Battle Hymn of the Republic

“It is no trouble,” claimed Creative, offering an assuaging wing, “Summoning is quite difficult, you can bring forth a parade with a belief or prayer, and dismiss it all with just a though–...”

And he was gone. His shadow dispersing more slowly than he did as the spot Creative claimed was occupied by nothing more than a couple feathers. The entire hut was barren of the thespian God and all of his odinkine.

“You’ll need to come up with something a bit better than that, Willow, although I appreciate the reference” Leaf did not look up from his book, but he did pull down more makeshift paper to keep writing, “Remember, you have to die to get this position, and most of us are aware of that. Ending an eternal purgatory might sound appealing to some.”

Finally, he looked up, “Also, Leaf is fine. Percival might have been my name, but it hasn’t been what I’ve gone by in almost a century. Ah! Your bird friend is gone.”

At first, it seemed like the God of the Leaf Tribe had been referring to Creative, but it became apparent that he meant Bjorn.

“Cocking Nora!”

Willow began to quickly look around the room, her mind immediately wondering if Bjorn had gotten himself yoinked along with Creative when the Artisan despawned. Of all the littles, Bjorn was the one most likely to be able to help her come up with her A Few Good Men case. It wasn’t like the odinkine to wander off for no reason, but still Willow found herself checking under furniture and behind anything that could hide her companion.

“Ending purgatory should be appealing to everyone,” Willow huffed towards Leaf. Her tone wasn’t annoyed or terse, merely focused and in part confused. “At risk of spoiling tomorrow’s episode of J.A.G. just because ya’ll die to get here doesn’t mean you need to die to keep it. Now, if you wouldn’t mind helping me find my odinkine friend. I need to figure out if he wandered off or got caught up in the desummoning. Between you and me, I have no clue how it works.”

“I wasn’t quite paying attention, so I didn’t see him leave,” Leaf shrugged with his one arm. While seeming blasé about the situation, he did look concerned, and started to gather his things together, “He is part bird, not to nitpick, but he was fully capable of just gliding out.”

“Nonsense,” Phyllis waved a hand, “I wouldae seen him. Ye dinnae miss the coming or going of Bjorn. Big black wings and a deft talon with throwing that blade a’his, you always wantae keep him in yer eyeline.”

“When did you see him last?”

“Upon Willow’s shoulder like he always is, like a little snarlin’ gargoyle servin’ as an epaulette. Granted I was starin’ at the Poet himself. Didnae see him after I blinked, all the odinkine were gone.”

“Then it must have been when the Creative fellow got recalled,” reasoned Leaf, before turning to Willow with scholarly interest, “Perhaps you just call him back, and he might be able to produce your bird friend in turn.”

“I wouldnae call him a bird.”

Right as Phyllis finished, a bell rang near the door, and a Leaf spriggan darkened the entryway. She tipped her hat to Willow and Phyllis, before speaking immediately.

“Visitor at the treeline.”

“Another one?” the Leaf God reached for his mask, and stretched it over his face in a practiced dexterity for someone with one hand, “I will be out shortly.”

“Your radiance,” the spriggan bowed deeply, “it is another tallkin, not a god. This one walked through the wraithcloud unharmed, and has a third eye that spits mighty spells. The borderguard have it barred, but the shamans fear it has great power.”

Willow saw the concern before it disappeared behind the expressionless gas mask. The Leaf God picked up his robe and wide brimmed hat and made for the door.

“I want to talk more on your approach before tonight, but I need to address this first. Make yourself comfortable, and ask my guardians if you need directions.”

With that, he departed.

Willow grumbled as she combed the room for Bjorn, idly listening to the spriggan that came to fetch Leaf. While she was curious about the new arrival she sort of just assumed it was Manon. Besides, she first needed to find Bjorn. One matter at a time. Having enough confidence now to confirm Bjorn wasn’t just hiding somewhere in the small room on a lark Willow strode outside. Enjoying the sound of her boots on the wooden planks, the Brit breathed in the woodland air. Then with a burn of Mithril she drifted upward with a soft push against the ground. Once at a good height over the enclave she took in another deep breath… before letting out a Pewter flared bellow.

“Bjorn! Olly olly oxen free!”

If this didn’t work, then yeah, Willow figured she must have accidentally caught him in the summoning chicanery.

The society the Leaf God had built for his spriggans stopped to look at the Allomancer. Many glassy eyes stared up at her, with a few trading suppositions of who this Bjorn was and what he wanted with oxes. Echoes of Willow carried out and back, but when they died down, life slowly began its flow from the temporary eddy. Wind blew like cool fingers tracing over Willow’s face, carrying leaves over and under the lofted bridges and walkways.

“I dinnae think he would hide from ye,” rose Phyllis’ voice from the gantry out the Leaf God’s home, “Come on down. The worst that could be he was called to his artisan, and there dinnae be a reward better than to be with your maker. Ye should be thinkin’ of some rest right now, you slew the one-armed duelist just this morning.”

“Willow crossed her arms and harumphed as she reduced the burn on Mithril. A stray breeze caught her as she drifted downward, but since it wasn’t enough to send her into a tree or too far from where she wanted to go she didn’t fight it. It did however make her begin tumbling lazily, but as she was busy harumphing she let this slide as well. By the time she reached the walkway, her head touched down first before the rest of her rather casually came to a rest. Looking up at Phyllis from where she lay as her hat had come off and lay beside her, the canidaer could see the allomancer looked to be thinking rather than pouting. The harumphing reached its end and Willow let her arms flop to the side as she sighed.

“Yeeeeeeeeah, I know. I just feel bad. Bjorn was the first of ya’ll to join my little cadre, I feel kinda bad having him get yoinked and or yeeted away so close to the end,” Willow spoke, sounding tired as she laid down and stopped moving for the first time in a long while. Sure she also felt at ease knowing Bjorn was likely safely alongside Creative, and the safety of her littles was one of her primary concerns as of late; but having it happen so suddenly after she had just come to accept the matter felt like a gut punch. “Phyllis. I’m tired. Think folk will get mad if I sleep here?”

Phyllis’s eye was a very bright blue that seemed to reflect so much light, her other eye would have been just as beautiful had it not been struck from her. That was how close the canidaer was to her, having sat down right at her side. The Sergeant wiped her round, freckled face, and, by the way her eyes searched up and down the gantry, seemed to be considering her words.

“That Leaf God has a bed he’s nar using,” suggested Phyllis, almost with a giggle, “your back wouldae enjoy somethin’ softer to sleep on, but if you’re set on the planks, I’ll nae stop ye. I’ll keep a watch.”

At that, with her pitbull half in repose, Phyllis took a decidedly canine air. She stared on, her more human ears twitching at the little sounds, her button nose bouncing at the smells.

“Dinnae worry a’Bjorn,” the words came softly, as if Phyllis didn’t want to disturb her, “He will find a way back to ye, in his odinkine way. If he loves anything in this world. It’s you.”

It had been Willow’s intent to make a joke. Of course, it had also been Willow’s intent to get up and go find an actual bed to sleep in, but once the last of her Pewter burnt out she felt as though her body were made of lead; a definitely not burnable metal. Following that, she fell asleep right there in the walkway as surely as a light switch flicking off. The immediate and deep kind of sleep that enveloped her like a blanket as it eased away the strains from the long day she had finished.

When Willow opened her eyes again she was lying on stone, and after looking around found herself in a classical looking hall of polished granite floors, ornate columns, and high ceilings. It looked a bit like the museum her mother curated, save for the fact that it was a single hall that looked to stretch on in both directions without ending, much of the architecture was cracking and crumbling, and the displays were… well, they were something. Needless to say, Willow didn’t take time to wonder if she was dreaming or not.

Pushing herself up onto her feet, Willow stepped closer to a picture hanging on one of the nearby walls. It was a picture of the first Newcastle Rugby game she had attended back when she was eight. She was sitting in the stands beside her dad, and young Willow was holding her dad’s arm as she excitedly shook it and screamed in the man’s ear about the amazing try Newcastle had just scored. Current Willow couldn’t help but smile at the memory. It was one of the moments she credited with her early love for sports, and a fond memory of a time she had been able to spend with Griffin in between his expeditions and busy work schedule.

Curious now about the trip down memory lane of a dream, Willow turned to go look at the opposing wall’s picture only to have her heart leap out of her chest when she saw someone leaning against one of the columns. The girl was equivalent in age to Willow and just stood there staring with an idle expression akin to a school teacher’s. Taking a step back involuntarily, Willow recognized her. It was herself, as she had seen when burning Gold back in the dorm months ago now. When the other girl didn’t make a move in response, Willow Prime relaxed a bit and took a few steps closer.

Willow Alt stood beside a small framed… primary school test? Now more curious, Prime squinted closer at the sheet of paper and saw the blocky handwriting of child Willow; the test had been scored one hundred percent correct, and was held to the wall by a novelty fridge magnet of a t-rex skull.

“Right…” Prime spoke thoughtfully as the memory came back to her. It had been her very first academic test, and she had aced it! She had run home and refused to let the nanny take the paper from her until her mom came home. It was one time Willow could distinctly remember her mother Megan expressing genuine affection and pride, going so far as to hang the test on the fridge.

“You’re wrong.”

The sudden sound of her own voice caught Prime off guard since she hadn’t said anything. Looking to the side towards Alt, she saw the doppelganger smiling at the paper.

“Pardon?” Prime inquired, her voice flat.

“Mom showed me… us… affection more than that,” Alt’s response seemed much more traditionally London accented.

“Well, she’s shit at showing it, Willow Alternate.”

“Rude, don’t call me that.”

Prime shot herself a bland look.

“I’m Willow Prime, you’re Willow Alternate,” Prime explained.

“Yeah, explaining it makes it more rude.”

“Fine… how about Gold?” Prime asked, and Alt seemed to perk up and stand more primly. “I’ll be… Iron. Anyway, good talk.”

Iron turned to keep walking down the endless hall, and heard Gold fall into step with her.

“You bored?” Iron asked.

“Wake up on the wrong side of the granite?” Gold asked in rebuttal. Iron actually chuckled.

“Uh… Sorry. I’ve been working through some stuff,” Iron took a breath and remembered the Oaths she had quoted; namely about protecting herself, which in a weird interpretation could mean being nice to her other self. “I guess I’m curious why you are here with me.”

“The academic guess is that… in a way… we already do everything together,” Gold’s response was even toned. Both of them slowed as they reached a spot in the hall with identical pictures on both walls. They were both Willow’s class photo from her first year at the first private girls’ academy she’d attended. “This was where we truly split to go down different roads.”

Iron looked behind her back down the hall. All the pictures and fixtures had been moments and events that both Iron and Gold had experienced. Looking forward beyond the class photo however the pictures indeed began to diverge. Iron clutched at her chest lightly. On Gold’s side of the hall were pictures of Gold excelling academically. She made friends, received accolades, and many of the pictures showed Gold and her mother in more moments that felt like that first aced test. Meanwhile Iron’s side depicted the scenes that she knew all too well. Detentions, fights, shouting matches and tears, transfers… Gold looked a little sad as she gazed at the images with Iron.

“Did I choose wrong?” Iron spoke up suddenly. “I don’t regret where I ended up, but the road to get there…”

They stopped in front of an oil painting of the night Iron stopped her classmate from jumping off a bridge one rainy night.

“It seems like you had a happier go at it, Gold.”

“Constant stress to perform to both keep mom’s good graces and ensure I get into a top university, waking up sweating and already stressed out, friends that I only really compete with, and… dad comes home even less than before.”

Iron looked over, surprised.

“I don’t really have time to go to events with him these days. So what chances I did have to do stuff with dad dwindled, and now he is most always out in the field. So for that I envy you… Iron.”

“What in the Spider-Man BS is this? All Willows have to have stressful youths and tenuous relationships with at least one of their parents?”

Both Iron and Gold laughed lightly at the deprecating joke.

“In that same vein, Iron, we both still accomplish some pretty cool stuff.”

They stopped at another set of pictures. On Iron’s side she was holding her Orichalcum saber high after beating Caxton. On Gold’s side was a letter accepting her into Oxford University upon successful completion of her secondary school degree; held to the wall by an old t-rex skull fridge magnet. Neither Iron nor Gold moved to go further down the hall to see the next displays.

“I s’pose, we already have enough trouble on our plates,” Iron spoke in a warm tone as she hooked her thumbs into belt loops.

“And we have always gotten past any obstacle in our way through bull headed stubbornness and staunch refusal to back down,” Gold’s hands were held together as they rested against her corduroy skirt.

“All of which will be that much easier to deal with if we know we have each others’ backs.”

Iron and Gold hugged, and then Willow woke up.

The sky had been replaced by rows of wooden boards. Waking from her slumber, Willow felt rejuvenated and strengthened by the rest. A mop of curly red hair rested on her stomach, Phyllis had fallen asleep on her, acting as a warm companion in the cold morning. Someone had moved them to the bed in Leaf’s hut, judging by their surroundings. A pair of Leaf warriors stood guard nearby, leaning on long staves that resembled the one their god wielded.

“Good morning,” spoke a voice that felt like velvet and resonated like thorns. One of the guards straightened, becoming aware, and toddled just out Willow’s field of vision. Following him, she saw him go to a woman sitting in a chair next to the bed. They argued a moment about respecting something along the line of quiet hours, but the woman pointed at Willow, and the guard turned, only to jump at her wakefulness.

He ran, flying out of the rustic flat, staff in hand

An unnerving gaze fell upon Willow, one of three eyes. Now, Willow wasn’t a stranger to being ogled by a set of three eyes on one face, in fact, that was a reality she had faced daily, rather bravely. This stare, however, wasn’t the pining look of a significant other, but instead a discomforting regard by a woman who resembled the cultists who had attacked them in Hawaii.

Unlike Drysi, her third eye was turned sideways, which drew the eyes to the center of her face in a way that could be both unnatural and pleasing at the same time. Were it not the warm smile kindling pensively over her anxious posture, Willow would have felt rightly in danger.

This woman had many names in Willow’s time of knowing her: Baba, Stranger Danger, Creep.

“I do not believe we have formally met,” began she, holding a hand of thin fingers to her chest, “I am Eryl Maelgwyn, at your service. Mr. Caxton revealed to me that you have a terrible undertaking, and I would like to offer my…”

Eryl’s smile widened as she blinked lashy, brilliant sapphire eyes, “... assistance.”