wreak havoc. He staggers pass the torii, and through the heavily warded wooden gates that lead to home. The gates slam shut behind him, and Takashi rushes through a front yard rendered barren by the winter.

He can't sense any other living being here, but still hoping against hope, Takashi yells for his family. "Grandmother! Grandfather! Where are you!"

There's no answer, but the front door rattles open and hope burns bright for all of a second before grim reality settles in.

It's only Black, back to the size of a housecat, and she might be the single most powerful creature he will ever meet in both life and Death, but disappointment hits him full in the chest as Takashi tries to keep it together in the face of his worst fears realised.

Traditionally, at least one member of the family must be at home at all times, so that in a pinch anyone working in the field knows that invariably they can call for help and be answered. For it to be this silent, empty even of the little silvery helpers built from charms, means that no one is home.

The bells and sword strapped to his body means that no one is likely to ever come home.

The first swell of grief is a putrid, rotten thing, and Takashi feels bile rise in his throat. His family is gone, and that's likely related to the almost-ambush by the foetid creatures ripped from Death, and somehow all of this must be resolved by him, a fool of a boy who thought it was fine to neglect his training as a future Shirogane to try to take to the skies.

Takashi doesn't know how long he is slumped against the front door, on the precipice of a complete breakdown, but the moment is sharply drawn to an end when Black leaps into his lap, digging her claws into his thighs.

The sharp pricks of pain pull him back to the present, and Takashi tries futilely to dry his eyes. "What's the matter?" he asks her, rubbing just under her ear and ignoring his legs going numb under a cat currently the size of a very large dog. "Aside from all the big things, that is," he amends, because there is such a thing as too many things the matter.

Black nips his fingers, jumps off of him, and walks towards the front gate, turning back to stare at him in a blatant indication of Hurry and come. Even the gentle ring of the bell on her collar sounds like an admonishment.

Mindful of the occasional bespelled arrow crashing into the shores of the island, Takashi peers out from behind the gate, and the sight is somehow worse than all the objectively horrible things that have happened to him over the past 24 hours.

In the full dark of night, the hills are set ablaze, grasses dried by the winter winds catching fire from the torches held aloft by more Dead creatures than Takashi has ever seen, including on trips to the other side. The pristine, powdery snow has turned into miserable grey slush, as the purple leader funnels the endless parade of nightmares to launch themselves into the lake in endless waves. Outside of the ward of absolute protection that encases the household, the stench of the bodies boiling in the pure waters of Biwa is stomach-turning, even with the purification powers of the torii working to clear the air.

Takashi struggles at first to understand what was happening; why were they all throwing themselves back into Death? The deep water and unceasing flow of the lake was not something any Lesser and most Greater Dead could overcome with force alone, and while there is an army of them on the shores, it still wouldn't be enough to-

"Oh, no," Takashi whispers under his breath, once the intentions of the Greater Dead leader became clear. While Lake Biwa could and did destroy the Dead, Purple was throwing enough bodies into the water that as the bottommost creatures screamed and melted away into muck, more and more bodies were piled atop them, faster than the water could work to cleanse them.

There were now flotillas made from reanimated corpses and dark shadows meeting their miserable end, one layer at a time, and while the pace was slow, eventually the Dead would be able to form a macabre series of stepping stones to get to him and his home.

Instinctively his hand reaches for Kibeth in his bandolier, to use the Walker to control the Dead and have them walk neatly in single-file to a watery re-death. It made a certain sort of sense; have them march to meet their demise, and if his own will gets overtaken by it, then, ah, Black could grab him by the scruff and shake him back to wakefulness.

Kibeth's a tricky bell, though in many ways they all are. Even secured in its holster, it seems to reverberate with his intentions and demand for his hand to come closer, to wrap tight around the ebony handle and let it move the masses of Dead back where they belong.

It's only the muscle memory of having the back of his knuckles pinched whenever he got too cavalier with bell-handling that stays his hand. He leaves Kibeth be, and ignores the vague, deeply discomfiting feeling of having one of the bells be upset with him. One, two, even ten Lesser Dead would be manageable, and the potential kickback even at its worst would be worth the risk.

But a hundred? A thousand? Several thousand Dead things ranging from dull-witted reanimated corpses to whatever the hell Purple was?

His sense of self would completely be subsumed by Kibeth, and barring the glow of Life in his veins, a casual observer would have a very difficult time indeed separating him from one of the Dead.

No, not Kibeth. Not any of the bells, not for this number. Takashi pulls away from the gate and allows it to slam shut, cutting off the sight and scent of Dead industry, and heads right for his room in the ancestral Shirogane home.

He's tired and grieving and scared and dirty, and for the moment he can at least address one of those pressing concerns.

-

Black comes back to him after Takashi has had a quick shower and is sat on the kitchen table with an enormous map of Japan on one side, and a hastily-made batch of mackerel-stuffed riceballs on the other.

The rice is still on the crunchy side of properly-cooked, but beggars can’t be choosers, and there isn’t much that Takashi can’t stomach after years of dealing with the canteens of boarding schools and garrisons. Eating badly also helps remind him of his sense of urgency; in the warm, cozy kitchen, the troubles ailing him feel desperately far away, and it seems like his family will walk in at any moment to scold him for undercooking the rice.

But there is no warm, affectionate presence, there are none of the summons that usually help in the kitchen, and even if the spells of protection stop him from being able to smell, see, or hear the Dead, it doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

So Takashi chews on, and tries to think of what he should do. There are other powerful magic-user families that are allies of Shirogane, but the nearest house he could get to would be in southern Kyoto, and without a car or a bike, getting to it would be nigh-on impossible with an armada of ghouls on his doorstep. If there is some sort of large-scale uprising of the Dead, every single person in the country is going to be up to their necks in trouble anyways, and it’s a specific brand of trouble that is best left to a Shirogane.

If his grandmother were here, Takashi would happily declare that no number of Dead would stand a chance, but she isn’t, which means both that there was a fight she could not win, and also that the fight is now in his lap, except he’s a lot less experienced, and competent, and powerful, and-

He’s not an optimist by nature, but focusing on the fine details of how deeply out of his depth he is is not going to help, so Takashi tries to breathe and concentrate on nothing but chewing and occasionally sneaking Black bits of fish for a few moments.

There is, most definitely, an extremely dire problem with the Dead. First things first, he needs to let as many people know as possible to expect…. whatever this siege is. He suspects the epicentre of the Dead army will be wherever he is, because a dirty necromancer with the bells of Shirogane could drown the country in the Dead within a day. That’s information, and it’s information he can use.

Tugging a pen and his notebook out of his backpack, Takashi gets to work. First bullet point is, Let everyone know a lot of the Dead are up and about, with subheaders listing the names of the families and institutions that have a channel of communication open with the house. Second is, Find where the Dead are being risen.

To call up this number of monstrosities, even the strongest necromancer would need an incredible amount of power. Their options would be limited; they could enslave a Shirogane, but if that were the case the bells and sword would not be in Takashi’s possession, so that seems unlikely. They could break a Lionstone, monoliths built on overlapping leylines to amplify the power, but breaking a Lionstone is such a vicious corruption of the flow of power that there’s no way it would have gone unnoticed.

There were also powerful families guarding the four live Lionstones, and all their locations are kept secret, so it seems unlikely that that is the case.

The last option that he can think of, the one that feels the most likely, is that someone has gone to the sole broken Lionstone, desecrated when the royal family of the Chrysanthemum throne had been killed atop it over a hundred years ago, and repeated the ritual with the spilling of equally powerful blood.

In this scenario, it isn’t difficult to imagine whose blood this mystery necromancer would have gathered, but Takashi is not thinking about that right now. Though the Lionstone is in Tokyo, the capital is so immersed in harnessing technology and science to develop rapidly that it had lost touch of its magical roots, and in most places the atmosphere was so thin that there was a very real chance that something of this magnitude could have happened and not been detected.

It would certainly explain why he had felt so discomfited the whole way down from Tokyo; the summoning of this army of Dead had pushed dirtied magic ahead of them in their pursuit, like a burst of humidity before the onslaught of a stormfront.

Blood rituals are a tricky business, but if the unwilling sacrifice of a Shirogane was powerful enough to rip the path to Death open and allow passage for a cast of thousands, then Takashi is willing to bet that the willing sacrifice of a Shirogane could be powerful enough to shut it back down. Worse comes to worst, he can try out bell after bell on whoever is behind all of this and see what sticks, and have Black whisk away the bells to whoever she trusts as a successor once he inevitably succumbs to death as a boy doing his absolute best and falling short anyways.

Mind made up, Takashi goes into action mode. He hasn’t slept in over 24 hours by this point, and tea and questionable rice balls are his only sustenance for the day, but this is a Life and Death situation, it’s larger than just one man, and he

is promptly taken off his train of thought by Black bonking his head with an imperious paw. Takashi stares at her in red-eyed befuddlement and tries to get off his seat again, but Black’s as big as a lion now, sat on the table, and her paw near covers his face as she stops him from rising up and off to figure out how to get back to Tokyo when the family motorcar is on the side of the lake with thousands of Dead.

She stares at him, unblinking, and he’s caught in her gaze. There’s a pop!, like a dislocated bone popping back into place, and when Takashi looks around he realizes that he’s back in the Astral Plane, and that Black is pawing at her collar while maintaining their eye contact.

It’s not a place where he wants to be, currently, but he’s sure she has his reasons. “Do you need me to take it off, Black?” he asks, just to be sure. The collar is an ancient thing of beaten leather, with more runes inscribed in it than you could find in a library of magical works, and he’s never been sure why a Free Magic creature of her calibre has ever allowed a collaring.

He supposes he’s about to find out the reason, when Black blinks slowly at him in a cat’s fond way of saying yes, you idiot. He reaches towards her and she allows him to curse and struggle with the buckle. It soon becomes clear that it’s enchanted to stay closed, and at a loss, Takashi leans over to breathe over the silver.

It comes off easily after that, though Takashi has to catch it with both hands when it comes undone, the bell on it feeling shockingly heavy for such a small thing. He isn’t quick enough to stop it from ringing, though, and without Black’s pelt to soften the sound it rings a deep, deep note, heavy and tasting of iron, like an earthquake in your head.

Takashi gasps, and quickly stoppers the clapper.

It’s Saraneth, it’s the sound of Saraneth, why was a version of the Binder hanging from Black’s neck, what has he done-

In front of him, Black grows and grows in size, until she’s taller than the tallest thing he’s ever seen, and when she roars, the very mountains that enclose the Valley of Death rattle to their core.

Oh, Takashi thinks, this was not on the list, as he expects to be bitten clean in half, or potentially kicked straight through the ninth gate of Death for that one time he rubbed his grubby hands on her instead of washing them after dinner at age, ah, five? Maybe six.

He is not sent to meet permanent Death, he’s not even nipped a little bit for sins long past. Instead, he gets a voice in his head that sounds like a hundred million voices all rolled into one.

He assumes it’s Black, because it’s about the outer limit of what he feels equipped to handle at the moment.

Yes, she goes, booming like the whole world screaming the word. Without the Binder, I have my powers returned to me. Here, I am more as I should be.

What she should be is amazing, and Takashi has half a mind to be deferential, but respect is hard to dredge up in the face of something that has featured in your baby photographs, and is also an ever-present shadow in almost all Shirogane pictures taken at home. Black is Black is Black, even if she’s more a god than a kitten at this point.

So Takashi smiles, stepping back to try and look at her face. “Who binded you, Black? Are you all right?”

Her affectionate chuffing almost bowls him over. One of yours found me here, over a century ago, and humbly asked for my assistance. Saraneth bound me to my word; to look after the Shirogane line, and to restrict my powers in Life so that I do not throw the world out of balance.

“That’s nice of you to help,” Takashi says with a crooked smile, trying extremely hard not to let on how thoroughly overwhelmed he is. “I’m glad my ancestor made a good impression.”

She was timid but convincing, and I decided then that I would follow her. A few millennia means nothing to me, after all.

Takashi tries to remember what he can of Shirogane Kume, the Shirogane that prevented a complete breakdown of Life and Death after the breaking of the Lionstone, and has a hard time imagining the lady whose portrait is in most every textbook on magic and necromancy in the world being described as ‘timid’. After all, it must have taken unspeakable courage to run into Black in her raw form in the wild and still have the guts to proposition her. What could even drive someone to do such a crazy thing?

Considering that Takashi is ready for a last stand against an unknown enemy at a battlefield where he suspects his family have died in, perhaps the crazy is hereditary, hmm.

Focus, focus, patience yields focus. Takashi tries to keep himself on track. “Okay, Black, that makes sense to me. But why did you need me to take Saraneth off? Is there a promise you need to break?”

No. But I needed more of my power to stop you from rushing to your doom, little one. She bats him most gently with a massive paw, and Takashi tips over, landing on a patch of questionable moss with a light oomph. You bring your body with you when you come into Death; here I can bring your body with me to wherever you may wish to go.

Instantaneous or near-instantaneous travel! It’s not as thrilling and hands-on as piloting, but it certainly would be one for the record books. Takashi cannot believe that this was an option; despite all his curious adventuring while here in the Astral Plane, only two paths have ever been available to him. Down the valley, following the river into Death, and climbing against the current back to where he left Life. There were no other exits, no secret roads that lead to exotic locations, just forwards and back.

With this, though, his options have significantly improved. “So you could take me to our allies’ houses? We could keep hopping from place to place, and build support? That would be amazing!”

Black looks chagrined by his bright ideas. I would be able to come and go as I please. But you are still one of the Living, no matter what Shiroganes think of themselves, and if I move you through this Valley more than once a moon, your tether to Life will fray, and I do not know when it would snap.

Even for a Free Magic creature more akin to a deity than anything else, there are limitations. Takashi knows he shouldn’t be surprised by this, knows that even simply being here in the Astral Plane draws him towards Death, and that it’s more than reasonable to assume that any vigorous activities here likely will not end well for him.

He knows all this, and he still can’t help becoming upset, teeth clenching and grinding. One step forward, two steps back. If he decides to head to the wrong place, he won’t have a month to spare to rethink his decisions. He has to make a good call, and he has to make it now.

The answer seems depressingly obvious.

“Black, could you take me to the Lionstone in Tokyo? I think…. I think whatever happened to everyone, it’s going to be there, and whoever did it to them is also there. I have the bells and the sword, I am the Shirogane, so that’s where I need to go.” He hopes he sounds braver than he feels.

The extremely mighty celestial lion nods her head. I can. And I can also carry messages to the allies of the Shirogane. For now, however, you must rest.

Takashi laughs before he can help himself. “I can rest when I’m dead,” he tells her fondly. “So don’t worry about me. I’ve stayed up for longer for worse reasons. Saving the world, maybe, is pretty good motivation.”

Black adamantly rests back on her haunches, effectively blocking his path back to Life. Time is different here, you know this. It’s a gentle scolding, but Takashi is nevertheless deeply embarrassed. Rest. I will protect you, and when you wake, I will take you where you need to go.

It is true that time doesn’t flow at the speed of Life here, but it’s well beyond Takashi’s ability to predict. If Black says she’ll wake him when he needs to be wakened, he’s willing to take her word for it. And the prospect of some sleep, even in amongst the damp moss and river rocks of the valley of Death, has his eyelids grow heavy. Still, Takashi tries to protest. “I have to protect the house, before I go!”

Lions can’t smile, not really, but whatever Black is doing is that, with a lot of teeth. My collar also stopped me from using excessive force. That is no longer an issue, little one. Rest.

The command has the same force behind it as Ranna in full swing; Takashi is asleep before he’s fully horizontal.

-

Despite his training as a Shirogane-in-waiting and his own frequent jaunts into the Astral Plane, Takashi is confident that this is the first time he's washing his face in the waters of Death. It's a chilly wake-me-up, but Black had promised that it couldn't make things any worse, so.

Gargling with it seems just a step too far, though, and he hopes morning breath isn't an issue here in the valley. All in all, Takashi feels surprisingly well-rested and clear-headed, with the beginnings of a game plan forming in his head. It isn't an ideal plan, and success is a vague, distant hope, but for the cards he's dealt, Takashi thinks it's manageable.

He discusses strategy with Black before they leave this place, to try and squeeze out every second out of the time warp that they can.

"First is taking care of the house," Takashi says, holding up a jagged rock. "I need to get dressed for a fight, and get letters ready for you to send to our allies. We also need to figure out how to keep the focus of the Dead on the house, so that they're occupied and don't realise I'm gone, but still stop them from destroying the island. Thoughts?"

Black, today the size of a stand-offish Labrador, rests her paw on house-rock. With the will of a Shirogane, the summons made for defence against the Dead may be awakened. If you put a glamour on one of them to take your appearance, it may do what you wish.

He had no idea they had anything more heavy-duty than the kitchen spell summons, but he's glad someone had the foresight to prepare for the worst case scenario. But, even so… "And if they breach our defences?"

Then I will welcome them most warmly.

That's certainly one way to describe it, oh. Takashi grins despite himself, before trying to sound serious again. "All right. Once I'm prepared, you'll take me to the Kokugyoku Lionstone, where I think I'll find the necromancer behind all of this. If I'm lucky, my grandparents are there, and once I free them we can handle them together. If I'm not…"

It's a difficult promise to make, but it's a necessary one. "If I have to handle it alone, I'll ring Astarael." He touches the handle of the largest, heaviest bell in his bandolier, Astarael the Sorrowful. "I should be able to take the magician into Death with me, and with any luck we'll be thrown past the ninth gate, and that’s how it ends. If that happens, can you please take the bells and sword to someone you trust?"

No magic and no power in the hands of humans can force an escape back through the ninth gate. Takashi himself has only ever ventured to the fifth gate under the careful supervision of his grandmother, and he knows that if he rings Astarael, then that's how it ends.

It's a solution to the problem, and Takashi will, ah, cross that bridge when he gets to it.

Black gives her word that she will defend the bells and sword, and there are no further plans to be made. No point in counting chickens before they hatch, no point in strategising for a future that likely won't include him.

Takashi takes a brief moment to centre himself, and to remember that the river flows from Life into Death.

Endings are a man-made concept, and the skies past the ninth gate are supposed to be the most beautiful sight any mortal is granted.

Wherever they are, he hopes his family is all right, and that they know he's really trying to do his best.

They depart.

-

It should be quite late in the morning when they make it back home, but Takashi has to blink a few times and reacclimate himself as he stumbles back to life under the blanket of night.

The puffy clouds rolling across the sky are tinted red from the light of torches. The cold nips at his ears, and there's a promise of snow on this full moon night.

That works in their favour, water above and below the Dead. The moon shining bright and heavy helps with casting protective charms against abominations, too.

One step at a time, all the way to whatever victory he can grasp. Takashi hurries out the front gate, to the main torii by the pier. Its huge red beams seem to glow, and carefully ignoring just how close the rafts of corpses have come, he presses the palm of his hand to the lacquered wood.

It should feel like pulling out weeds, Black had told him. The third Shirogane was an avid gardener, and he made an army of golems out of the island soil to help him build the courtyard and protect the land. They will come when you call.

Concentrating on the slightly scratchy feel of wood under his hands and digging his feet deeply into the ground, Takashi imagines in his mind's eye the three other toriis on the island, each facing a cardinal direction. It's nerve-wracking work, concentrating as arrows and spears clatter against the wards while the Dead that float on their companions' bodies shriek abuse at him. The toriis were all built together, for each other, though, so after a few minutes he feels a crackle of power shoot out through the main gate, linking all four torii and reinforcing the shields and wards.

All above him the sky ripples and glows silver-white as the spells are powered up and the barrier surrounding the island thickens. With every corner of the island thrumming with magic, reaching down through the ground to call on the resting golems is made much simpler. Takashi had worried that he would need to pull them out himself, but instead all that's needed is for him to activate the little emergency button built into them, and out they pop.

(Like weeds!)

He snags one of them as he rushes back, and hastily draws out the runes for duplication onto its forehead, activating it with a drop of his blood.

Spell complete, there are now two Takashis, one of whom is well over ten feet tall, but hopefully perspective works in their favour here.

He has no other options.

Satisfied with his hasty spellwork, Takashi runs back into the house to pack his supplies. He readies enough food and water to last a few days, grabs the thinnest blanket he has, and grabs a polishing stone and mineral oil with some vague ideas about using them for Samhir. He chucks whatever spellbooks he thinks might come in handy into the bag, along with two changes of clothes. He’s halfway into pulling a warm sweater over his head before a thought strikes him in the head.

Aside from the sword and the bells, the Shirogane also has a costume that denotes their post. Leather leggings enchanted against the chilly waters of Death, light and strong chainmail crafted so finely the links could barely be seen, and a tunic over the top of it in thick black brocade, stitched with a moon over the heart and tiny stars scattered across it in silver thread. Every single piece of the outfit is ancient and magicked to hell and back, and would provide much greater protection against the Dead than anything Takashi could get his hands on.

It’s a long shot, because if his grandmother had been out scouting the source of this mayhem she would have been in full dress for her own protection, but it’s a shot worth taking. Takashi races to his grandparents’ room, apologising to the walls before slipping in and briskly searching through their chests and cupboards. He tries very hard not to think about why the room is empty and how it’s likely to stay that way.

With all the Dead creatures howling after him, Takashi only has time for one panic at a time.

In a beat-up leather chest that smells faintly of cedar, he finds what he’s looking for, though it occurs to him somewhat late in the game that an outfit that would fit his short, slim grandmother would at best look ridiculous on him and at worst rip at the seams.

Fortunately, the cloth-makers had more sense when they constructed the garments than he has at present, and as he pulls the leathers on and wears the chainmail over his undershirt, Takashi is pleasantly pleased to find that everything fits exactly right, down to the placement of the full moon shining on his chest.

It feels… right. It feels the most right anything has felt over the past day and a half, and what that entails is too heavy to disentangle right now. Looking around the room and making sure he isn’t missing anything, Takashi heads back to his bag and the awaiting Black, and closes the bedroom door very quietly behind him.

-

Stepping into Death in what amounts to the full armour of the Shirogane is a very different experience to visiting in his own clothes. For one, Takashi feels more confident in himself and in the mission, bolstered by clothes that have seen his ancestors through centuries of conflict. For another, they seem to actually keep him warm, which is a fantastic bonus for somebody who brings his physical body with him straight into the valley.

It’s even more an unusual situation to be racing down the mountainside on the back of a horse-sized lion-shaped Free Magic creature, and even though Takashi’s legs already feel like jelly trying to keep his seat on Black, he also has to try very hard to resist whooping and throwing his hands into the air.

It’s an amazing feeling.

Takashi had offered to make a makeshift saddle out of blankets and belts, which Black had imperiously declined, and bareback-riding isn’t something Takashi’s had much training in, but here they are. It’s the fastest way to move, and while time is more amorphous here in the Astral Plane, the sense of urgency of hurtling across the valley is helping Takashi to keep himself psyched up. In his mind, he’s half-expecting to roll into the tomb that holds the broken Lionstone and find some ghastly 10-foot-tall wraith, and in a panic Takashi will throw Astarael at its head and that will be the end of that.

In the meantime, he allows himself to feel the sharp, zinging thrill of the world’s most amazing mode of transport, hugging more tightly around Black’s neck and burying his face in the not-fur at her scruff. Something niggles at the back of his mind, though, and Takashi checks in on the network of toriis protecting the island. He frowns a little when he feels a heavy impact against it. He would have been happy to assume it was some sort of particularly large spear, or maybe a small Dead had been flung clear across the water somehow, but the boom boom boom of things smashing against the shield keeps happening. The wards are holding strong, but the steady assault is unnerving. If time is a fluffy thing here, then could it be possible that this is a forewarning about how bad things will get soon? Or eventually? Or?

Takashi groans. Life and Death he can handle just fine, but playing with time is beyond mortal magics for a very good reason. His alarm only increases, though, when Black suddenly skids to a halt, ears pricked up as she looks around her.

“Everything okay, Black?” Takashi asks, knowing entirely well that not much actually is.

One of the Greater Dead is trying to tear down the barriers. They have gotten closer to the island sooner than I anticipated. She’s growling, and it’s terrifying to feel skin to skin. Too close. The shields may not hold.

It’s not too difficult to come up with a solution. “Black,” he says, trying to soothingly pet her by her jaw where she usually likes it, “it’s all right. Drop me off at Kokugyoku, then go home and defend the house. I can wait until you come back before I try to get in a fight. It’s going to be fine.”

His voice doesn’t even waver, and Takashi is extremely proud of himself.

Black doesn’t look very convinced, and there’s no bell around her neck to make her listen to Takashi, but the boom boom BOOM is only getting louder and Takashi knows she can feel it to. “Trust me,” he says, because he knows that after the bells and the sword, the house with its armoury and library stocked with hundreds of years of knowledge and power is the most important thing in defending against the Dead.

A 19-year-old barely-trained Shirogane is a lot more expendable, and he hopes that she’ll accept that. He’s doing his best to accept it too.

The sound Black makes is probably Free Magic creature for indecision, but it comes off more like a roar that comes before a neck gets snapped. She reaches behind her and gingerly bites Takashi’s collar, unseating him and having him stand in front of her. This is foolish, and unwise, and impossible.

Takashi grins and presses their foreheads together. “You said the exact same thing when I jumped off the roof because I wanted to show granddad that I could fly. You caught me then, you’ll catch me now. Go take care of the house. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Black nuzzles against him, and licks down errant wisps of hair gone fly-away after a brisk lion-ride. You were always my favourite, she tells him almost conspiratorially. Be well, I will return soon.

Takashi rubs at her ear. “You’re by far my favourite unspeakably powerful entity created entirely from magic too. Now, just point me the right way, and-”

Instead of being reasonable, Black just grows a little larger, picks him up by the scruff of the neck again like he’s an errant kitten, and flings him towards a patch of rock face that looks like every other patch of rock face in this damned world. Takashi instinctively braces for hard impact, and-

instead, slams into absolutely nothing, rolling across a chilly stone floor instead.

“Magic travel is terrible,” he says out loud, once he’s rolled to a stop, nose pressed against a stone wall. Ego bruised but body well, Takashi sits up and looks around. He had expected to be dropped right into the chamber where the Lionstone is kept, hidden from the public except during the official week commemorating the Felling of the Chrysanthemum. People were allowed to view the stone then, kept safe in a massive glass exhibit, while little placards set everywhere explained how the Royal Family had been betrayed by the House protecting the Kokugyoku Lionstone, and were then slaughtered to break it. Takashi always found it a bit morbid, and didn’t understand how people could treat it like a fun little excursion when the Lionstone gave off so much rotten, putrid energy even the royal mages struggled to contain under their spells and wards.

His grandmother had taken him to see it, because it was a lesson in where the pursuit of power could lead you, and Takashi had hated it, and had been in tears when he found out that the King and Queen and Prince had died. His grandfather had then taken the Shirogane aside, tugging gently at her elbow, and had had Words with her about exposing their 6-year-old grandson to atrocities, and they had gone off for ice cream afterwards.

The gloomy cave-chamber remains clear in his memory regardless, and this place…. is not that. It looks more like a storeroom, than anything else, and Takashi assumes that even for Black navigating across worlds is difficult, and he’s a little off course. Once he checks that his bag and his weapons are in order, Takashi gets up to leave through the wooden door barring entry to the room, before something tugs at his consciousness.

It’s a strange sensation, and that’s saying something after all the strange sensations that Takashi has been having lately. It’s the opposite of having something crawl out of Death, but it’s also not just him sensing the presence of life inside a mouse or somebody passing by nearby. Takashi’s keen to get going and hunt down Mystery Necromancer, but he’s also prone to bouts of unshakeable curiosity.

Now is one such moment.

Partially unsheathing Samhir, Takashi stalks deeper into the storeroom, going down whichever path that seems to call on him, just the slightest bit. He eventually finds himself near the back end of the room, and bells are blaring in his head. Larger pieces are kept here, hidden under muslin, and Takashi keeps going until he stops in front of a shape that’s about his height, dwarfed by what he can only assume are statues of knights mounted on horses on either side.

This is the right one, and Takashi’s able to tell what exactly it is that he’s feeling.

It’s like the times when he ventures into his Death with his family, and he comes out first. It’s when he’s on this side of Life, and somebody’s spirit pushes through that thin but impossibly thick barrier to come back to their bodies.

It’s when somebody’s in Death and they’re trying to get back to Life, only this soul feels…. stuck. Takashi doesn’t know how this relates to a statue, but if it’s a cursed object, or there’s a restless ghost, he can at least help them find peace before the world potentially ends.

Taking a deep breath, Takashi carefully tugs off the sheet.

Underneath it, he finds a statue of the single most unspeakably handsome man he has ever, ever seen.

“Oh,” Takashi whispers to himself.

And he falls into Death.

-

A/N: Aaaand that’s chapter 1! I whole ass broke my foot in 3 places the week before Christmas, and then was on a wheelchair in a beach (which was an experience) with minimal internet and occasionally dodgy internet (imagine being in a wet bathroom at night at the lights flicker off and you look at the ceiling and go god you Really be like this sometimes HUH).

Second chapter will be out in a couple of days when I’m back, and I promise there’ll be more Keith next!

ALSO happy 2020 guys may your days be filled with whole feet!!!

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