Title: The Oak Queen (4/6)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy
Summary: Sequel to The Desert Children; Kirk, Spock, and McCoy reunite, but they soon learn an otherworld, while easy to enter, is impossible to leave – particularly when it is conspiring to keep one of them forever.
Parts: Foreword | Where a Tale Begins | A Quest for Three | A Quest for Two | A Quest for One | At the Heart’s End

Once again, this story was managed to mangle my careful plotting to suit its own mysterious ways. Never fear, we’re getting close to the end. I hope you all are still hanging in there!

A Quest for Two

“Does Doctor McCoy seem different to you?”

Spock perused the doctor’s face, saw nothing amiss, and tucked away his apprehension. Until it became apparent what was different about McCoy, Spock saw no reason in upsetting the already delicate balance of trust they had to preserve. If that became compromised, not only would Leonard be lost to this world but likely he and Jim would be as well.

~~~

Whatever temporary insanity had stolen Jim Kirk clearly fled when the sea monster began to barrel toward them, flinging sand about wildly as it careened down the beach. With its streaming seaweed whiskers, big jaws and jarring, hearty bellows, the sight of the beast was enough to break any spell. Now Jim yells at Leonard to run faster. If there was a moment to catch his breath, Leonard would yell back, “Why thanks, Captain Obvious!” As it is, his temper is warring ferociously with his fear at being chased by a creature the size of house. For a second, he imagines himself turning on the sea monster and giving it a fierce kick in the shin. Or the flipper. Or whatever appendage it has. Leonard is much too old to lob back and forth between mad rushes of adrenaline like an abused toy ball.

Though he doesn’t opt for bravery (or brave stupidity), McCoy’s feet, being of a mind apart from his common sense, tangle themselves up and cause him to pitch forward and plant his face on the beach. Spock, of course, is dim-witted enough to came back and pluck him out of the sand like a shell.

“Don’t even think about it!” Leonard snaps. “I’m capable of keeping up!”

“I had no intention of carrying you, Doctor,” Spock says, voice flat from exertion. His long fingers encase Leonard’s wrist, and he drags Leonard into a run again. Jim, as they come level with him, looks torn between incensed and resigned that they would waste precious seconds to have an argument while a monster loped after them.

The doctor shouts, “Don’t gawk, Jim—RUN FASTER!”

It was evil of him to say, he knows, and he shouldn’t be so immensely pleased with himself. But damn if it didn’t feel good to toss that back in his friend’s face! Now, Leonard thinks, if he could just get this stubborn Vulcan to let go of his arm…

It doesn’t occur to Leonard then that this sudden burst of feeling in his chest is not normal. That it is hard and somewhat obliquely self-righteous—and also a tiny seed, having planted itself where it doesn’t belong in order to grow. He couldn’t know that because he dismisses it as the frustration he has carried around for too long. In truth, what blooms is not frustration at all. Nor is it to be short-lived.

But Leonard is running, not thinking.

The beast, however, begins to slow down, almost contemplatively. At last, satisfied for its own reasons, it eases into a trot, then an idle walk. It roars once, a rumble of sea sounds, before falling silent. The echo chases after Kirk, Spock, and McCoy.

Only when the three men realize they are no longer being pursued does the inevitable happen: the ground opens up a great, gaping maw and swallows them whole. The sea monster watches, fascinated, as arms, legs, and screams are devoured by an onslaught of sand. Moments later, the beach returns into its smooth white plain, whatever deceptive nature it may have masked by the serene lull of waves breaking against the shore. With a tolerant huff, the sea monster turns around and begins to lumber back the way it came.

McCoy sinks into the earth only to end up at the top of the world. When he opens his eyes to an unexpected sound—a song, sweet and clear, but cold like water rather than made of flames—the shadow darkening the back of his eyelids disappears and the world grows very quiet, very still. Above him are endless arches of wood. The rafters of a roof, he thinks murkily.

Someone shifts along one of rafters, perched there, and watches him through eyes the color of violets. Unbidden, a memory rises in Leonard’s head, not his own, of a cluster of frightened, young faces. A horn trumpets distantly in a forest of dead foliage and bones, and the children press hands to their mouths, turning into wordless trees.

The memory is ghastly. Leonard wants to bury it in the depths of stone where it will be dormant, mute. Instead he closes his eyes and waits for the world to refashion itself into something more palatable. He hasn’t the courage to face it until then.

High above him, the violet-eyed creature sighs noiselessly.

“Doctor.”

“Doctor McCoy.”

Flesh against flesh—the gentle press of fingers warms the side of his neck.

“Leonard.” A command to open his eyes.

Leonard does, blinking against light and a headache blossoming at his temples.

The face in his line of vision asks, “Who am I?”

Leonard’s mouth is gritty and dry, tastes of salt. “Spock, First Officer and Science Officer of the Enterprise,” he says before adding quickly, “and I’m Leonard” to answer the second, unspoken question. He lifts up his head and tries to look around. Spock, hovering as close as he is, blocks the view of all but a greyish stone wall. “Where’s Jim?”

“The Captain is not yet awake.”

Leonard slides into an upright position. Sure enough, Jim is laid out on the sun-warmed floor at his side. Leonard reaches for the man’s wrist, cursing the fact he doesn’t have a medical tricorder. After measuring the pulse, he checks Jim’s eyes. “How long has he been out?” Good heart-rate, he thinks, no unusual dilation of the pupils, restful breathing pattern.

“Since I awoke—approximately seven point six-two minutes. The amount of time which passed before that event is indeterminate.”

“Okay, fine, it was a stupid question,” Leonard says without heat. He gently slaps Jim’s cheek, calling the man’s name. Kirk’s face twitches in response. “Time to wake up, sleeping beauty.”

Nothing. James T. Kirk always has been the stubborn-est man alive.

Exasperated now, Leonard raises his voice a notch. “Damn it, Jim! We don’t have all day!”

“Doctor.”

He ignores the Vulcan’s one-word reprimand.

Jim, though, finally opens his eyes. “Bones?”

“No laying about, Captain. It’s time to figure out where we’ve gotten to.”

Jim sits up, touching his face as if he is surprised to find it isn’t covered in sand. His hand drops back to his lap. “We’re alive.”

“Seems so,” Leonard mumbles, standing up.

They are in a large, round room. It looks like it belongs to someone, though there are no signs of clothing or personal belongings. But he can’t imagine how someone would get in here because he can see no door, only small rectangular windows set into the stone wall. Maybe they fly in, Leonard thinks. He glances upward, sees rafters, and his body shivers. There is a dream floating in the back of his mind, but it is already too wispy to recall.

A movement on the opposite side of the room, a slinking shadow that transforms into a figure as insubstantial as air, catches his attention. He watches it for a minute before realizing Jim and Spock, who are also taking in their new surroundings, have not noticed the presence. So Leonard turns his back to the small creature, saying, “I think this is better than the beach.”

Spock’s gaze is measuring. “We are trapped in a tower, Doctor.”

“Let me rephrase, Spock: I think this is better than suffocating from sand in my lungs or getting stomped on by a sea dragon.”

“I find your humor inappropriate.”

“Well I find your lack of humor depressing.”

“Enough, both of you,” Jim interrupts. “I want helpful suggestions or observations, not childish taunts.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Leonard responds sourly. He folds his arms and focuses his attention elsewhere.

A silent Spock clasps his hands behind his back and takes a turn about the room to catalogue and pontificate. After the sting to Leonard’s pride has lessened somewhat, he wanders after the Vulcan. He is still digging around for proper, apologetic words when Spock pauses in his circuit. They look at one another for a brief moment, saying nothing. Then Spock begins to move again, at a slower pace to suit McCoy. Relieved, Leonard releases a soft breath. At least he and Spock have one thing in common: they both prefer wordless apologies when they can get away with them.

As they walk, Leonard’s eyes skip across the room, float past the creature as if it is a thing too familiar to bother naming. “Spock,” he says to the Vulcan at his elbow, “where do you suppose we are?”

Jim has wandered away to one of the narrow windows angling upward along a wall like a set of stairs. There he surveys a picturesque bird’s eye view of trees and snow-capped mountains. Leonard wouldn’t be surprised if Jim is disturbed by the lack of seascape, especially since they had been so near the ocean only moments ago.

Spock removes his attention from an oddment, a mounted boar’s head, adorning the wall. His answer is slow and thoughtful. “I cannot suppose much, Doctor. The most rudimentary of navigation skills and geographical disciplines do not seem relevant in this world.”

“Nor is time,” Leonard mutters. Time has become a being all its own, and quite mischievous too. He has long since given up trying to determine how many minutes or hours or days pass from one moment to the next.

“Bones,” Jim calls.

The creature plucks that single word from the air and cradles the warm glow of it. Leonard bites down on his bottom lip and pretends not to notice the scavenging of his name. He joins Jim at the window, followed closely by Spock. Together they watch a tiny winged shape dance across the treetops.

“There’s a story I’m reminded of,” Jim says, brows pinched in concentration. “I can’t… remember it that well but…” He briefly presses his mouth into a thin line. “How high up would you say we are?”

“Considering I can see above the clouds, Jim, higher than I’d like to be.”

Spock’s silence might mean he is attempting to extrapolate their distance from the ground. Leonard doesn’t know.

“A home in the clouds,” Jim murmurs. “Who would live here?”

Leonard frowns.

“Much of Ardana prefers floating cities,” Spock points out.

“Of course the entirety of Ardana wants to live in the sky, Spock, but not everybody is considered privileged enough to step foot in a city like Stratos,” Leonard counters, thinking of thousands and thousands of Troglytes dying in the planet’s mines each year. He wishes they could have done more for Ardana’s minority, but it has never been their place to force societies to live peacefully and respectfully with one another, only act as intergalactic role models and hope others have the good sense to follow their example.

Jim’s response is interrupted by a rumble of the floor beneath their feet. Leonard hears the words within the quake of the stonework, and his heart sinks. Once, he had read his daughter a bedtime story with those same words.

The floor rumbles again. The curious creature holding Leonard’s name shrinks in fear and slinks away into a shadowed corner to hide.

Fee. Fi. Fo. Fum, shakes the room’s ceiling and walls.

“Jim,” Leonard says, dry-mouthed, “did that story by chance involve a beanstalk?”

“Jack and the Beanstalk!” Jim exclaims. “Jack climbed the beanstalk and encountered a—” Jim’s sentence breaks off.

Of the three of them, Spock is the only one who doesn’t suddenly look sick to his stomach.

“I vote we let Spock handle this one,” Leonard says, hands not quite trembling. The glass in the windows rattles ominously at their backs.

Jim is already searching for a weapon. “Spock, do you see an exit?”

“Negative, Captain.”

Leonard puts a hand over his eyes, wondering if he too can slink into a shadowed corner and disappear. When he drops his hand, Jim is holding a broom. An unexpected laugh bursts out of McCoy. “Jim the Giant-Killer,” he half-giggles, half-sobs.

One of Spock’s eyebrows angles sharply at the word giant-killer.

Leonard punches down a fit of panic and gives the Vulcan a shaky but brilliant grin. “I guess this is what y’all get for coming after me.”

Oddly, Spock looks away. “Do you believe we would have acted otherwise had we known the nature of the peril involved?”

Do you think we could have left you behind?

Sobering, Leonard shakes his head. “No,” he says, his voice both grateful and firm. “No, I don’t, Spock.”

The Vulcan glances at him. Relief is unmistakable in the Vulcan’s eyes but Leonard says nothing of it. If they’re going to die, he figures they both would rather do it without an awkward embarrassment coloring their last few seconds of life.

“Spock! Bones!” Jim hisses as an overly large door winks into existence at the opposite end of the room.

They crowd in on either side of Kirk, and the door begins to open, a foul-smelling chant of words pouring forth from the other side: “Fee-fi-fo-fum…”

A non-descript, black-haired man with a tall, slightly stooped frame steps into the room; he is dwarfed by the grand doorway. “Fee-fi-fo-fum,” he repeats to them, “I smell the blood of a Vulcan.”

Suddenly, Leonard is chuckling. “No offense, but you’ve got the rhyme wrong. It’s ‘Englishman’. You smell the blood of an Englishman, not a Vulcan.”

There is silence, followed by the unblinking intensity of the man’s regard. An image comes to Leonard’s mind of a dark, crook-necked bird, the kind that is given to waiting in a nearby tree when it scents someone dying.

Yet the person facing them, looking human, is not very impressive. When he speaks, his voice is a mere shadow of the powerful one that had come out of the dark opening beyond the door. “How do you know what I smell, little man?”

“Little?” Leonard scoffs. “You’re not much bigger than we are!”

“Bones…” Jim sounds pained.

“There’s your scary giant, Jim. I think you can put the broom down now.”

“I could eat your bones.”

Leonard lifts an eyebrow at the threat. “I’ll have you know you aren’t the first to say that to me today.”

The man’s stooped shoulders draw downwards; he seems diminished. “Then you are not afraid of me?”

Leonard glances at Jim and Spock. “Should we be?”

“Yes.”

Studying the plain face, Leonard voices doubt. “I can’t see why, unless you always go around quoting villainous lines from fairy tales.”

“Is that what you call it?” the other inquires, slowly coming towards them. “‘Fee-fi-fo-fum.’ I had wondered. What is an Englishman?”

“So you don’t know the rhyme!”

“I know what you know,” he tells Leonard. “The story was yours.”

“What do you mean, it was Bones’?” Jim asks.

The black-haired man switches direction suddenly, circling the inner wall. “It was a thought, a memory. I collect them.”

And those words, to Leonard, are more frightening than any children’s rhyme.

The man cuts his eyes at them, his gaze lingering upon the rigid posture of Spock. “I see. A man like that one but… bearded. Cold. That must have been an unpleasant experience.”

McCoy stiffens. Words hiss from between his teeth. “Shut up.” Somehow, this person has spun the conversation like a leaf. Leonard cannot remember what was so funny about him moments ago. Then his thoughts take an unusual turn. The doctor’s eyes narrow in consideration of an idea.

Jim doesn’t seem inclined to listen to rambling, either, if for different reasons. He points to the open door in the wall. “Where would that lead us?”

“To a quiet stretch of hallway, or on a precarious road to an underwater kingdom—who can tell? There is only one way to find out,” they are told.

Jim is fearless. Leonard knows that much. He grabs at his Captain’s arm peremptorily, saying, “Not yet.”

“If it’s the only door…” Jim begins.

“We have an opportunity here, Jim.”

The suggestion takes a second to register with Kirk. Jim shoots a speculative, troubled look at Spock.

Spock ignores them both, though he undoubtedly heard their conversation. “Sir,” the Vulcan asks, addressing the strange man, “are you telepathic?”

“You are” is the man’s response. “By touch, yes?” He smiles faintly, crookedly. “You wish to know my mind.”

The Captain’s body twitches with an aborted movement.

“Easy, Jim,” Leonard murmurs.

Jim turns a hard stare upon the doctor. “What’s the danger to Spock?”

“Spock can handle himself.”

Jim pulls his arm from Leonard’s grip. “Bones, you—” But those words are shoved aside. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I’m thinking Spock can pull answers out of that man’s head which might get us home, Jim. How long do you want to run in circles?”

“Are you condoning the practice?”

There’s a warning beneath the question, one Leonard cannot decipher. All he can think to say is “Mind-melding never bothered you before, Captain.”

Jim’s look is sharp, his tone sharper. “But it has always bothered you, Doctor McCoy. Especially after—until now,” Jim amends, wanting to remind Leonard that he is privy to what transpired aboard the ISS Enterprise but also abiding by his promise not to break a confidence.

The reminder might as well have been a physical blow. Leonard, struck by it, takes a step back in surprise.

Bothered him? Why should…?

At last, the words from his mouth identify with his brain. It becomes painful to breathe. Thoughts jar discordantly with one another as Leonard replays what he said. To propose an invasion when he—he knew the terror of it. A sick feeling settles heavily in his stomach.

Everyone has grown quiet, or Leonard isn’t able to hear them, except for the person watching him raptly. That mind sings to his, translating a bizarre lullaby or a tale: This monster, when it could not kill me, reached into me—

“Bones?”

—and broke my heart.

“But that hasn’t happened,” Leonard whispers, his face taking on an unhealthy pallor.

He recalls the seemingly careless comment which sparked a strong memory: that of mental talons latching onto his mind, digging into it, while the mirrored Spock extracted information he needed (and other information he didn’t), leaving Leonard crumpled in the aftermath like a broken doll. Leonard told the man to shut up automatically, defensively, but then he had thought, had…

His body sways.

He had seen a new way to hurt a man and thought, That might work.

This is wrong, utterly wrong. This is not him. Where is that intrinsic part of himself, his compassion, his morality, his…?

“Jim…” the doctor says as horrified realization sinks in. “Oh god.”

Kirk takes his shoulders, ordering, “Bones, look at me. Focus.”

“You don’t understand…” Leonard swallows hard, his eyes skipping helplessly from a grim-faced Jim to a stoic Spock. He whispers, ashamed, “I’ve lost it. Where did it go?”

Spock approaches, soft-footed, as though he doesn’t want to startle Leonard. “Doctor, do you need to sit down?”

There is a burst of laughter, certainly not Leonard’s because he would rather cry than laugh. It is the room’s fourth occupant who is laughing. And as he laughs, he grows: he grows until his head and neck are bent under the roof beams and the shadow of his massive form cloaks the room. They can see nothing but a morbid darkness and a body made ugly by scars and grotesque muscle.

Meaty hands clap together in delight. “Fee. Fi. Fo. Fum!” the giant chants in his deep, confident voice. The staccato rhyme is a huge, buffeting sound, pushing them backwards as fear would and shattering window panes.

“I smell the blood of a heartless man!” The giant laughs uproariously then makes a greedy, smacking noise of great hunger and leaps for them.

“Door!” Jim shouts.

Leonard wouldn’t have moved if Jim hadn’t bodily hauled him towards the door. The truth is it no longer matters to him if he is killed by a creature of this otherworld. They’ve already taken the part of him he treasured most.

But Jim won’t let him go. Spock will come after him if he is left behind. What can he do but run?

Gingerbread men, the doctor thinks despairingly. That’s all we are. Running as fast as we can.

They fly down a hallway checkered with endless doors. When the giant’s footsteps are a faded thunder, Jim chooses a door at random and pulls Bones in after him. Spock is on their heels.

Kirk takes a split second to catch his breath and identify any immediate threats at their new location, another round tower room, of which he sees none. Then he faces Spock. They stare at each other but have nothing to communicate. He cannot think of a single thing that isn’t too frightening to say. Beside him, McCoy tugs on his arm, a surreptitious reminder that Jim’s hand is still shackling his wrist. Reluctantly, Jim lets go of the man.

McCoy looks ill, miserable, like the last star of hope has faded from sight. He stares at them with a flat darkness to his normally periwinkle-blue eyes.

Something is terribly wrong, and it’s not simply because McCoy had had a maudlin moment where he intended to let the giant hurt him.

“How can I help you?” Jim asks quietly, studying the face of his friend.

“You can’t,” the other man croaks. “Jim… I don’t think you or Spock can help me.”

“We need to take you back to the Enterprise. Home.” He emphasizes the word fiercely, praying its power is enough to shake up McCoy.

“I’m sorry” is all that the doctor can say, and turns away.

Spock comes to stand at Jim’s side. “Leonard,” he says calmly, as if he is voicing the most natural suggestion in the world, “if it is your heart that is missing, I know where we must seek it.”

McCoy laughs hollowly. “Where would that be, Spock? Where do hearts go?”

“To the firebird.”

Jim stares at Spock. McCoy turns around as well, surprise etched in his face, to look at the Vulcan with wide eyes.

“That is the legend,” Spock tells them. “Men lose their hearts to the firebird when they hear her sing.”

“The firebird’s magic,” Jim murmurs. “It would make sense.” He paces in a semi-circle around his two officers. “I thought we had separate tasks but maybe…” He looks from Spock to McCoy. “Maybe they’re connected. The firebird—and the heart. The Queen said Spock had to earn the firebird’s magic, and you, Bones, have to show us where your heart lies. Two pieces to the same puzzle… to solve the same problem?”

“Jim,” McCoy says to him, “you can’t go after the firebird.”

“Why not?”

“It’s dangerous, for one thing. You don’t know how strong she is, how… easy it would be to follow her.”

He straightens. “I’ll take my chances.”

The doctor touches a hand to his forehead, grimacing. “I knew you’d say that.”

“Then why tell me not to go?”

“Because I had to try, didn’t I?” the doctor says cryptically. He sighs. “I want you—you, too, Spock—to promise me something, if we’re going to do this.”

Jim says cautiously, “I can’t keep every promise I make, Bones.”

“Then promise to try.”

“All right. What is it?”

Jim notices the way McCoy rubs a thumb over the ring on his smallest finger, as if to draw strength from it.

“You won’t let each other out of your sight. If one of you wanders off, the other goes with him. To bring him back.”

Jim wants to know back from where? but that is less important than “What about you?”

“I’m already lost,” the doctor says softly, “but they haven’t taken you yet.” Then he looks to Spock, asking with a touch of his old fire, “So, do you agree, Mr. Spock? Can you keep after the Captain, even if it seems hopeless?”

“Yes,” Spock replies.

Bones turns back to him. “Jim?”

“I promise, Bones,” he says, though he is still troubled. “But I want you to know I’m not giving up on you.” He flicks a glance to Spock. “We aren’t giving up on you.”

Leonard McCoy says nothing of that additional promise and reaches for the doorknob. “I think the giant’s gone. Let’s try another room, see if we can find a way out. There won’t be a forest in the sky, and a forest is where she will be.”

For the first time, Jim thinks he understands the magnitude of the situation they are trapped in: it’s grisly, ugly, dreary. Most of all, though, it is heartbreaking. He hasn’t once shaken that feeling of loss which draped him like a shroud when he saw the body in the desert and thought it was Bones. Even with Leonard McCoy standing an arm’s length away, it’s as though his friend is still missing, still gone.

But he can’t face that possibility yet. If Jim does, Leonard won’t be the only man with a lost heart that needs to be found.

A Quest for One

Related Posts:

• The Oak Queen (6/6) – from June 29, 2012
• The Oak Queen (5/6) – from June 19, 2012
• The Oak Queen (3/6) – from June 13, 2012
• The Oak Queen (2/6) – from June 4, 2012
• The Oak Queen (1/6) – from May 29, 2012