This Glorious Sadness; Ch 2, Nicholas; Part 1
Title: This Glorious Sadness
Verse: Their Silent Reverie
Genre(s): Angst/Dark, friendship, action/adventure
Chapter Length: 12,000 w (approx; both parts)
Full Length (to date): 24k w (approx.)
Summary: The Shitennou live, reborn to new lives but haunted by demons of the past. Their task is simple: they must cleanse the Earth of the Moon Princess's taint.
Warnings: dark themes are touched upon, including (perceived) mental disorder, emotional, physical and sexual abuse, death and murder.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sailor Moon and make no profit from this work of fictional fun.
A/N: This will make no sense at all unless you've read This Sweet Madness, at the very least.
Status: Ongoing
Prologue [Note: this is also the final chapter of Viva La Vida, but it's important enough to reitorate.]
Chapter 1: After the Storm - Keanu ( Part 1) ( Part 2)
Chapter 2: Thistle and Weeds - Nicholas (Part 1) ( Part 2)
NICHOLAS
Thistle and Weeds
The shops this close to the castle were lovely little places with glass windows, and even floors, and doors that locked properly, and streets that were regularly patrolled to ensure that robberies were few and far between. That the same could not be said for all of Elysion was something which had only recently occurred to Nephrite; it dampened the otherwise brilliant and beautiful summer day. Aware that he was clinging, somewhat desperately, to his enthusiasm, Nephrite let himself into the little jeweler's shop just across from from the apothecary's and greeted the old artisan with as wide a grin as he could manage.
“Be with you in a minute.” Porthos was sitting, as always, at the work bench that ran the back of the shop, back to the door. In any other neighborhood Nephrite might have been a thief, and Porthos still wouldn’t have looked up from whatever he was working on.
The man was a sack of pallid, grooved skin and bones; despite the monthly stipend sent to him by the Western House, Porthos never seemed to gain much in the way of weight. Nephrite only kept his tongue as the man didn’t seem to be suffering, either, but he had begun a tradition of sending a hot meal over from one of the better taverns once a week, just to be sure. The remains of last night’s were still sitting on the far end of the bench, indicating that Porthos’ still hadn’t replaced the apprentice whose talent for finding lost objects had gotten him drafted into temple a fortnight prior. Nephrite sighed.
He picked the mess up himself and walked through the back door, into the ill used kitchen, and out into the tiny back garden where the wash was. Princes weren’t commonly asked to clean dishes, but Nephrite thought he did a decent enough job at it. When he was done, he re-stacked everything and brought it back inside.
“I’ll send the Jewel’s boy after these later this evening,” he said, and Porthos hummed. Probably hadn’t heard a word.
On the far wall, where the sunlight could fall upon them, trinkets hung from pegs on the wall and were displayed on low shelves. There were a rather lot of them-more than in any other jeweler’s shop that Nephrite had seen-as Porthos was one of the lucky artisans; he had a generous patron who allowed him to work on whatever he pleased. True, a few of the displayed were commissioned pieces-each of these had a little slip of paper attached to it by a string, with the name of the owner written in Porthos’ careful print-but the majority were not. Porthos would sell them piece by piece to whomever wandered into the shop that didn’t know what they wanted, exactly. And, of course, his patron was in his rights to ask for whatever might catch his eye.
Nephrite had taken advantage of this more than a few times. Though he had something of an artistic eye himself, or so he thought, it was nothing compared to Porthos’ genius. The only pieces he’d commissioned from his own designs, thus far, had been solstice gifts for his mother and sisters every winter. And the piece he’d sketched a few weeks ago.
Now he wondered if it was such a good idea. Pursing his lips and wetting them, Nephrite glanced back out the window to the sunlit streets beyond. At midday there were few people out, most would be stuffing down dinner in one of the taverns or their homes, but a few passed here and there along the street: a donkey and covered cart, a woman with a jar of water on her back, children chasing one another through the shops. The door to the apothecary's opened and a woman stepped out.
For a moment Nephrite’s breath caught; dark brown tresses, sun kissed skin, the right height, the right shape....she turned, and he saw that she wasn’t Girasol but some merchant’s girl, judging from the quality of her clothes. He sighed inwardly. Elysion was not the largest of the Earth’s cities, but neither was it the smallest. That he hadn’t once run into Girasol out of the forest was beginning to weigh on his mind.
There was a creak as Porthos sat upright. “Didn’t expect to see ye two days in a row. This must be pretty important.”
Nephrite turned from the window as Porthos rose from the stool and slid it back beneath the bench. “It’s been five days, Porthos,” he said, gently, and the man’s bushy, iron-grey eyebrows knotted together.
“Y’don’t say,” the man gruffed. He’d stopped arguing about time with Nephrite several years ago. The prince still hadn’t decided if that were a good thing. Stepping forward, he took a look at the bronze work laid out on the table.
He’d designed the necklace to resemble a torc, save that it was made in multiple parts which would be strung together on a chain. The body of it was vaguely crescent shaped, and the splits in the metal pieces disguised by a raised, interlocking network of vines. Intermixed into it all were engraved pictures of animals: a doe, a hare, a lion, and a unicorn.
A cloud must have passed over the sun, for the light began to fade. Nephrite frowned as he stared down at the bit of jewelry. Had that vine just unfurled itself?
It was impossible of course. Bronze was a “soft” metal but not that...
The doe was staring at him. She’d been drinking water from a spring, and now she stared up at him. A faint yowl shook the throat of the lion, and the unicorn’s horn flashed. Step by step he backed away from the bench. Porthos remained beside it, head bent and still. Very still. Impossibly still.
His head jerked around a full 180. Demon eyes glared at the boy from a rotten and mangled face. “Traitor,” it shrieked, and its howl was taken up by a thousand voices that swarmed through his head and threaten to split it. “Traitor! Traitor!”
“No I ain’t!”
His back pressed to the glass, freezing him even through his clothes. The creature his friend had become took a backward step toward him. Nephrite edged toward the door, and the corpse shuffled closer. With a sickening, ripping sound, the body began to turn itself to match it’s head’s direction.
When his groping hand found the handle, Nephrite twisted it and bolted out the door.
He was laying on the floor on his stomach, and he was freezing. At some point his entire body had become a mass of aching, bruised muscle, and his head didn’t seem to be faring much better. Other conditions, such as the brilliant sunlight beating against his face, and someone yelling in the distance, registered more slowly.
The door banged opened. Nicholas grumbled and hid his face in the crux of one elbow. Two sets of footsteps rushed across the floor. One stopped a few feet away, and the other went to his side. “Ken? Ken! Come on, wake up.”
Someone who wasn’t Nick-Keanu, he guessed, with what little of his mind was currently working-groaned in response. “You bastard,” spat Zoe, and her presence retreated back across the room.
Nick mumbled something at her as well, then concentrated on pulling himself back to his feet. She was ranting, and he didn’t give a shit. His vision swam with every movement, no matter how tiny. It had nothing to do with his headache.
Rather, his eyes seemed confused as to what they were looking at. The little jewelry shop seemed torn between a state of lived-in clutter and lost, forgotten junk. Nick knew that the latter was probably more accurate, but knowledge didn’t seem to help anything. He rubbed his sinuses.
When his gaze focused, it landed on a back corner shelf where a piece still had a name tag, waiting for pick up. It was an ornate necklace, resembling a multi-pieced torch.
“And then we couldn’t find you. Anywhere. We searched the whole god damn village.”
A little gust of breeze flipped the little tag around. “If y’don’t stop yer screamin’, you’re gonna wish ya hadn’t found us.”
“Bring it on, buster, I can take you-”
“Guys,” Keanu interjected, and then cut himself off with a groan. They plunged into pitch blackness, and Nick slumped in relief. That the effect was magically induced was immediately obvious--even if there were technology which could block sunlight without the use of solid walls it wouldn’t be found in Elysion. The now-familiar itch of magic against his skin was as good a clue. The others didn’t quite seem to get it, though, and he spared a moment to wonder, unfairly, if they were just slow.
Or maybe he had spent more time thinking about it.
The effect died as quickly as it had come. Nick got himself under one of Keanu’s arms, and they helped each other back to the temple.
There wasn’t such a thing as a hot bath here, but that was okay. For someone unused to being clean on a regular basis, a cold scrub down with a rag was a luxury. Once he was moderately clean again, Nephrite barricaded himself into his cell and tried to sleep.
He’d always been drawn to the stars, to the sky. Standing at the edge of parapet, he closed his eyes and raised his face to the heavens. A stiff wind blew from the west, and he imagined it carried upon it a soft song of home, of wind in the willow trees and crickets in the bayous, and his grandmother humming softly to the creak of her rocking chair. Life in the West was exceedingly different from life in Elysion.
That had been the strangest adjustment when he’d been called to take his place in court. His first years of life had been spent just shy of wild, running through the swamps with his fellows, untitled and ignorant of most court manners. Such was the lot of a prince of a dry house.
If he concentrated hard enough, Nephrite could recall his father pacing round the huge fire-pit in the main hall of Zephyros castle the night that his grandfather passed. King Danburite’s death had not been quick nor unexpected-yet it had left their family in a lurch.
Malachite was not gifted. Though a lord in his own right, a blooded knight, and regent of the west since the shaking disease had spread through Danburite’s bones, Malachite could not inherit the throne in any official capacity. Neither could Chrysocolla, for much the same reason. Although Chrysocolla’s children had all been gifted mightily, their blood was tainted by an eastern father. That left only one of Danburite’s children capable of donning the crown of the western house.
At six years old, Nephrite hadn’t really understood the problem. All he knew was that his father was very angry, and sad, and that he’d spent an awful lot of time yelling at Aunt Beryl.
The woman in question was standing to one side of the fire, chin lofted and eyes glittering in the firelight. Unlike her sister, she had not wept for their father. Nephrite decided, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this was because she feared her brother seeing such emotion. It was an uncomfortable thought.
“Have I not done my duty by this house, Malachite?” Her voice, though soft, seemed to resonate through the chamber. Malachite, still pacing, glowered at her from across the pit. “That this is unusual is certain, but it is not so unusual as to be unheard of. Besides this, I am your sister, am I not? What is it that you would accuse your own family of?”
Lord Malachite sneered at that, and slowed to a halt near to his youngest son. Nephrite looked up at his father, who stared through him. A chill trickled down his spine. Normally Malachite was so kind, so friendly.
“You are my sister,” Malachite affirmed with a faint sigh. “And in that I do love you, and trust you. But Beryl...you must realize how this will seem to the rest of the world. There are whispers, even now, that our house is run dry of the gift.”
“Droughts are as much a part of nature as monsoons, brother,” Beryl said. One fire-red eyebrow quirked as she fixed Malachite in her gaze. “There is no other, we acknowledge this. Unless you would be willing to claim an acolyte.”
In retrospect, Nephrite knew why his father’s cheeks coloured and his mother hid her face away. He might have hated Beryl for bringing that up so publicly, but by the time he knew what she meant he also knew that most of the other lords would colour the same.
As though to add to her point, a boy near to Nephrite’s age rushed into the hall. He was robed in the simple white and brown of the temple acolytes, dark haired and green eyed. The sleeve of his tunic, where most of the priesthood would have embroidered their house seal, was blank; he was a bastard. Even then, Nephrite thought that this boy looked uncomfortably like himself, and by extension, his father. Beryl took a look at the sealed package of papers he carried, then sent him scuttling over to Malachite.
The Lord’s shoulders sagged as he accepted the letters. When he’d nodded, and Beryl had as well, the boy ran again from the room. Malachite broke the seal and scanned the contents. His shoulders sagged, and he carded one hand through his peppered auburn hair. He met Beryl’s gaze once more and inclined his head. “My queen,” he growled.
Beryl’s chin lowered a degree, but only that. “I did try to tell you,” she said so softly that Nephrite nearly missed it. He glanced between them as his father shook his head. The new queen stepped forward, and reached for one of Malachite’s hands. Neither seemed to mind the six-year-old at their feet. “Father only named me last week. We were still hoping he would recover.”
Malachite’s eyes closed, and Beryl took his other hand to squeeze them both. They did not care that the king’s letter crumpled between them. “I do know how this looks,” Beryl assured him in the same low voice. “I, too, have heard the whispers. That I crave power. That I seek to dismantle the houses and rule alone. Some even claim me to be a demoness, sent by the Moon Queen herself.”
Lord Malachite gave a raspy chuckle at that, and Beryl a faint smile. He opened his eyes to hers. “You know as well as I how dangerous such ‘whispers’ can be.”
Reluctantly, the woman nodded. “Yes. And it is with that in mind, as well our family’s good health, that I make a promise to you...”
She paused to catch the eyes of their family gathered about the hearth, notably the ranking nobles among them. Her voice lifted so that all might hear. “I, Queen Beryl of the Western Kingdom, hereby charge you with regency of the West as I take my place in Elysion. I swear also an oath here, in this sacred hall, before the witness of all our family, that the first of your children to show themselves capable shall be named my heir, and will take my place upon the throne as soon as they are of age.”
“I am honoured, my queen.” Malachite bowed over their joined hands. It was only Nephrite who heard him ask, “but what of your own...?”
“Should I have any,” the queen whispered in kind, “my oath will remain firm.”
She looked down then, and met Nephrite’s eyes. Though at that time he could not have said why, Nephrite knew as well she that there would never be such an issue. He blinked, and her face was an inch from his.
Nicholas recoiled and banged his back against the far wall. “Gah!”
Bachiko remained still as a statue, staring at him as he shook his aching body, and scrubbed at his eyes. He sat up and she did in kind, still staring at him. He finished scrubbing at his eyes, then grunted. “Wha’d’ya want?”
She jumped up, kissed his forehead, and ran from the room. Giggling.
After a moment, Nick sighed and shook his head. “Loon,” he muttered. She’d brought a candle with her, at least, and left it sitting on the floor in a little brass holder. He rolled his stiff shoulders, then picked it up.
The door had been locked when he’d gone to sleep, but the latch was undone now. He shook his head, and reminded himself that this had been her home once; she’d know the ways in and out of everything.
Pausing at the threshold, Nick briefly considered simply relocking the door and going back to sleep. It was tempting, and his body ached to do it, but with the dream so fresh in mind he knew he’d be hard pressed for any real rest. And, he had to admit, he was a little worried he’d just drift back into it.
He swung the door closed behind him and went for entrance stair. A whisper at the back of his mind told him that it wouldn’t be raining. Trusting it, he lifted the door open and came out into the chilled night air atop the shrine.
Everything on the surface glowed faintly with a golden light, cast from the enormous crystal at the middle of the platform. When he’d resettled the door, Nicholas put the candle beside it and drifted toward the crystal. It seemed to give off a faint warmth, as well. On a whim, Nicholas extended both hands until his palms hovered just over the surface of the crystal.
The same, familiar itch began to make it’s way up his arms. He closed his eyes and held his hands as still as he could. Odd as the feeling was, he was beginning to get used to it.
“Pay attention!” A reed smacked across his hands hard enough that he yelped and stuck his fingers to his mouth. Hiddenite growled at the five of them, and shook his head. A stiff breeze ruffled the man’s sun bleached hair, and he brushed the bangs from his eyes once again. Clearing his throat, the teacher resumed his pacing as he lectured. “The truth of the matter is, my lads, that most people have magic in their veins.”
Nephrite stared at the apple in his lap. After much cajoling, Hiddenite had moved their lessons out to the orchard that morning. It was not often the boys were given such a treat, especially when it came to Hiddenite’s teachings. Indeed, when it came to his and Jadeite’s private instruction this sort of thing never happened.
“If everyone is capable, then why is everyone not a priest?” Endymion laughed and shared an all-knowing look with Kunzite. “Why do the houses rule?”
“That is a question, isn’t it,” said Hiddenite, cutting their laughter short. When the silence had stretched to a breaking point, he shook his head. “I said that we all have magic in our veins, not that it is always of use. Indeed, a blacksmith may be able forge a horseshoe that never gets thrown, or a farmer’s fields are never overrun by crows, or a seamstress sews a stitch that will not unravel. They do not do these things by purpose or planning, but because an otherwise unrealized gift allows them to.”
“But not all people...” Jadeite trailed off, and Hiddenite fixed him with a faint smirk.
“Not all people can do these things? True. But a beggar’s daughter may, or a butcher’s son. Enough of the priesthood comes from the common folk that it begs the question of just how much magical blood runs outside of the noble houses.”
Nephrite snorted. “Everyone knows they’re bastards.”
The others glanced at him, and Nephrite pretended not to notice. Hiddenite’s brows raised. “Do they. So then, you believe that your father and uncles are out throwing so many bastards? They must be idle quite a good deal.”
Cheeks heating, Nephrite frowned. “I didn’t-”
“Say it in so many words, no, but if all the common folk in the priesthood are bastards of noble families, well then, we noble men must be honourless indeed.”
“He only said what we were all thinking,” Zoicite said. “I mean, that’s...that’s what I was always told, too.”
“And I,” Endymion said. The prince leaned back on one hand, and though his posture was relaxed his friends could easily read the darkness in his eyes. “Or are you calling my father a liar, Hiddenite?”
Hiddenite met the prince’s gaze evenly. “Your father and I disagree on many points, sire,” he said after a moment, “As I have heard your companions disagree with you. I would never insinuate that your father has lied, not intentionally, but there are many things that we accept for face value in this world which make little sense when examined closely.
“It is my job to ensure that you boys are willing to examine that which others would have you believe,” he continued, “and need I remind you that your companions will one day be your advisers in their own right? Would you have them agree with everything you said, no matter the subject, or offer you view points that are not your own?”
Endymion’s mouth moved several times in an attempt to defend himself. Jadeite threw an arm around the crown prince’s shoulders. “Ah, we all know Endy is just perfect on his own. We’re only here to ride on his coattails.”
They laughed, but Hiddenite did not seem amused.
Nicholas shook his head as the vision faded. His fingers were vibrating with the energy radiating from the crystal. The “itch” of magic had become a faint burn, like hot water that coursed through his finger tips and into his veins. Though nothing changed outwardly, it seemed to Nicholas that every nook and cranny of his soul-every rip and gash and crevice he had never known existed-was being pumped full of crystal’s energy, filling him out like a water balloon. When it seemed he might burst, he drew his hands away and looked at the pink flesh of his palms.
Dizzy, he reeled away from the crystal, backing several steps from it and sinking to his knees. He put a hand to his head, pressing it against his sinus until the world seemed steady again.
“We were so complacent.”
The girl came around the far side of the crystal, one hand extended to it. She didn’t touch, not quite, but her fingers came within a hair of it’s surface. In the crystal’s golden light, Bachiko’s hair looked ever more like flame billowing around her head. Dodona had lent her some robes; the soft white of the shrine maiden’s gown looked right on her, Nicholas thought.
Her gaze tore slowly away from the night beyond the shrine, and fell upon him. “So much that we never told you.” The girl-woman-sighed to herself and glanced to the crystal. “So much indeed that we never really understood ourselves.”
“Beryl?” Her chin tilted in his direction, but she did not look. Nicholas frowned. “Aunt Beryl?”
A smile. “Mm. I know you’re not him, my Nephrite...not exactly. But I miss him, and you are as close as you should safely get.”
Slowly, Nicholas stood. “How d’ya mean?”
Her laughter sent shivers through him. He squared his jaw and strode back to the crystal, to her side. She grinned up at him. “I can’t stay this way forever.”
Nicholas nodded. Swallowing the lesser questions, he asked, “What were ya complacent about?”
“As I said, there is much no one bothered to explain. Things which you should have known from the start. Such things that we thought were too...obvious. I see, now, that they are not. The most obvious thing to a master is often the least so to an apprentice.”
She turned, quick as a fox, and grabbed his hands. Lifting them, Beryl showed him his palms. They smarted beneath her fingers; Nicholas refused to wince. “You have almost taken too much, you see? Too much into yourself.”
“I don’t-energy. Y’mean energy?”
Beryl gave a single nod. “This is your personal store,” she said, leaning in. “You must never let it go entirely. The last of your energy is the last of you.”
Her touch was...pulsing. Like feeling her heart beat, the warmth of her hands around his seemed to thump against his skin, in time with his own. Nicholas met her eyes. “The storm...”
“The earth both gives and takes,” she said softly. Overhead the storm grumbled. “Do not let yourself be caught again. Not in these. They are not natural; not any longer.”
A great creak from the door of the shrine caught both their attention. Zoe blinked owlishly at them from the stair. “The hell are you two doing?”
Abruptly, the flow between their hands cut. Bachiko giggled and stumbled into him, so that he had to catch her. Nicholas looked back at Zoe, then at the girl in his arms. Sighing, he put Bachiko upright, then gave her a nudge toward the stair. “Get back t’bed.”
To his surprise, Bachiko obeyed. She teetered past Zoe and down into the darkness beneath. Zoe stayed at the entrance, looking down after the other girl. Frowning, she glanced at Nick and arched a single brow. He shrugged, and waited until Zoe went back inside and shut the hatch behind her.
The clouds above were threatening once again. Despite Beryl’s warning, Nicholas stood beside the crystal for awhile longer. Every so often a single star would peek out from the sky.
After a blissfully dreamless sleep that lasted well into the afternoon, Nicholas grabbed an apple from Dodona’s kitchen and skipped up the steps to the shrine proper. He cast a weather eye to the clouded sky, and sighed. At the steps he paused to bite into his apple and survey the world beyond. Everything was well soaked and slippery looking, even the ground.
Finding a clear place in the thorny vines that covered the pillars next to the stair, Nicholas set his shoulder against it and watched the tall grass sway in the breeze. There were more thunderheads mounting over the city.
Rather than risk a second round of exposure, he finished his apple, tossed the core, and went back inside.
Just weeks ago Nicholas would have given anything to have a warm place to sleep, a roof over his head, a guarantee of food every day...the mere idea of complaining about any of these things, even in thought, felt to him like a stab in the gut. Still, the back of his mind whispered that he’d give anything to be free of this place.
Unlike the other companions, Nephrite had never lived at any temple, much less this one. Beryl had made good her promise the instant they had realized his powers. At nine he’d been taken from the West and brought to Castle Valeia to finish his education with the other princes of the realm. Nephrite had been the last to arrive, though he wasn’t the youngest of them, and he’d always felt a little different for it. That wasn’t the fault of his companions, who had never seemed to share the disorientation, and who had, in mere weeks, become like brothers to him.
Nicholas closed the hatch, and descended the steps in darkness. Someone had left a candle burning at the landing; it let off just enough light for him to see the way back to his room. Other candelabra were spaced just closely enough along the hall that the shadowed areas were minimal throughout the common halls.
If he wanted to explore further in he’d have to be a glowworm like Keanu, or bring a candle with him. Or...
Pausing at the end of a long corridor, just at the edge of the darkness, Nicholas looked down at his hands. He closed his eyes and took in a deep, slow breath. After exhaling in kind, he took another. The crackle of the candelabra was the first to dampen, then the chill of the stone beneath his feet, then his awareness of his own body. It was as though he was sinking deep into darkness, deep into himself.
There was a river flowing inside of him.
Like a blood stream, he supposed, but not blood. Not his blood. Though it pulsed in time with his heartbeat, Nicholas had the distinct feeling that this river had a will of its own. Swallowing his fear, he plunged in.
“Aotea,” she sing-songed above him.
Nephrite grumbled and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, blinking at the brilliant light of the noonday sun above him. Girasol’s face blocked it a moment later, and she grinned. “So lazy! What must the deer think of you?”
“They’re getting used to my presence.” He yawned and sat up. “I thought you were going to be out this morning?”
The girl shook her head, backing away several steps as she did. She shrugged and flipped some of her long, dark hair over one shoulder. “Plans changed, sorry. Father needed me.”
“Winter’s coming on strong this year,” he said, and she nodded after a glance to the sky. In the forest around them, the leaves had begun to turn and the day was only hot if you were in the sun. Wildflowers were still blooming in their meadow, though, close to the stream. On the other side of the water was a fawn half-hidden behind a log-its mother was probably too scared of the hunters to return for it so long as they were there. Nephrite chuckled softly, and followed when Girasol went for their favorite game trail.
“How is he faring?”
Girasol startled, then smiled faintly. “Better, I think. The healer says he should be right as rain soon enough.”
“Good to hear.” Nephrite offered her a smile, and hoped it would quash the sudden surge of panic within him. Were the man to overcome his sickness there’d be little need for his daughter to feed her family in his stead. Girasol would return to her proper place, and Nephrite would have to either reveal himself or put an end to this...friendship.
Then she tapped his shoulder and gestured to a line of fresh tracks just to the side of their trail. He nodded; there was no place for conversation during a hunt.
By late afternoon they’d collected four rabbits between them and returned to their clearing to clean them. The fawn was gone, now, and Nephrite was glad. It would mean another season of good hunting.
Unlike most women he’d known in Elysion, Girasol showed no squeamishness as she sliced open the first of the rabbit carcasses to remove its bowels. Her nose wrinkled, stretching the smatter of freckles across it, for this was smelly work; yet she hummed. Nephrite cast aside the entrails of a large brown buck. “What’s that?”
“Hm?”
“That song.”
There was a pause, and Nephrite looked up to find her staring quite intently at her handful of gore. He lifted a brow.
Girasol shook her head, tawny hair flopping over one shoulder. “Can’t remember the name. Just, um, something my mother used to sing.”
“It’s pretty,” he said lightly and smiled when she looked at him. The girl relaxed a little, but something dark swirled in those bright green eyes when he looked into them. Not for the first time the urge to peek into her thoughts arose, but Nephrite brushed it aside as quickly as it’d come. That would be more than merely invasive, and he felt guilty at even the thought. “Do you sing?”
She laughed. “Not often. I’m not very good at it. I’ve a cousin, though, who can charm birds from the sky.”
Tossing aside the third set of entrails, nephrite stood and watched her finish with the fourth. He took out a rag and wiped his blade clean before sheathing it. “You’ve family in the clergy?”
“What?” Girasol blinked at him, then laughed. “I didn’t mean literally.”
“Ah.” He picked up the two rabbits he’d cleaned and put them over one shoulder. Some blood was sure to drip down his back, to match the stains set in from previous excursions, but he didn’t mind. The huntress carried her lot in much the same fashion, and they began the slow walk toward the village outskirts.
“Does she live around here? Your cousin.”
“Uh...no,” Girasol said with a shake of her head. “They’re off to the, ah, east I believe. I don’t get to see her too often.”
Before he could ask where in the ‘east,’ she continued, “Why? You like girls that can sing?”
He chuckled. “I’m just curious is all. You don’t talk about your family much.”
“No more than you.”
“Damn.” Nephrite nudged her shoulder and gave her a wink. “You’ve got me there.”
They were coming up on the fields faster than he liked. This late in the year the wheat was tall, and it wasn’t likely that any farm hands out in it would be able to see him together. Still, were anyone to recognize him...Nephrite squashed the thought. Should it matter that a noble were spending time with an unmarried young lady? It wouldn’t for him, and he knew it, but for her...
He paused at the edge of the forest, and Girasol did as well. There was also the matter that he’d never told her, which clawed momentarily at the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t a lie, precisely, what he had said. Nephrite was, after all, the son of a man with the right to hunt in the King’s forest. Said man was simply not a game warden, as she’d assumed. Would the truth have scared her? He’d thought so, then, but looking now at the fierce huntresses beside him it was hard to tell. She was made of much sterner material than he’d thought women could be.
In a way, she reminded him of his Aunt Beryl.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Girasol laughed.
“What if I...” Nephrite chuckled softly at himself, before he once again met her eyes. He wet his lips and saw her glance at them. For a fleeting moment his breath hitched, and he leaned toward her. She took a step backward.
“I better go,” she said. Two steps more, she turned and continued alone down the path toward the distant mountains. Nephrite watched until she rounded the distant fields, and was swallowed by the golden wheat. He turned, finally, and headed for the castle.
The light of day had been replaced with an unnatural green light emanating from his hands, and he’d been relieved of the weight of rabbit on his shoulder or the familiar pressure of bowstring across his chest. Nicholas held his hands out before him, staring. They were surrounded by a green fire, flickering and heatless around his skin. The light expanded to the edge of the forest path around him. He frowned.
To his left were the fields-barren and trampled, and scattered with the lumped forms of decomposing beasts of burden. They’d drug the human corpses from it, at least.
On his right was the forest, quiet but for a whisper of wind unintelligibly caressing his ear. There was no moon to light the night around him, but in his mind’s eye Nephrite could see the castle parapets just visible over the trees to the north, and if he turned he’d be able to see the light of the shrine flickering on the distant hillside.
No longer did he bother to question how he’d gotten so far from the temple. Sky trembling above, Nicholas looked down the path into the woods. There was a...a presence within them. He knew it as surely as he felt the hairs lifting along his arms and the back of his neck. In the gas-green light burning from his hands, the trees seemed ghoulish and unnatural, and beyond laid only blackness.
Turning from it, he followed the muddy path until it became cobbled and lined in fancy houses. Faces stared out at him from doorways and windows, and hidden in the darker corners of the village. By the time he found the jeweler’s shop his back was a nest of knots, yet he did not turn, he did not run. He could not.
They’d left the door open, and it swung lightly on its hinges as he approached. Nicholas edged around it, daring not to touch the wood, and winced when it slammed shut behind him. There was no lock on that door, and there never had been. He was grateful of that now.
Large spots of dark liquid shimmered on the wooden floor, fresh and wet save for the clotting edges. No bodies, but the door to the kitchen was ajar and a pool leaked from beneath it.
“I’m sorry.”
Not a whisper sounded, nor a breath of air stirred. Unsure of what he expected, exactly, Nicholas glanced around the dark workshop, then focused in on the kitchen door. “I am sorry,” he repeated, “It ain’t worth much, I know. But I am. Dinnit mean for this t’happen. Never thought...”
He swallowed thickly and scrubbed a hand through his hair. The fire did not diminish, nor burn him, and he stared at his hand after. “I ain’t him, y’know? Nephrite. There’s something in me you recognize, maybe, but it ain’t...ain’t the same.”
Was that the truth, though? Nicholas frowned at himself. The kitchen door squeaked. He backed a step away from it. Once again the hair on the back of his neck began to rise. “Guess that don’t matter, does it?” Immediately, the door stopped moving.
Reaching backward until he found the selves, Nicholas leaned against them and pressed his back to the wood. “Ain’t your fault you got left here. Any-a you. Ain’t fair, really.”
Whatever it was, was breathing, a raspy and shallow beat in the otherwise still air. Nicholas shuddered. A foot stepped out from behind the door, then another. The ghoul was wearing a floral print dress and Beverly’s face, but he knew better now. This was not Beverly.
Slowly, the creature reached its corpse hands out to point at the back corner shelf. Nicholas eased over until he could paw blindly behind him for the torc. It was freezing beneath his fingertips, but he grabbed it up and clutched it to his chest. “I’ll get rid of it. Won’t bother you anymore.”
He eased around the shop’s perimeter to the door; the demon watched. It did not move, not even when he closed the door behind himself, and ran back down the street.
Verse: Their Silent Reverie
Genre(s): Angst/Dark, friendship, action/adventure
Chapter Length: 12,000 w (approx; both parts)
Full Length (to date): 24k w (approx.)
Summary: The Shitennou live, reborn to new lives but haunted by demons of the past. Their task is simple: they must cleanse the Earth of the Moon Princess's taint.
Warnings: dark themes are touched upon, including (perceived) mental disorder, emotional, physical and sexual abuse, death and murder.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sailor Moon and make no profit from this work of fictional fun.
A/N: This will make no sense at all unless you've read This Sweet Madness, at the very least.
Status: Ongoing
Prologue [Note: this is also the final chapter of Viva La Vida, but it's important enough to reitorate.]
Chapter 1: After the Storm - Keanu ( Part 1) ( Part 2)
Chapter 2: Thistle and Weeds - Nicholas (Part 1) ( Part 2)
Click to viewNICHOLAS
Thistle and Weeds
The shops this close to the castle were lovely little places with glass windows, and even floors, and doors that locked properly, and streets that were regularly patrolled to ensure that robberies were few and far between. That the same could not be said for all of Elysion was something which had only recently occurred to Nephrite; it dampened the otherwise brilliant and beautiful summer day. Aware that he was clinging, somewhat desperately, to his enthusiasm, Nephrite let himself into the little jeweler's shop just across from from the apothecary's and greeted the old artisan with as wide a grin as he could manage.
“Be with you in a minute.” Porthos was sitting, as always, at the work bench that ran the back of the shop, back to the door. In any other neighborhood Nephrite might have been a thief, and Porthos still wouldn’t have looked up from whatever he was working on.
The man was a sack of pallid, grooved skin and bones; despite the monthly stipend sent to him by the Western House, Porthos never seemed to gain much in the way of weight. Nephrite only kept his tongue as the man didn’t seem to be suffering, either, but he had begun a tradition of sending a hot meal over from one of the better taverns once a week, just to be sure. The remains of last night’s were still sitting on the far end of the bench, indicating that Porthos’ still hadn’t replaced the apprentice whose talent for finding lost objects had gotten him drafted into temple a fortnight prior. Nephrite sighed.
He picked the mess up himself and walked through the back door, into the ill used kitchen, and out into the tiny back garden where the wash was. Princes weren’t commonly asked to clean dishes, but Nephrite thought he did a decent enough job at it. When he was done, he re-stacked everything and brought it back inside.
“I’ll send the Jewel’s boy after these later this evening,” he said, and Porthos hummed. Probably hadn’t heard a word.
On the far wall, where the sunlight could fall upon them, trinkets hung from pegs on the wall and were displayed on low shelves. There were a rather lot of them-more than in any other jeweler’s shop that Nephrite had seen-as Porthos was one of the lucky artisans; he had a generous patron who allowed him to work on whatever he pleased. True, a few of the displayed were commissioned pieces-each of these had a little slip of paper attached to it by a string, with the name of the owner written in Porthos’ careful print-but the majority were not. Porthos would sell them piece by piece to whomever wandered into the shop that didn’t know what they wanted, exactly. And, of course, his patron was in his rights to ask for whatever might catch his eye.
Nephrite had taken advantage of this more than a few times. Though he had something of an artistic eye himself, or so he thought, it was nothing compared to Porthos’ genius. The only pieces he’d commissioned from his own designs, thus far, had been solstice gifts for his mother and sisters every winter. And the piece he’d sketched a few weeks ago.
Now he wondered if it was such a good idea. Pursing his lips and wetting them, Nephrite glanced back out the window to the sunlit streets beyond. At midday there were few people out, most would be stuffing down dinner in one of the taverns or their homes, but a few passed here and there along the street: a donkey and covered cart, a woman with a jar of water on her back, children chasing one another through the shops. The door to the apothecary's opened and a woman stepped out.
For a moment Nephrite’s breath caught; dark brown tresses, sun kissed skin, the right height, the right shape....she turned, and he saw that she wasn’t Girasol but some merchant’s girl, judging from the quality of her clothes. He sighed inwardly. Elysion was not the largest of the Earth’s cities, but neither was it the smallest. That he hadn’t once run into Girasol out of the forest was beginning to weigh on his mind.
There was a creak as Porthos sat upright. “Didn’t expect to see ye two days in a row. This must be pretty important.”
Nephrite turned from the window as Porthos rose from the stool and slid it back beneath the bench. “It’s been five days, Porthos,” he said, gently, and the man’s bushy, iron-grey eyebrows knotted together.
“Y’don’t say,” the man gruffed. He’d stopped arguing about time with Nephrite several years ago. The prince still hadn’t decided if that were a good thing. Stepping forward, he took a look at the bronze work laid out on the table.
He’d designed the necklace to resemble a torc, save that it was made in multiple parts which would be strung together on a chain. The body of it was vaguely crescent shaped, and the splits in the metal pieces disguised by a raised, interlocking network of vines. Intermixed into it all were engraved pictures of animals: a doe, a hare, a lion, and a unicorn.
A cloud must have passed over the sun, for the light began to fade. Nephrite frowned as he stared down at the bit of jewelry. Had that vine just unfurled itself?
It was impossible of course. Bronze was a “soft” metal but not that...
The doe was staring at him. She’d been drinking water from a spring, and now she stared up at him. A faint yowl shook the throat of the lion, and the unicorn’s horn flashed. Step by step he backed away from the bench. Porthos remained beside it, head bent and still. Very still. Impossibly still.
His head jerked around a full 180. Demon eyes glared at the boy from a rotten and mangled face. “Traitor,” it shrieked, and its howl was taken up by a thousand voices that swarmed through his head and threaten to split it. “Traitor! Traitor!”
“No I ain’t!”
His back pressed to the glass, freezing him even through his clothes. The creature his friend had become took a backward step toward him. Nephrite edged toward the door, and the corpse shuffled closer. With a sickening, ripping sound, the body began to turn itself to match it’s head’s direction.
When his groping hand found the handle, Nephrite twisted it and bolted out the door.
He was laying on the floor on his stomach, and he was freezing. At some point his entire body had become a mass of aching, bruised muscle, and his head didn’t seem to be faring much better. Other conditions, such as the brilliant sunlight beating against his face, and someone yelling in the distance, registered more slowly.
The door banged opened. Nicholas grumbled and hid his face in the crux of one elbow. Two sets of footsteps rushed across the floor. One stopped a few feet away, and the other went to his side. “Ken? Ken! Come on, wake up.”
Someone who wasn’t Nick-Keanu, he guessed, with what little of his mind was currently working-groaned in response. “You bastard,” spat Zoe, and her presence retreated back across the room.
Nick mumbled something at her as well, then concentrated on pulling himself back to his feet. She was ranting, and he didn’t give a shit. His vision swam with every movement, no matter how tiny. It had nothing to do with his headache.
Rather, his eyes seemed confused as to what they were looking at. The little jewelry shop seemed torn between a state of lived-in clutter and lost, forgotten junk. Nick knew that the latter was probably more accurate, but knowledge didn’t seem to help anything. He rubbed his sinuses.
When his gaze focused, it landed on a back corner shelf where a piece still had a name tag, waiting for pick up. It was an ornate necklace, resembling a multi-pieced torch.
“And then we couldn’t find you. Anywhere. We searched the whole god damn village.”
A little gust of breeze flipped the little tag around. “If y’don’t stop yer screamin’, you’re gonna wish ya hadn’t found us.”
“Bring it on, buster, I can take you-”
“Guys,” Keanu interjected, and then cut himself off with a groan. They plunged into pitch blackness, and Nick slumped in relief. That the effect was magically induced was immediately obvious--even if there were technology which could block sunlight without the use of solid walls it wouldn’t be found in Elysion. The now-familiar itch of magic against his skin was as good a clue. The others didn’t quite seem to get it, though, and he spared a moment to wonder, unfairly, if they were just slow.
Or maybe he had spent more time thinking about it.
The effect died as quickly as it had come. Nick got himself under one of Keanu’s arms, and they helped each other back to the temple.
There wasn’t such a thing as a hot bath here, but that was okay. For someone unused to being clean on a regular basis, a cold scrub down with a rag was a luxury. Once he was moderately clean again, Nephrite barricaded himself into his cell and tried to sleep.
He’d always been drawn to the stars, to the sky. Standing at the edge of parapet, he closed his eyes and raised his face to the heavens. A stiff wind blew from the west, and he imagined it carried upon it a soft song of home, of wind in the willow trees and crickets in the bayous, and his grandmother humming softly to the creak of her rocking chair. Life in the West was exceedingly different from life in Elysion.
That had been the strangest adjustment when he’d been called to take his place in court. His first years of life had been spent just shy of wild, running through the swamps with his fellows, untitled and ignorant of most court manners. Such was the lot of a prince of a dry house.
If he concentrated hard enough, Nephrite could recall his father pacing round the huge fire-pit in the main hall of Zephyros castle the night that his grandfather passed. King Danburite’s death had not been quick nor unexpected-yet it had left their family in a lurch.
Malachite was not gifted. Though a lord in his own right, a blooded knight, and regent of the west since the shaking disease had spread through Danburite’s bones, Malachite could not inherit the throne in any official capacity. Neither could Chrysocolla, for much the same reason. Although Chrysocolla’s children had all been gifted mightily, their blood was tainted by an eastern father. That left only one of Danburite’s children capable of donning the crown of the western house.
At six years old, Nephrite hadn’t really understood the problem. All he knew was that his father was very angry, and sad, and that he’d spent an awful lot of time yelling at Aunt Beryl.
The woman in question was standing to one side of the fire, chin lofted and eyes glittering in the firelight. Unlike her sister, she had not wept for their father. Nephrite decided, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this was because she feared her brother seeing such emotion. It was an uncomfortable thought.
“Have I not done my duty by this house, Malachite?” Her voice, though soft, seemed to resonate through the chamber. Malachite, still pacing, glowered at her from across the pit. “That this is unusual is certain, but it is not so unusual as to be unheard of. Besides this, I am your sister, am I not? What is it that you would accuse your own family of?”
Lord Malachite sneered at that, and slowed to a halt near to his youngest son. Nephrite looked up at his father, who stared through him. A chill trickled down his spine. Normally Malachite was so kind, so friendly.
“You are my sister,” Malachite affirmed with a faint sigh. “And in that I do love you, and trust you. But Beryl...you must realize how this will seem to the rest of the world. There are whispers, even now, that our house is run dry of the gift.”
“Droughts are as much a part of nature as monsoons, brother,” Beryl said. One fire-red eyebrow quirked as she fixed Malachite in her gaze. “There is no other, we acknowledge this. Unless you would be willing to claim an acolyte.”
In retrospect, Nephrite knew why his father’s cheeks coloured and his mother hid her face away. He might have hated Beryl for bringing that up so publicly, but by the time he knew what she meant he also knew that most of the other lords would colour the same.
As though to add to her point, a boy near to Nephrite’s age rushed into the hall. He was robed in the simple white and brown of the temple acolytes, dark haired and green eyed. The sleeve of his tunic, where most of the priesthood would have embroidered their house seal, was blank; he was a bastard. Even then, Nephrite thought that this boy looked uncomfortably like himself, and by extension, his father. Beryl took a look at the sealed package of papers he carried, then sent him scuttling over to Malachite.
The Lord’s shoulders sagged as he accepted the letters. When he’d nodded, and Beryl had as well, the boy ran again from the room. Malachite broke the seal and scanned the contents. His shoulders sagged, and he carded one hand through his peppered auburn hair. He met Beryl’s gaze once more and inclined his head. “My queen,” he growled.
Beryl’s chin lowered a degree, but only that. “I did try to tell you,” she said so softly that Nephrite nearly missed it. He glanced between them as his father shook his head. The new queen stepped forward, and reached for one of Malachite’s hands. Neither seemed to mind the six-year-old at their feet. “Father only named me last week. We were still hoping he would recover.”
Malachite’s eyes closed, and Beryl took his other hand to squeeze them both. They did not care that the king’s letter crumpled between them. “I do know how this looks,” Beryl assured him in the same low voice. “I, too, have heard the whispers. That I crave power. That I seek to dismantle the houses and rule alone. Some even claim me to be a demoness, sent by the Moon Queen herself.”
Lord Malachite gave a raspy chuckle at that, and Beryl a faint smile. He opened his eyes to hers. “You know as well as I how dangerous such ‘whispers’ can be.”
Reluctantly, the woman nodded. “Yes. And it is with that in mind, as well our family’s good health, that I make a promise to you...”
She paused to catch the eyes of their family gathered about the hearth, notably the ranking nobles among them. Her voice lifted so that all might hear. “I, Queen Beryl of the Western Kingdom, hereby charge you with regency of the West as I take my place in Elysion. I swear also an oath here, in this sacred hall, before the witness of all our family, that the first of your children to show themselves capable shall be named my heir, and will take my place upon the throne as soon as they are of age.”
“I am honoured, my queen.” Malachite bowed over their joined hands. It was only Nephrite who heard him ask, “but what of your own...?”
“Should I have any,” the queen whispered in kind, “my oath will remain firm.”
She looked down then, and met Nephrite’s eyes. Though at that time he could not have said why, Nephrite knew as well she that there would never be such an issue. He blinked, and her face was an inch from his.
Nicholas recoiled and banged his back against the far wall. “Gah!”
Bachiko remained still as a statue, staring at him as he shook his aching body, and scrubbed at his eyes. He sat up and she did in kind, still staring at him. He finished scrubbing at his eyes, then grunted. “Wha’d’ya want?”
She jumped up, kissed his forehead, and ran from the room. Giggling.
After a moment, Nick sighed and shook his head. “Loon,” he muttered. She’d brought a candle with her, at least, and left it sitting on the floor in a little brass holder. He rolled his stiff shoulders, then picked it up.
The door had been locked when he’d gone to sleep, but the latch was undone now. He shook his head, and reminded himself that this had been her home once; she’d know the ways in and out of everything.
Pausing at the threshold, Nick briefly considered simply relocking the door and going back to sleep. It was tempting, and his body ached to do it, but with the dream so fresh in mind he knew he’d be hard pressed for any real rest. And, he had to admit, he was a little worried he’d just drift back into it.
He swung the door closed behind him and went for entrance stair. A whisper at the back of his mind told him that it wouldn’t be raining. Trusting it, he lifted the door open and came out into the chilled night air atop the shrine.
Everything on the surface glowed faintly with a golden light, cast from the enormous crystal at the middle of the platform. When he’d resettled the door, Nicholas put the candle beside it and drifted toward the crystal. It seemed to give off a faint warmth, as well. On a whim, Nicholas extended both hands until his palms hovered just over the surface of the crystal.
The same, familiar itch began to make it’s way up his arms. He closed his eyes and held his hands as still as he could. Odd as the feeling was, he was beginning to get used to it.
“Pay attention!” A reed smacked across his hands hard enough that he yelped and stuck his fingers to his mouth. Hiddenite growled at the five of them, and shook his head. A stiff breeze ruffled the man’s sun bleached hair, and he brushed the bangs from his eyes once again. Clearing his throat, the teacher resumed his pacing as he lectured. “The truth of the matter is, my lads, that most people have magic in their veins.”
Nephrite stared at the apple in his lap. After much cajoling, Hiddenite had moved their lessons out to the orchard that morning. It was not often the boys were given such a treat, especially when it came to Hiddenite’s teachings. Indeed, when it came to his and Jadeite’s private instruction this sort of thing never happened.
“If everyone is capable, then why is everyone not a priest?” Endymion laughed and shared an all-knowing look with Kunzite. “Why do the houses rule?”
“That is a question, isn’t it,” said Hiddenite, cutting their laughter short. When the silence had stretched to a breaking point, he shook his head. “I said that we all have magic in our veins, not that it is always of use. Indeed, a blacksmith may be able forge a horseshoe that never gets thrown, or a farmer’s fields are never overrun by crows, or a seamstress sews a stitch that will not unravel. They do not do these things by purpose or planning, but because an otherwise unrealized gift allows them to.”
“But not all people...” Jadeite trailed off, and Hiddenite fixed him with a faint smirk.
“Not all people can do these things? True. But a beggar’s daughter may, or a butcher’s son. Enough of the priesthood comes from the common folk that it begs the question of just how much magical blood runs outside of the noble houses.”
Nephrite snorted. “Everyone knows they’re bastards.”
The others glanced at him, and Nephrite pretended not to notice. Hiddenite’s brows raised. “Do they. So then, you believe that your father and uncles are out throwing so many bastards? They must be idle quite a good deal.”
Cheeks heating, Nephrite frowned. “I didn’t-”
“Say it in so many words, no, but if all the common folk in the priesthood are bastards of noble families, well then, we noble men must be honourless indeed.”
“He only said what we were all thinking,” Zoicite said. “I mean, that’s...that’s what I was always told, too.”
“And I,” Endymion said. The prince leaned back on one hand, and though his posture was relaxed his friends could easily read the darkness in his eyes. “Or are you calling my father a liar, Hiddenite?”
Hiddenite met the prince’s gaze evenly. “Your father and I disagree on many points, sire,” he said after a moment, “As I have heard your companions disagree with you. I would never insinuate that your father has lied, not intentionally, but there are many things that we accept for face value in this world which make little sense when examined closely.
“It is my job to ensure that you boys are willing to examine that which others would have you believe,” he continued, “and need I remind you that your companions will one day be your advisers in their own right? Would you have them agree with everything you said, no matter the subject, or offer you view points that are not your own?”
Endymion’s mouth moved several times in an attempt to defend himself. Jadeite threw an arm around the crown prince’s shoulders. “Ah, we all know Endy is just perfect on his own. We’re only here to ride on his coattails.”
They laughed, but Hiddenite did not seem amused.
Nicholas shook his head as the vision faded. His fingers were vibrating with the energy radiating from the crystal. The “itch” of magic had become a faint burn, like hot water that coursed through his finger tips and into his veins. Though nothing changed outwardly, it seemed to Nicholas that every nook and cranny of his soul-every rip and gash and crevice he had never known existed-was being pumped full of crystal’s energy, filling him out like a water balloon. When it seemed he might burst, he drew his hands away and looked at the pink flesh of his palms.
Dizzy, he reeled away from the crystal, backing several steps from it and sinking to his knees. He put a hand to his head, pressing it against his sinus until the world seemed steady again.
“We were so complacent.”
The girl came around the far side of the crystal, one hand extended to it. She didn’t touch, not quite, but her fingers came within a hair of it’s surface. In the crystal’s golden light, Bachiko’s hair looked ever more like flame billowing around her head. Dodona had lent her some robes; the soft white of the shrine maiden’s gown looked right on her, Nicholas thought.
Her gaze tore slowly away from the night beyond the shrine, and fell upon him. “So much that we never told you.” The girl-woman-sighed to herself and glanced to the crystal. “So much indeed that we never really understood ourselves.”
“Beryl?” Her chin tilted in his direction, but she did not look. Nicholas frowned. “Aunt Beryl?”
A smile. “Mm. I know you’re not him, my Nephrite...not exactly. But I miss him, and you are as close as you should safely get.”
Slowly, Nicholas stood. “How d’ya mean?”
Her laughter sent shivers through him. He squared his jaw and strode back to the crystal, to her side. She grinned up at him. “I can’t stay this way forever.”
Nicholas nodded. Swallowing the lesser questions, he asked, “What were ya complacent about?”
“As I said, there is much no one bothered to explain. Things which you should have known from the start. Such things that we thought were too...obvious. I see, now, that they are not. The most obvious thing to a master is often the least so to an apprentice.”
She turned, quick as a fox, and grabbed his hands. Lifting them, Beryl showed him his palms. They smarted beneath her fingers; Nicholas refused to wince. “You have almost taken too much, you see? Too much into yourself.”
“I don’t-energy. Y’mean energy?”
Beryl gave a single nod. “This is your personal store,” she said, leaning in. “You must never let it go entirely. The last of your energy is the last of you.”
Her touch was...pulsing. Like feeling her heart beat, the warmth of her hands around his seemed to thump against his skin, in time with his own. Nicholas met her eyes. “The storm...”
“The earth both gives and takes,” she said softly. Overhead the storm grumbled. “Do not let yourself be caught again. Not in these. They are not natural; not any longer.”
A great creak from the door of the shrine caught both their attention. Zoe blinked owlishly at them from the stair. “The hell are you two doing?”
Abruptly, the flow between their hands cut. Bachiko giggled and stumbled into him, so that he had to catch her. Nicholas looked back at Zoe, then at the girl in his arms. Sighing, he put Bachiko upright, then gave her a nudge toward the stair. “Get back t’bed.”
To his surprise, Bachiko obeyed. She teetered past Zoe and down into the darkness beneath. Zoe stayed at the entrance, looking down after the other girl. Frowning, she glanced at Nick and arched a single brow. He shrugged, and waited until Zoe went back inside and shut the hatch behind her.
The clouds above were threatening once again. Despite Beryl’s warning, Nicholas stood beside the crystal for awhile longer. Every so often a single star would peek out from the sky.
After a blissfully dreamless sleep that lasted well into the afternoon, Nicholas grabbed an apple from Dodona’s kitchen and skipped up the steps to the shrine proper. He cast a weather eye to the clouded sky, and sighed. At the steps he paused to bite into his apple and survey the world beyond. Everything was well soaked and slippery looking, even the ground.
Finding a clear place in the thorny vines that covered the pillars next to the stair, Nicholas set his shoulder against it and watched the tall grass sway in the breeze. There were more thunderheads mounting over the city.
Rather than risk a second round of exposure, he finished his apple, tossed the core, and went back inside.
Just weeks ago Nicholas would have given anything to have a warm place to sleep, a roof over his head, a guarantee of food every day...the mere idea of complaining about any of these things, even in thought, felt to him like a stab in the gut. Still, the back of his mind whispered that he’d give anything to be free of this place.
Unlike the other companions, Nephrite had never lived at any temple, much less this one. Beryl had made good her promise the instant they had realized his powers. At nine he’d been taken from the West and brought to Castle Valeia to finish his education with the other princes of the realm. Nephrite had been the last to arrive, though he wasn’t the youngest of them, and he’d always felt a little different for it. That wasn’t the fault of his companions, who had never seemed to share the disorientation, and who had, in mere weeks, become like brothers to him.
Nicholas closed the hatch, and descended the steps in darkness. Someone had left a candle burning at the landing; it let off just enough light for him to see the way back to his room. Other candelabra were spaced just closely enough along the hall that the shadowed areas were minimal throughout the common halls.
If he wanted to explore further in he’d have to be a glowworm like Keanu, or bring a candle with him. Or...
Pausing at the end of a long corridor, just at the edge of the darkness, Nicholas looked down at his hands. He closed his eyes and took in a deep, slow breath. After exhaling in kind, he took another. The crackle of the candelabra was the first to dampen, then the chill of the stone beneath his feet, then his awareness of his own body. It was as though he was sinking deep into darkness, deep into himself.
There was a river flowing inside of him.
Like a blood stream, he supposed, but not blood. Not his blood. Though it pulsed in time with his heartbeat, Nicholas had the distinct feeling that this river had a will of its own. Swallowing his fear, he plunged in.
“Aotea,” she sing-songed above him.
Nephrite grumbled and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, blinking at the brilliant light of the noonday sun above him. Girasol’s face blocked it a moment later, and she grinned. “So lazy! What must the deer think of you?”
“They’re getting used to my presence.” He yawned and sat up. “I thought you were going to be out this morning?”
The girl shook her head, backing away several steps as she did. She shrugged and flipped some of her long, dark hair over one shoulder. “Plans changed, sorry. Father needed me.”
“Winter’s coming on strong this year,” he said, and she nodded after a glance to the sky. In the forest around them, the leaves had begun to turn and the day was only hot if you were in the sun. Wildflowers were still blooming in their meadow, though, close to the stream. On the other side of the water was a fawn half-hidden behind a log-its mother was probably too scared of the hunters to return for it so long as they were there. Nephrite chuckled softly, and followed when Girasol went for their favorite game trail.
“How is he faring?”
Girasol startled, then smiled faintly. “Better, I think. The healer says he should be right as rain soon enough.”
“Good to hear.” Nephrite offered her a smile, and hoped it would quash the sudden surge of panic within him. Were the man to overcome his sickness there’d be little need for his daughter to feed her family in his stead. Girasol would return to her proper place, and Nephrite would have to either reveal himself or put an end to this...friendship.
Then she tapped his shoulder and gestured to a line of fresh tracks just to the side of their trail. He nodded; there was no place for conversation during a hunt.
By late afternoon they’d collected four rabbits between them and returned to their clearing to clean them. The fawn was gone, now, and Nephrite was glad. It would mean another season of good hunting.
Unlike most women he’d known in Elysion, Girasol showed no squeamishness as she sliced open the first of the rabbit carcasses to remove its bowels. Her nose wrinkled, stretching the smatter of freckles across it, for this was smelly work; yet she hummed. Nephrite cast aside the entrails of a large brown buck. “What’s that?”
“Hm?”
“That song.”
There was a pause, and Nephrite looked up to find her staring quite intently at her handful of gore. He lifted a brow.
Girasol shook her head, tawny hair flopping over one shoulder. “Can’t remember the name. Just, um, something my mother used to sing.”
“It’s pretty,” he said lightly and smiled when she looked at him. The girl relaxed a little, but something dark swirled in those bright green eyes when he looked into them. Not for the first time the urge to peek into her thoughts arose, but Nephrite brushed it aside as quickly as it’d come. That would be more than merely invasive, and he felt guilty at even the thought. “Do you sing?”
She laughed. “Not often. I’m not very good at it. I’ve a cousin, though, who can charm birds from the sky.”
Tossing aside the third set of entrails, nephrite stood and watched her finish with the fourth. He took out a rag and wiped his blade clean before sheathing it. “You’ve family in the clergy?”
“What?” Girasol blinked at him, then laughed. “I didn’t mean literally.”
“Ah.” He picked up the two rabbits he’d cleaned and put them over one shoulder. Some blood was sure to drip down his back, to match the stains set in from previous excursions, but he didn’t mind. The huntress carried her lot in much the same fashion, and they began the slow walk toward the village outskirts.
“Does she live around here? Your cousin.”
“Uh...no,” Girasol said with a shake of her head. “They’re off to the, ah, east I believe. I don’t get to see her too often.”
Before he could ask where in the ‘east,’ she continued, “Why? You like girls that can sing?”
He chuckled. “I’m just curious is all. You don’t talk about your family much.”
“No more than you.”
“Damn.” Nephrite nudged her shoulder and gave her a wink. “You’ve got me there.”
They were coming up on the fields faster than he liked. This late in the year the wheat was tall, and it wasn’t likely that any farm hands out in it would be able to see him together. Still, were anyone to recognize him...Nephrite squashed the thought. Should it matter that a noble were spending time with an unmarried young lady? It wouldn’t for him, and he knew it, but for her...
He paused at the edge of the forest, and Girasol did as well. There was also the matter that he’d never told her, which clawed momentarily at the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t a lie, precisely, what he had said. Nephrite was, after all, the son of a man with the right to hunt in the King’s forest. Said man was simply not a game warden, as she’d assumed. Would the truth have scared her? He’d thought so, then, but looking now at the fierce huntresses beside him it was hard to tell. She was made of much sterner material than he’d thought women could be.
In a way, she reminded him of his Aunt Beryl.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Girasol laughed.
“What if I...” Nephrite chuckled softly at himself, before he once again met her eyes. He wet his lips and saw her glance at them. For a fleeting moment his breath hitched, and he leaned toward her. She took a step backward.
“I better go,” she said. Two steps more, she turned and continued alone down the path toward the distant mountains. Nephrite watched until she rounded the distant fields, and was swallowed by the golden wheat. He turned, finally, and headed for the castle.
The light of day had been replaced with an unnatural green light emanating from his hands, and he’d been relieved of the weight of rabbit on his shoulder or the familiar pressure of bowstring across his chest. Nicholas held his hands out before him, staring. They were surrounded by a green fire, flickering and heatless around his skin. The light expanded to the edge of the forest path around him. He frowned.
To his left were the fields-barren and trampled, and scattered with the lumped forms of decomposing beasts of burden. They’d drug the human corpses from it, at least.
On his right was the forest, quiet but for a whisper of wind unintelligibly caressing his ear. There was no moon to light the night around him, but in his mind’s eye Nephrite could see the castle parapets just visible over the trees to the north, and if he turned he’d be able to see the light of the shrine flickering on the distant hillside.
No longer did he bother to question how he’d gotten so far from the temple. Sky trembling above, Nicholas looked down the path into the woods. There was a...a presence within them. He knew it as surely as he felt the hairs lifting along his arms and the back of his neck. In the gas-green light burning from his hands, the trees seemed ghoulish and unnatural, and beyond laid only blackness.
Turning from it, he followed the muddy path until it became cobbled and lined in fancy houses. Faces stared out at him from doorways and windows, and hidden in the darker corners of the village. By the time he found the jeweler’s shop his back was a nest of knots, yet he did not turn, he did not run. He could not.
They’d left the door open, and it swung lightly on its hinges as he approached. Nicholas edged around it, daring not to touch the wood, and winced when it slammed shut behind him. There was no lock on that door, and there never had been. He was grateful of that now.
Large spots of dark liquid shimmered on the wooden floor, fresh and wet save for the clotting edges. No bodies, but the door to the kitchen was ajar and a pool leaked from beneath it.
“I’m sorry.”
Not a whisper sounded, nor a breath of air stirred. Unsure of what he expected, exactly, Nicholas glanced around the dark workshop, then focused in on the kitchen door. “I am sorry,” he repeated, “It ain’t worth much, I know. But I am. Dinnit mean for this t’happen. Never thought...”
He swallowed thickly and scrubbed a hand through his hair. The fire did not diminish, nor burn him, and he stared at his hand after. “I ain’t him, y’know? Nephrite. There’s something in me you recognize, maybe, but it ain’t...ain’t the same.”
Was that the truth, though? Nicholas frowned at himself. The kitchen door squeaked. He backed a step away from it. Once again the hair on the back of his neck began to rise. “Guess that don’t matter, does it?” Immediately, the door stopped moving.
Reaching backward until he found the selves, Nicholas leaned against them and pressed his back to the wood. “Ain’t your fault you got left here. Any-a you. Ain’t fair, really.”
Whatever it was, was breathing, a raspy and shallow beat in the otherwise still air. Nicholas shuddered. A foot stepped out from behind the door, then another. The ghoul was wearing a floral print dress and Beverly’s face, but he knew better now. This was not Beverly.
Slowly, the creature reached its corpse hands out to point at the back corner shelf. Nicholas eased over until he could paw blindly behind him for the torc. It was freezing beneath his fingertips, but he grabbed it up and clutched it to his chest. “I’ll get rid of it. Won’t bother you anymore.”
He eased around the shop’s perimeter to the door; the demon watched. It did not move, not even when he closed the door behind himself, and ran back down the street.