An Albatross Sings part 3

[wishunew]

Title: An Albatross Sings Part Three
Pairing: None for now
Wordcount: 9k+
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, Character Death
Summery: Those few who sacrifice for the good of the many, they are the strongest the world will ever know.

This is for aishitaeru
special guest beta isyotm



Even at night the blood left an obvious mark on the sands, dark and heavy, the dry earth tried to suck up the liquid like it was water, staining the surrounding areas. Kibum was transfixed as he watched it drip down the knife, ignoring what the goddess held in her other hand as Jonghyun collapsed back into the sands, his screams mercifully cut short when his body’s threshold for pain was massively bypassed, sending him into a blissfully painless sleep as the Nomads’ doctor scrambled to press clean linens over his bleeding face, covering the place where his eyes used to be.

“What about Taemin?” he called hesitantly, as the bloodied goddess walked away. She paused, and looked over at the cart that held his body, about to say something as she lifted her hand to point, when she was interrupted by the doctor who growled like a wild jackal.

“One patient at a time, Mistress, please?” he asked, though it sounded more like a demand as he ordered Jonghyun laid out onto a litter, replacing the bloodstained whites with new, fresh ones, pressing them firmly onto his face. “This one needs to stop bleeding first. He could die still, despite your magic. If you bring the young one back, my attention will be split. He’s not a god, you can’t simply bring him back to life, his body needs food, water.” Isis nodded, turning to look at Key, to make sure he understood before walking away.

Across the laager, Jinki and Minho were released, now that there was nothing for them to interrupt. Jinki scrambled across the sands to where the doctor was, following them like a lost puppy as two men lifted the unconscious prince onto a litter and carried him to the doctor’s wagon. He hastily tried to wipe the sand from his hands, wanting to touch Jjong, but unsure how to help but needing to. The Doctor took pity on him, handing him blood stained linen and pointing to the fire. “I need you to burn those, then bring me a large bowl of hot water,” he instructed, waiting until Jinki nodded and set off before following his patient.

Meanwhile, the moment Minho was let go, he shot across the sands, pausing for but a moment to see that Jinki had Jonghyun taken care of, before he marched over to Key and punched him in the face, bringing the transfixed slave to the sand hard. The pretty boy stayed down, though, not moving after the impact, letting Minho climb on top of him grab his neck and shake him hard. “How could you!?” he howled into the quiet night, the din of the large camp falling silent. “We trusted you! How could you let him do that?”

“Look at me!” Key snarled, voice filled with more anger than Minho had ever heard before. “Do you think I could stand up to a goddess? Or even to Jonghyun, once he’s made up his mind? I can’t live without Taemin.” His voice shook a little and he sighed, his anger burned away. “He said no one had to die. If he couldn’t bring Taemin back… if he never breathes again, I’ll die with him,” he said, like it was a finality that could not be changed.

“So, Jonghyun’s life is worth Taemin, then? If he dies from whatever it is that she did to him, it’ll be worth getting him back?” Minho spat, clutching him tighter. “How do you think he’ll feel, when he wakes up huh? Knowing that Jonghyun died to bring him back.”

“He’s not dead!” Key shouted, reaching to dig his nails into Minho’s hands, trying to get him to let go. “She took his eyes, that’s all. The bleeding will stop and he’ll live, he promised. Jjong seemed to think that his life, or his sight, was worth sacrificing for Taemin. Maybe you should respect that, huh?!”

He hadn’t noticed that Minho’s grip had slackened, the taller boy going deathly still above him. “S-she took what?” he hissed, blinking like he just now realized he was on top of the older slave, and looking around. “His sight?” He stood up, almost as if he were in a daze, and stumbled toward the doctor’s tent, following the drops of blood that scattered the sand. Jinki was there, he noted idly, hovering awkwardly at the side, his hands, covered in blood, wringing together as he shifted his weight anxiously, bottom lip bitten raw.

“His eyes?” Minho managed to get out, stepping close to watch as the doctor worked with a thread, moving the hooked needle down to press into-he looked away, stomach rolling at the bloody, empty holes that had held the prince’s eyes. Beside him, Jinki continued to watch, fretting with his hands, eyes nearly unblinking as he nodded.

“So much for his magical sight, huh?” the older man said quietly. It didn’t have the bite of a normal I told you so, and Minho didn’t fight him on the point, it wasn’t important right now. What was important was that the Doctor looked calm as ever as he tied off the stiches and started wrapping his handy work in bone white cloth. He turned and washed his hands in the water basin behind him.

“If he lives through the night, there shouldn’t be any more problems,” he said, standing up, gently guiding Jinki to the water bowl too, helping him wash up as well. “Mistress Isis is a goddess of healing, he’ll not suffer more than he deserves.” Once he was sure Jinki was seen to, he motioned for some of his helpers to grab the litter Jjong was on. “We’ll return him to your tent, and I’ll see to the other boy at sundown.” It was a clear dismissal, one that Minho heeded and Jinki probably wasn’t paying attention too, having already wandered off, staying close to Jonghyun’s side, before hesitantly rushing to help set up the thick canvas of the tent that would protect the 4 of them from the deadly sun.

“If he was going to die, Isis would have just killed him,” the doctor said, to Minho as he left, trying to ease the younger boy’s suspicions. “She is powerful, and has no need to wait for blood loss or infection. Worrying like this just shows your doubt of her power. Which in turn could lead to her letting the young prince die from blood loss or infection,” he continued, needlessly repeating himself to drive his point home, shrugging. “So really you’re just making it worse for everyone in involved.”

Minho grunted, glaring at him, ignoring the circular rambling, and chose to return to their tent instead of staying to figure out what exactly he had meant by that. The tent was set up when he got there, Key slouching outside of it with his eyes on where Taemin was being kept, like he was waiting for the boy to suddenly emerge at any moment. Inside, Minho could see Jinki hovering around Jonghyun’s form, holding onto one of the younger boy’s hands like it was the only thing keeping the injured boy breathing.
The eldest looked up when Minho entered, his face pale and scared, holding Jjong’s hand tighter.

“He’s not bleeding anymore,” he said quietly, biting his lip as his gaze went back to the prince’s face. “It stopped almost immediately, you think it was her?” His voice fell into a hushed tone when he spoke of Isis, like he was scared she would overhear and take offence. “Will this even work? I mean, the bringing Taemin back from the dead thing. We’ve ridden behind him for a long time, he didn’t even move, didn’t breath. How can you just bring someone back from the dead? He’s not…” He trailed off, about to say Osiris, but with the sudden interjection of gods in his life, the older man was hesitant to accidently call on anything he didn’t want the attention of. “What if he was tricked?”

Minho scoffed, though he had thought the exact same thing, nudging his way between the older man and the prince, forcing Jinki onto his back. “Jonghyun knows what he’s doing,” he said sharply, rolling so his back faced Jinki. “And it’s too late for doubt now anyway. Get some rest. If the doctor’s correct, we’ll have to be taking care of Taemin as well as Jjong tomorrow,” he sighed and curled into himself.

“And if he’s not?” Jinki asked hesitantly, the hurt from being pushed away from Jonghyun clear in his voice, but he never called Minho out on it. Tonight had been trying on all of them and he was too tired to argue like a lovesick puppy.

“Then we’re going to have to add Kibum to that list, won’t we?” Minho snarled, pulling a hood over his face, ending the conversation. Jinki had a suspicion that the younger boy was insinuating more violent means when he mentioned taking care of Kibum. Jinki couldn’t let that happen. There had been enough death, enough pain so far, no more. He kept that thought to himself, however, as the flap of their tent opened and Key slinked inside with all the pleasantries of a wet cat, and curled up on Jinki’s other side. The older man sighed and wrapped a comforting arm around him, offering what comfort he could to the fragile boy, the sun was rising and it was time to sleep.

-
Key woke up first, not that he was really sleeping anyway, with the prospect of Taemin breathing again forcing him to be aware of every moment he wasn’t, every moment that the younger boy was dead, still and cold and silent. So the moment he noticed the change in light, in temperature, he was out of bed, carefully maneuvering out of Jinki’s protective and needy grasp. He paused, for a moment, to wrap the older man in his coat, smooth out the lines of worry that had followed Jinki into his dreams. Key supposed they both knew how it felt, for their heart to beat for someone else. Granted he’d never thought that his heart was Taemin’s until the younger boy wasn’t with them anymore, whereas Jinki had always know where his heart lay, as unreachable as the afterlife. He sighed and gently wiped the tear that had trickled from the older man’s eye as he clutched at nothing, Jinki never cried in front of them and he wouldn’t want the older boy to know his dreams betrayed him, and then left the tent as quietly as he could.
The sun had barely set at this time, the desert was still clinging to the heat of day with all its might, but it was cooling, no longer oppressive or unbearable, as he made his way to the tent that held Taemin. The sunset was breathtaking, if he had chosen to notice it. But it reminded him too much of the end of things, of life, into the cold chill of death, when today was supposed to be about the opposite, rebirth. He crept into the dark blue tent quietly, like making any noise would be some kind of blasphemous action towards Taemin, or Isis, and that would seal the young boy’s fate forever.

He curled up next Taemin on the table, careful not to crush the lotuses that surrounded the boy, drifting in and out of the less than restful sleep he’d had before, waiting for something to change, anything. Waiting for the boy’s skin to warm, for him to breathe again. But none of that happened. Instead he drifted, until the dim light of the twilight flooded the tent as the doctor stepped inside. He gave Key, who was curled up against Taemin, glaring at him like a possessive feline, a tired smile and motioned for him to come closer.

“I need to see to him, please, step away from him, if you will,” he said, as more people came into the tent. Key hissed and extracted himself from the boy’s side, and watched as the others carried the table from the tent, following as they placed Taemin’s body back into the wagon that had carried him before. He climbed inside without a thought, curling into the corner by Taemin’s head as the doctor climbed in too. He took out needle thin reeds from his bag and started tapping his fingers against the underside of the younger boy’s elbow, his face devoid of emotion as it was whenever the man was attending to patients. He had a water skin that he managed to tie to the overhang of the cart, suspending it above Taemin’s body as he worked a small hole into the crock stopper, forcing one of the reeds into it, then attached them all until it was a long tube. He poked it into Taemin’s arm and Key winced, watching the flesh give easily under the sharp, thin object.

“I need you to tell me when this is empty,” the doctor said, as he rubbed his hand up and down the inside of Taemin’s arm. “I must speak with the mistress.” He looked pointedly at Kibum, holding his gaze. “This is important, do you understand? This potion was made by Isis herself; to help assist the boy back to the land of the living, to make his body look tempting once more. There is a very short time between when it is in him, and when he can return. You need to pay attention,” he ordered, and Key nodded even before he was done speaking, his heart beat speeding up in anticipation. Taemin was really going to come back.

“Good. I will be back when this is done,” he said curtly, getting out of the cart as Jonghyun was carried into it. Key bit his lip as he shifted, making room for the injured boy. This was the first time he’d gotten a good look at Jonghyun. He looked so vulnerable like that, lying still with his eyes wrapped, looked smaller and younger and innocent almost, if you ignored the hard lines of his body, the scars that glistened under his tan skin from years of abuse and work in the hot sun. For the first time, Key wondered what the prince Jonghyun looked like. Had he had been fair, like Taemin, or even paler, like the emissaries from the north their master used to entertain? He didn’t look like a prince now; he was too hard for the nice clothes and mannerisms and for the life of him, Kibum couldn’t remember why he’d been so angry with the boy before, when he found out. It wasn’t like he could take off the scars or the years of servitude and be the spoiled, dainty prince he should have been.

Behind him Minho looked as angry as ever. Only Jinki shared the hopeful feeling, as he glanced between their two downed friends, reaching to give Jonghyun’s hand a tight squeeze as he set about brushing and tacking the horses, caring for all of them diligently as Minho retrieved food and water for them all. He didn’t look at Key as he slide two bowls closer to him, silently insisting that the pretty slave assist feeding Jonghyun, almost as punishment. The vulpine boy sighed and moved closer to Jonghyun. He kept an eye on the water skin as he gently woke up the older boy.

“Jjong,” he whispered, shifting and running a hand over his cheek. “Are you awake? It’s time to eat.” There was a grunt from the older boy, as he tried to sit up, but failed, swaying slightly before key caught him, shifting his body so the prince could lean on him. “Easy. I’ve got you.” His new found sympathy and respect for Jonghyun was heavy in his voice as he rubbed the older man’s shoulders. “I’m gunna feed you, okay? The doctor said you should let us help you for a few days, while you get used to… to everything.” He stumbled over his words, flinching as he waited for the prince’s reaction, but Jonghyun just sighed and nodded, disturbingly resigned and leaning heavily on Kibum.

The young slave didn’t miss the look Jinki shot Jonghyun at the lack of protest; back when Jjong was Jason he’d never wanted them to help him, not even when he’d been whipped so badly he couldn’t walk straight. Some kind of pride that Jinki and Taemin had worn down out of persistence and love, and Key and Minho usually straight up ignored. But he’d always protested, token or otherwise. That fact that he hadn’t was more unsettling than almost anything else. But Key took it in stride, spooning the nourishing soup into Jjong’s mouth carefully.

It was a tense, tired silence that carried them though the beginning of the evening. Key kept an eye on the slowly draining bag as they traveled. Taemin’s body had taken a more healthy color, as they went along. No longer deathly pale, it looked more like he was just sleeping more than ever. Jonghyun had refused to speak much, resigned as he lay in the cot next to Taemin. It was impossible to tell if he was sleeping or just being still. Jinki and Minho trailed behind them with the horses, sullen and worried. The second leg of their journey was grim for the slaves, and it didn’t change until the middle of the night, when Key was suddenly calling for the doctor, frantically.

“What?” Jonghyun’s first words of the night were startled from him as he turned, trying to see what was happening, then when he realized he couldn’t he growled and lay back down. He breathed in sharply at the hand on his thigh startled him, and he tried to twitch away.

“Easy, Jonghyun.” The calm voice of the doctor washed over him, and he frowned, but settled down. “You’re gunna have to get up, I need more room. Jinki will be right here okay?” Another hand, hesitant, touched his ankle and Jonghyun nodded slowly. The strong hands helped him to his feet and off the carriage. Dizzy, he leaned heavily into the strong, warm body of which he was forced to assume was Jinki.

“Hyung?” he questioned softly, trying not to let the fear that this wasn’t actually Jinki sneak into his voice. He relaxed as a strong arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him a little bit away from the carriage.

“I’ve got you, Jjong.” Jinki’s voice washed over him like a cool wave. “Something’s going on with Taemin. Kibum looks like he’s ready to claw everyone else’s eyes out, and Isis is here,” he explained calmly, though Jonghyun could feel him trembling as he held him close. Being suddenly thrust into the crazy whirlwind that gods move through had to be trying, and Jinki was faring better than most people, so Jonghyun wrapped his own arms around the older man, hugging him, trying to keep him calm.

“Trust Isis,” Jonghyun said, resting his head on the older boys shoulder. “Gods don’t break promises. It’s against their rules. Taemin will come back, he’ll be fine.” He relaxed more, as if the thought that yeah, Taemin was going to be alright had just hit him. “We’re all going to be okay.” He felt Jinki nod shakily and shift his weight, pulling him a little closer, but to the side, so that Jonghyun wasn’t plastered to his front anymore.

Key’s shocked gasp filled the air, and Jonghyun felt Jinki tense against him, suck in a breath like it was a struggle, and pull him closer. “What’s happening?” the blind boy whispered against the older man’s neck, turning his head towards where he thought the carriage was supposed to be. “What’s going on?”

“She’s got her hand… in his ch-chest,” Jinki muttered, shocked, his fingers twitching against Jonghyun’s side like he wanted to do something but didn’t know what. “Like… just like water, dipped right in. Kibum is very still, he looks scared.” The older man looked around, trying to find Minho, “Minho’s just watching. Is this stuff normal for you guys? Well, maybe for him, you’ve been captive for a while, haven’t you?” Jinki added that last part like he was talking to himself, like he didn’t expect Jonghyun to hear. The younger boy ignored it, since it was clearly a hushed whisper; he was just too close, his hearing making up for his lack of vision.

“Poseidon never was one for big shows like this. Well, not for a crowd anyway,” Jonghyun muttered, thinking back to the bubbles and the sea life that had been sent to play with him as a child. “He didn’t even directly interact with most of his Acolytes, just possessed them for when he needed to preside over something personally. Isis walks among these people like it’s natural for her. It’s not something we’re used to,” he explained, resting his chin on the older man’s shoulder. “What’s happening now?”

He felt the older man shrug. “She’s pulling?” he offered, his fingers still drumming against Jonghyun’s ribs. “Saying something, I can’t hear it. Taemin… Taemin’s moving,” he whispered suddenly, clutching blind boy tightly. “He twitched when her hand slide out, Kibum looks crazy. You should…” He broke off suddenly, an awkward pause, before clearing his throat and nodding. “He kicked his foot out. I think he squeezed Key’s hand, I don’t know. But Kibum's crying so I guess that’s a good sign? Well, opposed to him trying to kill people,” he added with a small laugh, and Jonghyun snorted softly. “I guess… you did it, Jonghyun,” he whispered again, voice suddenly filled with a reverence that Jjong normally heard people talking to gods with. “You really brought him back.”
“Isis did that,” the blind prince objected, shifting on his feet, trying to stand up straight without the dizziness taking over. Jinki let him, felt his arm pull away, but the heat of his skin was still close, it was a test, like when a child takes their first steps, trust that they could do it, but not far if they needed help. Jonghyun swayed slightly, and Jinki’s arm was around him again in an instant.

“Don’t try that so fast,” he scolded like the mother Kibum usually acted like. “Magic goddess powers or no magic goddess powers, you are still healing. If you push yourself, and you hurt yourself, I’ll never…” He made a choked noise and Jonghyun sighed, grabbing the older man, to steady him more than himself. “Minho will kill me,” Jinki finished lamely, blushing brightly, though Jonghyun couldn’t see that. “Come on, do you want to go back on the cart with Key or do you want to ride with me or Minho?”
“I can’t go by myself?” Jonghyun whined, indulging in the attention and worry from the older boy. It wasn’t often that he’d been pampered like this, even if it was just a shoulder to lean on, and a strong arm to keep him steady. It was new, and he wanted to enjoy it. “I’m not gunna fall off.”

“Yes, you will.” Jinki scowled at him, before gently maneuvering him back towards the cart. “You can hardly stand up straight, we’re not going to tie you to your horse just because you seem to think you’re macho enough to handle being maimed and then a whole day’s ride in the desert. Absolutely not.

A pair of shaking hands helped Jinki’s as they guided him into the cart and back down. The caravan started up again and it was another tedious night in the desert. The only differences were the subtle nuances that separated lying next to someone who was sleeping and someone who was dead. Taemin shifted and made little kittenish noises in his sleep. And with every bit of proof that the younger boy was back among the living, Key would make a noise, a small gasp, or accidently jarring Jonghyun in his excitement to tell someone.

Minho thought Key’s reactions were entirely too extreme, had hoped that the boy would calm down and go back to being the snarky yet reserved slave he had been. Except with every new action of the sleeping boy, it was like the old Key was buried beneath more and more layers of intense emotion. If the boy held Taemin’s hand any tighter, he’d break the poor kid’s bones. He nudged his horse closer to Jinki’s, ducking so they could whisper to each other.

“How is Jonghyun doing?” he questioned hesitantly, eyes sliding over the prone form of the prince, lingering on the cloth wrapped around his head for a moment too long, it seemed, since Jonghyun lifted his head slightly, looking around, like he had felt the eyes on him. Neither man said anything until Key got him to lay back down again. “Is he handling things well?”

Jinki shrugged, picking at the saddle horn. “He seems to be starting to act like himself again, and you heard him trying to get back on a horse.” He shook his head fondly. “But he can’t stand on his own. And he’s… god, he’s blind, Minho. He’s blind, Taemin’s dead-”

“Was,” Minho interjected, but the older man ignored him.

“I mean, I knew that running away would be dangerous. We all did, but this… was it worth it, Minho?” Jinki asked, turning to look at him, pleading for the younger man to be level-headed like usual. “We could be at Master’s, it wasn’t that bad. Warm and safe, no one dead, no one blind. Safe.” He sighed and looked down at his hands. “I feel like a traitor thinking that, like I’m turning my back on everything you and Jonghyun have fought for, what they’ve sacrificed for but it’s just…” He scoffed and blinked his eyes rapidly. “I just want everyone to be okay again. I want Jonghyun to be able to see the ocean, I want Key’s smile to be real, I don’t want Taemin to know what it feels like to die.” He coughed and frowned, rubbing at his eyes and sighing, falling silent.
Minho blinked at him, then back at the cart. “Hyung, we don’t always get what we want. But we have to make the best with what we’re given,” he said, straightening up. He wasn’t the best with emotions, and they’d been running high since their escape. Maybe when Taemin opened his eyes things would be better. Calmer. “Taemin’s alive, Jonghyun’s fine.” He shrugged and sucked on his teeth, looking up at the almost full moon. “Once we reach the end of the desert, we’ll be almost there. You’ll be safe in our kingdom. Jonghyun can grant you amnesty from your past.” He said it like that would cure Jinki’s worries, and looked on ahead.

Jinki pouted at him, annoyed by the non-answer clearly, but Minho had turned his attention away, gazing out over the caravan. If it weren’t for Isis in the band of nomads, he would have sworn that they were going in circles, the dry, windswept valley of sand was like a mockery of his homeland, ripping at the hooves of the horses like water, taunting. Set’s final insult in the place he couldn’t get them. Minho scoffed and shook his head, wishing he could nudge his horse forward, speed up the slow procession across the desert, be back on fertile land with moist winds that smelt like morning dew and ocean water.

It was like they had all hoped that, with Taemin’s breath being restored to his body, the journey through the desert would be a faster one. But the days dragged by like molasses, the swell of the moon the only thing that let them discern the passage of time. Taemin had yet to truly wake, but he swallowed the thin soup and the water Key fed him, and would, at times, snuggle into the closet person he was near. The doctor would not let him stay in their tent during the day though, insisted he stay with him and the vessel Isis was currently wearing like a favorite dress. They were too grateful, and weary, to press the matter so they let it stand.

The day the full moon rose into the sky was filled with thick anticipation; everyone was restless, Kibum pacing the sands as Isis and the physician hovered over Taemin’s still body, muttering to themselves and not letting anyone near. That had pissed the pretty slave off, obviously, snapping at anyone who even attempted to soothe him, from kind-hearted nomads to Jinki, a scathing comment about him being useless and a dark glare was all they got for their troubles.

Soon however, Isis summoned them, as the camp doctor’s assistance were summoned to carry Taemin into the middle of the laager. Key fussed, then snarled, and then just flat out refused to let the bigger men near Taemin. Lately, Taemin had been responding to the older man, even in his sleep. Curling his fingers around Key’s wrist when they traveled, simple things, little meaningless, trivial things that meant the whole wide world to Kibum, and they meant enough to him to defy the clear orders of larger, stronger men and pick Taemin up off the litter himself, wrapping the boy up in his arms and carrying him himself, despite the protest from the assistants. Behind them, Jonghyun insisted on walking on his own, so Minho hovered behind him and Jinki walked in front, walking a little slower than normal and pretending he didn’t blush every time Jonghyun brushed his fingertips across his back, the younger using him as a way of navigating.

Laid out in the middle of the laager was a bone white cloth, and hesitantly, Key laid the youngest boy onto it, sweeping some of Taemin’s shoulder-length hair off his face and arranging it around his head lightly. He fussed some more, picking at the boy’s cloths, straightening them and tugging on them, before Minho had to grab him by the elbow and haul him away.

“Wait, I have to!” the stubborn boy shouted, trying to get back to Taemin’s side, but Minho just shook his head, wrapping his arms around Key as he struggled, but kept him as still as possible. Isis nodded to their group as she passed, and Jonghyun flinched, like her gaze was a physical blow. Jinki bit his lip and reached out, grabbing the blinded boy’s hand and squeezing lightly, trying to reassure him that everything would be okay. Jonghyun squeezed back tightly, a small smile on his lips, but it disappeared as soon as the goddess started speaking.

It was a tongue none of them knew, with words that felt like they looped and trilled, being drawn out longer than normal, as she raised her hands to the sky, framing the moon in her palms. “The full Moon,” she said suddenly in Common. “A Mother giving birth, the light of a warrior, so many symbols tied to it, a duality that rarely is seen in mortal flesh.” She shot a look over to Key with a smirk, before looking down at Taemin. “For this boy’s life, A Seer has given his sight and the proud have begged. Gods don’t usually know the worth of tears, but for this boy, I think enough have been shed.” She cupped her hands together and captured the moon, the glow emanating from her closed hands like she really held it in her arms, and when she brought her clasped hands down to her chest, it still glowed.

Slowly she made her way to Taemin’s side, kneeling before him and gently opening his mouth, letting drops of a silvery liquid that had manifested in her palm slide between his lips, thick like blood, before she pulled back and offered the rest to the moon once more. Key struggled against Minho’s hold slightly. Was that it? He wanted to get to Taemin, see if he was going to wake up, to be alive again, instead of a death-like sleep. The moments ticked by and nothing happened, the slave chewed on his lip, worrying it as he shot glances around the laager, at the nomad’s faces, at his friends. Everyone was still watching, waiting.

Then suddenly, with a flash of bright lightning, Taemin’s body arched off the sands. His cry of shocked pain had Key scratching into Minho’s arm, scrambling across dunes when the surprised boy dropped him, to Taemin’s side. The younger boy thrashed and cried out once more, and since no one stopped him, Key reached, wrapping around his convulsing body and pulling him close.

“It’s okay Taeminnie,” he cooed, rocking back and forth. “It’s okay, you’re safe. I’ve got you. Kibummie’s got you.” His words seemed to calm the boy down slightly; he writhed like it was uncomfortable to be in his own skin, but the actions were muted, slowing down as the older boy continued cooing in his ear, stroking Taemin’s hair like when the youngest would have a nightmare. “Deep breaths, baby, I’m here now. Everything’s okay.”
“K-Kibum?” the youngest rasped, voice sore from disuse and the dry desert air, his shaking hand curling into the older boys cloak. “Kibum… w-what happened? Where are we?”

The older bed slave choked, clutching the light haired boy to his chest with a thankful sob. “Oh goddess,” he muttered. “Thank you.” He kissed the top of the younger boy’s head, then all over his face as Taemin whined and tried to get away.

“Stop~” he whined. “Kibummie, I'm not a baby anymore.” He pouted and tried to get up, out of Key’s grasp, but gasped when he fell back onto the sand, body too weak to move by himself, so he curled up into a ball. “I’m tired,” he muttered, looking up at Key. “Tell me what happened when I wake up.”

No one moved until Key threw himself at the feet of Isis and thanked her with everything he had. She just smiled and ran a hand though his hair, before disappearing in a wink of the moon. Minho ran across the sand eagerly, collapsing next to Taemin and ignored the weak protests the exhausted boy put up when the Acolyte pulled him into a long hug. Jinki would have gone, too, except the sudden death grip on his hand made him turn, back to Jonghyun who kept his face turned down towards the sands.
“D-did it work?” he whispered, vulnerability dripping from his shaking voice, and Jinki nodded, wincing when he remembered that Jonghyun couldn’t see him, and hesitated, before gently wrapping his arms around the muscular slave.

“It worked, Jonghyun,” he said, running a hand down the prince’s back as he began to shake, Jonghyun reaching out to cling to him. “You saved him.”

The days that followed Taemin’s awakening were tense. Kibum was always near him, and it was clear that it was getting on the younger boy’s nerves, but he never said anything, possibly because of the slightly desperate look in the older man’s face whenever Taemin would pull away from him. The youngest boy didn’t know how to act, how to deal with the time he'd missed; he remembered following the raven, and then waking up with something that tasted like life on his tongue, in the dark. It didn’t make sense. He didn’t know how to treat Isis, jumping and trying not to look at her whenever she showed up to speak with him. He was just as strange around Jonghyun; the younger boy watched him almost all the time, watched the way he had to lean on one of the other boys, watched how he pushed them away when he was fed up. Kibum said he felt guilty when he was whispering with Jinki and Minho at night, when Jjong was asleep in the cart and Isis had commandeered the younger man yet again.

“It’s strange,” Kibum said, biting his lip as he picked at the threads of the saddle. “The last time he was this intense about something, he’d gotten whipped for feeding that stray.”

“You mean he got Jjong whipped,” Jinki corrected quietly. “Jonghyun had confessed he’d forced Taemin to get him the food, because Taemin’s status let him move more freely.” The older man shot a look at the sleeping prince, sighing lightly.
“That’s very specific, hyung,” Minho muttered. “How can you be so sure that was what happened?”

“I remember,” Jinki said, affronted at the accusation. “It was the first time I ever heard Jonghyun scream. I could never figure out why Master was so mad that he wouldn’t stop hitting him, but... If he knew Jjong was really a Prince then maybe he felt challenged?” The older man shrugged. “Plus, Taemin got his bed privileges revoked, remember? He was locked in our room for a week, we had to sneak food for both of them.” The other two nodded, remembering the feeling of breaking the rules if nothing else.
Later that night Taemin came back to them quiet, more reserved than any other time since his resurrection. He curled up into a ball at the back of the cart and just watched Jonghyun as he lay there, sleeping.

Or that’s what everyone thought until he rolled over and frowned, reaching around as if trying to find something. “I can feel you looking at me,” he muttered and Taemin made a weird noise, like a kitten in pain, before moving fast and curling into Jonghyun’s chest. The blinded slave smiled softly and wrapped his arms around the distressed boy, staying silent.

Jinki kicked Key lightly when the boy frowned at the scene, but Key only kicked him back, hard enough to draw a yelp from the oldest.

One day, as they were setting out to move, Taemin hesitated, before suddenly sprinting off towards Isis’ carriage, and stayed with her the whole night. He slipped into their tent midmorning and pressed into Key’s arms. “Come with me to speak to her tomorrow,” the youngest insisted. He never actually said the goddess’s name ever, a respect that had its roots in fear. Key was half asleep when he nodded and pulled the pretty ex-slave closer, running a hand over the boy’s head to quiet him.

Kibum didn’t even remember what he’d agreed to do until the younger boy had tugged him away after they had finished setting up the wagon for Jonghyun. The older boy protested, it was still early and he wanted to sleep, damn it, but Taemin was insistent, dragging the ex-slave up to the front of the caravan, where the Female Acolyte Isis normally possessed sat regally. Taemin nudged Key until he climbed up next to her, and then Taemin joined them as well, and the nomads set off into the desert.

Before Key could ask what this was about, Isis put a hand up. “I owe a debt to you,” she said slowly, like it pained her to say. “Had I known how deep your feelings ran, I would have taken you both, and saved you the suffering.” She smiled, weary. “I know what it’s like to have something you love ripped away.”

“Not all of us have the power to bring it back,” Key muttered, scuffing his shoe on the boards under their feet. Isis’ chuckle sounded like wind chimes.

“This is true, but regardless, Taemin has come back to the breathing, but it wasn’t as an apology to you.” She added, nodding her head in a slight bow, “So, as I have been discussing with Taemin, this Journey you are on will be a perilous, thankless quest. Jonghyun was taken for a reason; it was so long ago that many may have forgotten, but not the gods. He will need protection, now more than ever.” She raised a hand when Key attempted to protest, cutting him short. “Poseidon’s Acolyte was a seeker. Trained in martial combat only sparingly, so that he could be sent out at a young enough age to blend in with the other slaves. He is better than nothing, but you will need more, if you intend to make this trip with all of your lives.” She sighed and looked out across the barren land. “I have many forms in this world, many names and many worshipers. These nomads know me as Isis, but in other places, colder, greener places, I am something else.

“Taemin has accepted my offer, and I am asking you to take this gift as my apology.” She turned to look at them, her bark eyes flashing green in the dying light of the sun. “I can teach you how to fight, to protect those you love. You need but accept my mark, become the Acolyte of my sister identity, and this gift is yours.”

Taemin nodded excitedly and squeezed Key’s hand, eager to help, eager to become better than what he was. He didn’t want to die again; he wanted to repay Jonghyun, with his life. But Key frowned, looking down at their laced hands. “What is the price of this gift?” he questioned, squeezing back lightly. Isis laughed again.

“A clever question, Kibum,” she mused with a tense smile. “Bearing the mark of the Acolyte means, in exchange for the gifts that we give, you submit your body to the will of your god, whenever and wherever your god chooses to take you.” She motioned to her body. “We wear you like gowns, and as long as you do not fight against us, you will be left whole when we leave.”
“So,” Key said after a long pause. “We give up our bodies to protect our friends and the ones we love.”
“Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” The goddess said, not unkindly, but Kibum flinched anyway, hanging his head solemnly and nodded.

---
Minho clucked and sighed like a hen that was mad at the slaves for collecting her eggs when Taemin informed them that he and Kibum were dedicating themselves to an aspect of Isis but he didn’t say much in way of words. It took him almost a whole night before he had gotten used to the idea and decided that maybe, as the only other Acolyte that was on speaking terms with them, would try to explain the process so they understood.

For that night of traveling, they had chosen to stay in the cart, letting the horses walk unburdened for the most part. Jonghyun was slumped against Jinki’s side, asleep or just still, the older man couldn’t tell as he watched the stars, humming lightly in hopes that the conversation the other three were having wouldn’t disturb the young prince overmuch.
“It hurts,” Minho was saying, pulling his sleeve up to show the trident mark of Poseidon. “The mark on your body is the physical sign of them carving out a space in your soul. A foothold, I guess.” He shrugged to emphasize the fact that the actual mechanics of the gods were above him. “But it’s a direct connection, like how when Jonghyun touched it while we were running from…him, the earth shook and our horses poured forth from the chasm. Because Poseidon could see what I saw, feel what I did and know what I know.” He tugged his sleeve back down and sighed.

“It’s going to hurt, more than you think putting ink into your skin should. But holding onto the reason why you’re being dedicated helps a little, something that makes the pain worth it, I guess. Other than the gifts you’ll be getting to ensure that you are a competent Acolyte.”

“What was your reason?” Taemin asked, curiosity getting the better of him. “I mean, I’m doing it to protect Jonghyun.” Jinki’s breath caught at the statement, and Jonghyun flinched, giving away the fact that he wasn’t sleeping, but Taemin continued, the small actions not even drawing notice. “And Key’s doing it for me, but you did it…a long time ago, right? Before we met you.”
Minho sighed and nodded, the only one of the three to be aware of the older men’s reaction, of Jonghyun slowly curling closer into Jinki as if he could hide. Nothing could be done about it now. “My family has always been dedicated to Poseidon. Normally we don’t get the mark until we’re an adult and able to decide for ourselves. But when Jonghyun was taken from the castle, things changed. They needed someone young enough to pass off as a slave, and I volunteered.”

“That was very brave,” the youngest gushed, eyes bright as he looked at Minho a little differently, like a hero and not a friend.
The tallest boy scoffed and reached over to ruffle his hair. “No braver than you two, dedicating yourselves to some unknown goddess.” He left out the part about said goddess being an aspect of Isis who had lead Taemin to his death. He knew Key was thinking it, in the way he sat a little too close to Taemin whenever the subject of dedication came up, the way he never looked away from the Goddess when she was near Taemin, like he could do something if she decided to take the boy back.

“She says we need help,” Taemin said, at length, fiddling with his overcoat. “There are only 5 of us, right? Crossing a country takes a… well, a caravan, and we don’t have that. You’re the only one who knows how to fight. Without any money or anything, how are we supposed to get to Jjong’s kingdom on our own?” He sighed and ran a hand over his hair, tugging lightly, “It’s what has to be done, right?” He sounded a little lost, and Key grabbed for his hands, squeezing reassuringly.

“Right,” he said with a nod, tone of voice implying that if anyone thought differently he would personally set their minds straight.

At the next rest, after they finished eating, Key and Taemin went to sit with Isis, and Minho, after what appeared to be much deliberation, attached himself to the weapons carriage, and struck up a conversation with the sword master, leaving Jinki and Jonghyun alone in the cart.

The eldest boy made to move, planning on giving the young prince some space before a hesitant hand on his wrist stopped him, and he sat back down, moving closer to the younger boy. “Jjong? What is it?” he asked, worrying his lip a little. Was the other man not feeling well? He leaned over, placing his hand on the other man’s forehead, and then one on his own. Jonghyun didn’t feel any hotter than he did. The younger boy batted his hand away and sighed.
“Do you think I’m a burden?” the prince asked, voice hesitant as he clenched his hands into fists by his sides. Jinki pressed closer, wondering if the other boy knew he was doing that thing with his body where he made himself look more vulnerable, like a wet kitten trying to be brave.

The older boy sighed and shrugged, then cleared his throat, suddenly feeling awkward and apologetic because Jonghyun can’t see those motions anymore. “I don’t know,” he said, wincing because that’s not what he meant. “I mean, this was your plan, Jjong. You came up with the whole thing, and yeah, everything went to shit as soon as we stepped out of the compound, but we were all looking to you to leading us out of here, and well…. Now…”

“I had to do something,” he said, clenching his fists tighter, white-knuckled into his clothes, and pulled away, curling into himself. “I couldn’t just… leave him like that. Dead. Not when I could save him.” He sighed and looked up at the sky, and not for the first time Jinki wished that behind the bandage that sat permanently on the younger boy’s face that there were eyes. Jonghyun’s eyes had given away all of his secrets, even if he tried to hide them. Not being able to look into them and see what he was thinking was the worst for him, unable to approach the boy in a way he could be sure to help.

“I’m sorry,” the eldest decided on lamely. “I’m sure they don’t think you’re a burden. Taemin is right though, we’re going to need help, and we won’t be safe until we get you to your castle, right? So we’ll have to deal with slave hunters. And we can probably assume you weren’t taken by Master himself, or for the fact that you would make an incredible slave, so we should also assume that the Desert King will be looking for you too. Having more people who know how to use a sword or dagger means our odds of survival go up, right?” he asked, laughing hesitantly like it was a joke. “I like surviving.”

The younger man didn’t say anything, just slumped and nodded, and Jinki had a mental panic attack yet again; what was that, three in the entire conversation? He has to get better at this. “I don’t think you’re a burden,” he said suddenly, surprising himself, and apparently Jonghyun who straightened a little. “I think you’re very brave, Jonghyun, and have been your whole life. And that bravery is what’s going to get us through this. You’ll see, you’re needed.”

Jonghyun slumped again; this time, he pressed his forehead into Jinki’s shoulder and just stayed there for a while, breathing in and out so evenly Jinki could count the seconds before he would inhale again, “You’re needed too,” the prince said at length, sitting straighter but reaching down to lace their fingers together, squeezing lightly. “Minho and Taemin and Key will be our sword and shield.”

“I’ll be your eyes,” Jinki said before he could stop himself, squeaking and clasping a hand over his mouth as Jonghyun’s expression fell into something akin to shock, before he shook his head and grinned lightly.
“Yeah, okay. Be my eyes, Jinki.”

Three nights later, Key and Taemin were tattooed in the middle of the laager, a strange, red-haired, green-eyed woman standing before them, a black raven perched on her shoulder as she surveyed the two men, shirtless and sitting on crates, hunched over as they fought to stay still, thin ink-covered reeds drummed in and out of their skin repeatedly, the tap of the instruments echoing around the caravan.
Minho was with them, speaking softly and resting a hand on their knees when one of them would flinch. Taemin had reached out first, grasping for Key’s hand as he trembled, his other hand tangled into his long hair, partially to keep it out of the way, partially to help keep him grounded. Key was faring only slightly better, eyes locked on Taemin as he grimace and sweat under the pain. Minho had a death grip on his knee, Key trying to move away from the pain, shifting and squirming. The woman with the raven was glaring at them both, unhappy eyes shifting between the two of them as they struggled with the pain. Minho had said the design was some kind of circle with an interlocking knot in the middle, not a symbol he’d ever seen before, when the ritual had first started.

Jinki sat narrating the whole thing to Jonghyun, as they ate silently on the edge of the laager, Jonghyun nodding along as he slurped messily at the soup and Jinki chuckled at him, throwing a cloth at the younger man’s head so that he’d get the hint and wipe the broth off his face. Jonghyun whined like an indignant puppy but did it anyway, and the older man could feel the eye roll that was directed his way.

The process was hours long; they sacrificed traveling further that night for it to be finished, and the sun was peaking over the horizon as the physician smeared a thick gel over the inked skin and wrapped their backs up in linen. The strange woman stepped forward then, and with a fluid ease both Key and Taemin, who had been looking pale and shaky on their feet not seconds earlier, slid to their knees. Minho scrambled away, retreating until he was by Jonghyun’s side with a weary frown on his face.
The red head reached out and placed her hands on the bowed heads of the slaves in front of her and closed her eyes. The crow on her shoulder cawed harshly, and hopped down her arm, taking up residence on Taemin’s bare shoulder, his claws digging into the youngest boy’s flesh, but Taemin said nothing, not even flinching as rivulets of blood spilled from the new wound.
“I have no Acolytes in this land” she poke, a foreign lit to her voice that sounded strange on their ears, “This place of death and unlife. None dedicated to me. I am Morrigan, Goddess of Life and Death, of blood and war, of fertility and prophesy, and I will grant you my gifts in exchange for your bodies, hosts to my will.” Her eyes flashed like emeralds and she raised her hands, nodding, and then in a bright white flash that even Jonghyun flinched away from, the tall redhead and the raven were gone, and in her place the normal host of Isis stood looking shaken before she composed herself and nodded.
“Now get some sleep. We have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow night.”

It took another week to reach the edge of the desert, where the imperial highway had swooped down and lead into the abruptly changing landscape of sand dunes to hills of green. Over the course of the week they had not seen Key or Taemin save for when they would bed down to sleep; they spent every night with the ghost woman who was also Isis, Morrigan, learning dangerous skills and building muscles faster than Jinki had thought possible. He’d seen Minho and Jonghyun bulk up from their heavy work around the house, but it had been a subtle change. This time the past pleasure slaves had gotten suddenly wiry and tight, their backs were sleek and defined, stomachs hard and toned when Jinki watched them training together. It was alarming, but he covered his emotions mostly by poking at his own body, slightly soft and round, even in adulthood, and lamenting loudly.

They didn’t seem to change to much emotionally, but it did bring Taemin out of his shell; no longer was he soft spoken and shy, but more mischievous, something they had only seen shades of in their Master’s house, sneaking up on them and stealing some of their food. He would give it back, but it seemed he got more fun out of the act than the reward. He could never sneak up on Jonghyun, however. No matter how hard he tried, the prince would always catch him, calling out his name, or actually physically catching his hand before Taemin could grab whatever it was that he was after. It was much more a game for them than anyone else but Key, really.

The edge of the desert was something Jinki didn’t think really existed. Sure he’d seen paintings of it when he cleaned the Master’s study, or heard Jonghyun talk about the place he’d come from, but it always seemed like a dream, some promised paradise world where everything was green and the bleak death of the desert was his whole life.

“This is where we part ways,” Isis said to them as the horses were unhitched and loaded down with supplies. “These are gifts to you, young Prince Jonghyun,” she said, gesturing to the heavy saddle bags each horse was equip with. “Water and food and money enough to get where you’re going, as long as you spend wisely,” she said in a heavy tone, like a mother preemptively reprimanding her children. “You are in danger now, understand? My protection does not go outside the desert, and Hermes will only bring you so far. There are prices on your heads. The desert King has decreed that Jonghyun can never make it to his castle. Should he confess to who had stolen him away as a child, it will be the tip in the scales of war.” She sighed and looked back at her desert.
She turned away from Jinki and Jonghyun stepping towards the newly dedicated acolytes as her eyes bleed into green, and motioned with her hands to three nomads standing close by. “And these are for you,” she said, the foreign accent back in her voice as she waved her hand, and the men stepped forth, bowing as they presented the new Acolytes with weapons. “Never go unarmed. Even friendly places hold dark secrets. May your aim be swift and your kills clean.” Then she waved a hand and her eyes changed back in a blink.

“The games of Royals are disastrous to us all,” Isis confided, and turned away, walking back to her caravan. “My prayers go to the Prince who will see us though.”



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