Shine, Chapter One
I got this chapter up more quickly than expected because there wasn't much editing to do and I had almost no classwork to get done. Although not all chapters will necessarily be up by the next day, I promise no more than 2 or 3 days will pass in between each posting.
And now, chapter one!
Previous chapter
Chapter One
Blaine closed the front door quietly, careful not to wake either of his parents. Although his father loved the idea of Blaine finally growing up and being in love with a girl, his mother disliked Rachel for reasons unknown to him. He'd heard them arguing about it before, late at night when they thought he was asleep.
He didn't like his mother to know when he was going to see Rachel. He released the long breath he'd been holding as the door swung shut, and pulled out a bouquet of flowers from his satchel, only slightly crumpled-looking from their journey in the bag.
The night was brighter than usual-Blaine was certain that the North Star was shining its good fortune down upon him. He sent it a beaming smile as a thank you, and hurried on his way.
Rachel's light was on-Blaine could hear hushed voices from inside the room, meaning that Rachel's friends (the giggly ones) were probably over. For a moment, he hesitated. Should he--?
He shook his head, stooping down to scoop up a handful of pebbles from the ground, rolling them in his hand before tossing them gently at the window. He heard the giggling cease, then Rachel's excited whisper of, "it's him!"
If this was a romance novel (like the kind he pretended not to read), he would feel an excited twist in his stomach, a thrumming in his heart, a flush on his cheeks. He'd long since accepted that what happened in romance novels were over exaggerations of how love actually felt in real life-a mild fondness, a desire to make the other person happy, a willingness to overlook both the discreet and obvious flaws of the other person. He knew he loved Rachel, because he couldn't help but smile when she appeared at the window.
"Oh, it's you," she said, and his smile dropped a fraction. She rubbed at her nose for a second. "Did I leave something at the church?"
Blaine was the choir director at the small church on the hill. They met every Wednesday and Saturday night for rehearsal during the year"No," he said, forcing the charming smile to remain on his face. "I just--" his carefully planned out speech was interrupted by a sharp thwack, and the flowers in his hand fell to the ground, neatly cut in half. He looked up in mild surprise, then suppressed an ungentlemanly sort of sigh (Rachel had once told him she preferred the sort of effortless confidence only the most self-absorbed of gentlemen could exude).
Jesse St. James. The man oozed conceit, condescension, and most importantly, cruelty. This was the sort of attitude Blaine would never be able to pull off, even if he tried (and he tried hard).
"Blaine Anderson," Jesse said, and Blaine was almost impressed with the sheer amount of arrogance in his voice. "Choirboy by day, peeping Tom by night. Is there no end to your charms?
"Hello, Jesse," Blaine said patiently.
"Do your sniveling, childlike fantasies ever end?" Jesse asked calmly, jabbing at Blaine's chest with the walking stick he'd used to cut Blaine's flowers in two.
Don't start anything, Blaine's brain told him. Be the bigger man. He kept his mouth shut and jaw locked.
"Be nice to him, Jesse," Rachel called from the window, only slightly reprovingly.
Jesse pointed his walking stick at the ground. "Ah, were those for Rachel?"
"They were, before you accidentally crushed them," Blaine countered. He in no way believed the event to be an accident-quite the opposite, actually. But Rachel was watching, and he wasn't about to pick a fight in front of her.
"Jesse, be nice to the poor boy," Rachel called again.
Blaine felt a swell of indignation rise in his chest. Just because he was shorter than Jesse!--
"I'll just go then, shall I?" Blaine asked, only semi-sarcastically. "I'll see you at choir tomorrow, Rachel."
He let himself into his house moodily, stomping up the stairs this time. It wasn't fair. Jesse was a foolish and manipulative mountebank, and Blaine was a gentleman. But apparently, cruel and rude was an attractive quality in men, at least to Rachel.
Choir was uncomfortable the next day. Rachel was actually flirting with him a little-playing coy and fluttering her eyelashes as they sang their hymns. Instead of feeling gratified, Blaine simply felt uncomfortable and a little disturbed by her flirtatious advances.
He tried to chase those feelings away by serenading her romantically with a popular song.
He was dismissed from his position in the choir for inappropriate conduct, which was further described as "jumping on the pews and singing inappropriate lyrics to a lady in a house of worship."
He didn't want to see the look on his mother's face when he told her. He knew his father wouldn't care-his father never cared, not unless it had to do with Rachel (in that case, his father was eager and fully invested).
But oh, lord, his mum-he never liked to let her down.
She was gentle, at least. She listened to his woes about Rachel, even if she didn't approve of the girl.
"Blaine," she said gently, when she was done, "why is it so important for you to be with Rachel? You don't seem besotted with her."
"I am, mother," he said quickly, although for some reason the words sounded false on his lips. "I love her."
"Do you?" his mother mused.
"Mother, I know you don't like Rachel very much. But I would like your blessing. And your help, if you could."
She sighed, leaning her head against her hand. "What sort of assistance do you require?"
The pebble he chose was perfect. It was probably odd for him to notice, but it was exactly the right weight for throwing against a window. Heavy enough to make a noise, yet light enough so as not to crack the glass.
Rachel opened the window, then sighed. "Blaine, what you did today was extremely inappropriate and I think it best if--"
"I know," Blaine interrupted. "and I'm really sorry. Let me make it up to you?" he smiled charmingly.
She sighed in irritation and shut the window.
He stared at the window a second longer, then shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away in resignation. Well, that was a waste of his savings and his mother's time and effort.
Suddenly, Rachel was slipping her arm through the crook of his elbow. "My birthday isn't for two weeks, you know."
He grinned.
The place he'd set up was perfect. Soft candlelight, red wine (with a large bottle of water, in case Rachel wished to water it down), bread, cheese. A blanket, spread out across the damp ground.
"This must've been all your savings," Rachel said. "What are you going to do now? Now that you're gone from the church choir? I mean, I know it can't have paid much, but it still paid some, didn't it?"
"It's a big world out there, Rachel," Blaine said, with a sweeping motion of his arm. "I love singing, but there are places I can sing that are bigger, freer than a church choir. I plan to see it all."
"You sound like Jesse," Rachel said. "I may prefer the stories of New York City in America, but did you know that he's planning to travel all the way to Ipswich just to buy me a ring?"
"A ring?" Blaine asked, his forehead wrinkling. "What-what kind of ring?" He couldn't do this. He couldn't lose the chance to win Rachel over-his father was already asking when he was going to tie the knot with her. He had to marry for fondness as his parents had, rather than love-because who knew if he'd ever really find love? He certainly wouldn't in Wall.
"Word is he's planning to propose to me on my birthday," Rachel said, with a slightly smug smile, taking a sip of her watered down wine. "Mmm, this is delicious. It tastes like... like pink!"
In his own slightly tipsy-headed state, her strange comment actually made sense. In fact, the more he drank, the more everything made sense-marrying her, included. The more he drank, the more attractive she got. "And you're going to say yes?"
"Well, I can't exactly say no," Rachel giggled. "After he's gone all the way to Ipswich."
"Rachel, for your hand I'd cross oceans," Blaine said earnestly, taking her hand in his. He took in her slightly skeptical expression. "Or continents."
"Really?" Rachel asked, taking another sip of wine, but keeping her eyes on him.
"Yes," Blaine said, moving a little closer on the blanket. "Rachel, for your hand in marriage, I'd go to... to New York and bring you back enough champagne to fill a lake. I would. I'd go to Africa and bring you back a diamond as big as your face."
Rachel was slowly drawing closer-it was obvious what her intention was, and yet why was that making Blaine's stomach queasier and queasier?
"I'd-I'd go to Antarctica and slaughter a polar bear and bring you back its head," Blaine said. Rachel was so close he could smell the wine on her breath.
She pulled back abruptly, a look of disgust on her face. "A polar bear's head? Ugh."
Blaine tried to refrain from rolling his eyes.
"Mm, you're funny, Blaine," Rachel said, tapping his nose. He pulled away from the touch a little. "But people like you, and people like me, well. Jesse is far more suited for my ambition and my talents."
Blaine laughed, a little incredulously.
"I should go," Rachel said, breaking the brief silence.
"Wait, just-let's just finish the wine," Blaine said, pouring himself another glass. There went his chances for an easy life. He would never have had to explain himself to Rachel-he could stay private, and quiet, and closed, and she never would have noticed, so self-absorbed was she. Where would he find another woman like her, a woman he'd never have to share himself with?
"Well, all right," Rachel said, holding out her half-empty glass.
Had Blaine known then how the stars watched Earth, he'd have shuddered at the very thought of an audience to his humiliation. But, fortunately for him, nearly every star in the sky was, at that moment, looking in earnest at the land on the other side of the wall-where the King of all Stormhold lay on his deathbed. Which was a coincidence, because it was the King's final act that would change the course of Blaine's destiny forever.
"Where is Samuel?" the King asked, gazing tired-eyed around the room.
"He's on his way, father," said his youngest, her eyes intense in a way that frightened the other two children standing by their father's bed.
"Then we will wait," the King said, closing his eyes gently to give himself a bit of a rest.
The door swung open in a wild burst, and Sam strode through, his long cloak fluttering wildly around his ankles. "Sorry I'm late, father," he said, kneeling down beside the ornate bed.
His father nodded, smiling warmly. "You're here now, and that's all that matters."
Sam stood slowly. "Quinn. Lauren. Santana," he said curtly, nodding to each in turn.
"Things have changed in Stormhold," the King murmured. "This is very unusual-three females in contention for the throne, and only one male."
Sam could feel Santana's hard, black gaze on him, and his skin crawled as his brain flashed to the steel of a blade sharp against his throat, a snake-like tongue hissing in his ear. "Drop out now, or you know what I'm capable of."
He cleared his throat. "Er. Father?"
The King weakly turned his head to look at his second child. "Yes?"
"I wish to drop out of the running for the crown," he said quietly. "I have no desire to be King, nor would I be a good candidate for it."
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Santana's smug smile.
"If you're sure," the King said, uncertainly.
"I'm sure," Sam said. His life was worth more than a crown he didn't even want-although he didn't think Santana, Quinn, or Lauren were the right people to rule, either. Part of him wished that Mike was still alive, but that wasn't possible. He'd died years ago.
"Well, then," the King said. "You may go."
He was out of the door in the blink of an eye, his heart pounding a beat of relief in his chest.
"Now, to the matter of succession, now that Sam is out of the running and your other three brothers are, sadly, deceased," the King mused.
Santana, Lauren, and Quinn all exchanged glances.
"We will do this in a most unconventional way," the King declared. "Without the usual violence and bloodshed that normally accompanies the fight for the throne, hopefully.
"Although tradition dictates that the throne must pass to a male heir, there are no longer any male heirs in the running," the King said, lifting the chain front his neck. "Therefore, we shall resolve the situation in a non-traditional manner." He clasped the chain from his necklace in his fist. A large ruby dangled from the end. The three women watched as the stone glowed, shifting and swirling from a dark, red ruby into a transparent, crystal-like stone. "Only one of royal blood can restore the ruby, and the one of you that does so shall be the new ruler of Stormhold."
Within his next breath, he was dead.
Santana was the first to make a grab for the floating necklace. To her immense surprise, it darted out of the way, nearly whipping her in the face as it shot up into the air and out the wide open window.
The stone gained speed as it climbed higher and higher into the sky. Perhaps it could have gone on forever, had it not collided with another object. A noise rocked the heavens, a shockwave of purple and blue pulsing from where the collision had occurred. Within moments, both the necklace and whatever it had collided with were streaking for the ground, moving in a graceful arc across the sky.
"Oh, Blaine, a shooting star!" Rachel cried. "Stars are sort of a metaphor for me, you know. For me being a star," she confided. "Oh, it's beautiful."
Blaine hesitated. "More beautiful than a fancy ring from Ipswich?" Blaine asked quietly. This was his only chance.
She looked at him in tipsy inquiry.
He knelt before her. "Rachel, for your hand in marriage, I'd cross the wall and I'd bring you back that fallen star."
"You can't cross the wall," Rachel said, in an almost condescending tone, and Blaine actually felt a tinge of annoyance. It was gone as quickly as it came. "Nobody crosses the wall."
"I'd do it," Blaine said immediately. "For you I'd do anything."
"Hmmm." Rachel sat back on her heels, tipping her head as she thought. "My very own star." She hesitated only a moment, then held out her wine glass. "It seems we have ourselves an agreement. You have exactly two weeks, or I'm marrying Jesse."
They clinked their glasses together.
There it was. A streak across the sky, traveling thousands of miles per hour across the heavens, a bright flash in the dark.
Four hundred years they'd waited for this. He'd been old far too long.
The star landed in a crater.
Or, no, maybe the star created the crater when it landed.
Regardless, there was a massive shockwave that burned down several hundred feet of trees around the crater, and a white glow emanating from the center of the crater that slowly faded until it became apparent that it was coming from the chest of a boy.
A boy lay on the blackened ground, in the middle of a massive crater.
His eyes were closed, his face screwed up in pain, but even with that it was easy to tell that he was beautiful. He had a subtle glow to his porcelain skin and auburn hair that was fading every second. His features were thin, elfin, pointed, his nose turned up, his lips full and pink, his jaw smooth and angular. He was clothed completely in a soft silver fabric that shimmered subtly.
In a moment, his eyelashes fluttered. His eyes were a strange blue-green-silver that somehow glowed just as his skin did. His head tipped to his right.
A large necklace lay a few feet from him, set with what looked like a diamond. The very reason for his presence in this god-forsaken crater, he realized with a scowl.
But the pain was too much, and before he could get much further along that line of thought, he drifted into blackness.
His bones were stiff, creaky, old as he hurried inside. His brothers were asleep on the bed, all tangled up together. He slammed his hands against the table to wake them.
"What is it, at this hour?" one croaked, rubbing a fist across a wrinkled eyelid.
"A star," he whispered, pausing dramatically, "has fallen."
It took his brothers a moment to react, and then-a gasp, as both of them fell from the bed.
"Where are the Babylon candles?" he asked angrily. The cabinet seemed empty but for a few useless odds and ends.
"You used the last one, Karofsky. Two hundred years ago, do you not recall?" asked Azimio.
"Perhaps we could obtain another?" Strando suggested.
Karofsky whirled on him. "Has your mind become as old and decayed as your face, Strando? You speak as if such things... are freely available."
"I know, brother, I merely thought--"
"No use hunting for a Babylon candle while some other warlock finds our star," Karofsky said viciously, slamming his hand back onto the table. "Idiot. There's no time to waste. If we must retrieve it on foot, then we will." He paced to the cages on the far end of the dimly lit room, to where dozens of half-starved animals were confined. "Azimio. We need more information."
An animal was selected-a weasel, white with a black-tipped tail.
Azimio selected a knife and slit the animal from throat to tail. All three leaned forward to examine the creature's innards.
"Hm," Karofsky said. "If these... divinations are correct, the fallen star lies one hundred miles away."
"Four centuries we've waited for this," Strando said, as they all straightened up slowly. "What trouble is a few more days?"
"Who shall go, then, to seek it and bring it back?" Azimio asked, and the three exchanged a significant look, before closing their eyes and reaching their hands into the slit belly of the animal.
Karofsky's eyelids cracked. He checked first to his right, then to his left-to the still closed eyes of his brothers-then peered down at the animal, examining the organs until his fingers closed around the thing they were all searching for.
The other two opened their eyes.
"I've his liver," said Strando.
"I've his kidney," said Azimio.
"And I've his heart," said Karofsky, failing to keep the smug tone from his voice.
The other two looked at him.
"You'll be needing what's left of the last star," Strando said, producing a small wooden box dusted with cobwebs.
Karofsky opened the box. "There's not much left," he said, examining the remains critically.
"Oh, but soon there will be enough for us all."
Karofsky cupped the piece in his hand, clasping it to his chest possessively as he strode to the mirror. He'd been old and ugly and weak for far too long.
He wanted to see it when he regained his youth.
It was quick, really-as soon as the piece of the star hit the back of his throat, he began to change. The wrinkles smoothed, his skin tightening and shrinking. His hair grew from his follicles-he'd had none before. His eyes sharpened, his teeth whitened. It was over in a matter of seconds.
He was never the best looking of men, maybe. A prince would always outshine a warlock by far. But right then, compared to his two brothers, he looked like Michaelangelo's David.
It was even later when he left Rachel, but Blaine knew he had to at least try. What she'd said was true-crossing the wall was just something nobody could do.
But he had to try.
"Blaine Anderson," the figure at the wall sang. Drunk, as usual. It figured.
"Hello, April," he said, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.
"You're not trying to cross the wall too, are you?" the gatekeeper asked suspiciously, swaying where she stood.
"Too? Who else has crossed the wall?" he asked curiously.
"Nobody. Nobody crosses the wall, you know that," she said quickly, blocking his way with the staff she carried at all times.
"No, I know," he said, a plan formulating in his head. "Well, goodnight then."
"Goodnight, Blaine," the guard called, already beginning to pace away from the entrance to the wall. "Give my best to your parents."
It was now or never. Blaine turned tail and ran headfirst for the wall, and he was through, and--
And he definitely wasn't expecting the guard to flip over the wall and whack him in the stomach with the stick, giving him a kick that sent him flying back into Wall. She rapped him sharply against the skull, spinning her stick back into an upright position.
"Like mother, like son," she chuckled, resting her hands on the top of her staff. "Off you go, now."
His mother gasped when he walked through the door, her hands fluttering to her mouth. "Oh, honey!"
"What are you doing up so late?" he asked stiffly. She ignored the question, bustling over to the ice box.
"What happened?" she asked, turning with a slab of steak in hand. "Was it Jesse again?"
"No, actually," Blaine said, irritated for more than one reason. "It was the guard. The guard at the wall?"
"Blaine, she's an alcoholic," his mother said gently. "She can't even stand straight."
"Well, being inebriated certainly improves her coordination, now doesn't it," Blaine snapped back, pressing the steak against his face.
"Why, may I ask, were you trying to cross the wall?"
Blaine lifted the steak from his eye. "I might ask you the same thing."
For a moment, his mother held his gaze; then her shoulders slumped. "Come with me."
It was dark, and cold, and everything hurt, and he just wanted to go back to the sky where he belonged. It felt like his back was absolutely covered with bruises when he sat up.
The necklace, the goddamn necklace that had been the cause of all his problems, lay only a few feet away. He remembered it being there last time, right before he'd blacked out. This time, he reached out a hand for it. He half-expected it to do something-bite him, or bludgeon him, or something.
But no, it actually appeared to be just a necklace, and he fastened it around his neck.
"So... dad's not my father," Blaine said, blankly. He could feel his mother's eyes on him, but he couldn't meet them quite yet. He was still in a state of shock.
"No," his mother said softly.
"I mean, but, I have a father. He could still be alive."
"Well, I hope so. I certainly like to think so." Tina hesitated, then reached behind her into a box. They were seated on the floor of the attic, the trapdoor leading up to it shut firmly-there would be no interruptions. "Blaine... he doesn't know you exist."
"Of course not," Blaine muttered.
"I have these," his mother offered, holding out a small length of silver chain and the glass flower.
"The chain you cut," Blaine said, with a faint smile, reaching up to clasp it in his hand. It made a strange, almost musical sound as it passed from mother to son. "Just like you said. And the flower." He tucked the latter into his lapel.
"And this," Tina said, producing a slim black candle. "I don't know what it does, but I'm assuming it can be used as some sort of means of travel. He told me to light it, and then think of him and only him.” She sighed. “And I do, Blaine. All the time. Your father and I-you have to know that--"
“I know,” Blaine said, softly, and he met her eyes with a soft smile. “I hear you two fighting when you think I'm asleep."
She bowed her head, unsmiling.
"Well, do you-do you have a light?" he asked, clasping the candle in his hand.
She shuffled around for a matchbook, finding one under a basket nearby, and struck a match. She held it out, and he touched the wick of the candle to the flame.
There was a dazzling burst of light and a rushing noise, and when it cleared, Blaine was gone.
It was hard to stand-his leg felt stiff, swollen, not right in a way he'd never experienced before. The walls of the crater were high, the bottom far too deep for him to climb. And yet, he knew he couldn't possibly stay there. But where else could he go?
He took a step, testing out his injured leg, before limping across the oddly smooth surface of the impact zone. The rest of the crater was rocky, jagged, but where he'd hit was silvery and smooth. His clothes were untouched by soot.
There was a rumbling noise-like thunder, only not quite. He turned.
There was a light rushing toward him, a concentrated ball of light that was literally headed directly for him. Could it be another star?
He only had a moment to wonder before he was hit square in the chest by it-a man. No, not a man, a boy, and they both fell to the ground.
Absolutely bloody fantastic, he thought bitterly.
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