Think Back on Yesterday, 7/?
Title: Think Back on Yesterday, chapter seven
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 4,398
Main Characters: Fakir, Ahiru, Autor
Supporting Characters: Charon, Mytho
Summary: Fakir's regained memories only make their enemy grow all the more vicious.
Fanfiction.net Link: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5930393/7/
Will be posted to paranormal25 when complete.
Notes: Finally, an update! The first half of this chapter was like pulling teeth. The second half came together much better. Hopefully now that we’re at this point, the rest of the story will also come together without a long passage of time.
Chapter Seven
Fakir found himself slowly waking up when the morning light entered through the cracks in the closed blind. For a moment he lay there in confusion, squinting at the beams. How had he fallen asleep? He had not known how he would ever succumb to slumber after the visions he had experienced. Had the same thing happened that he vaguely remembered occurring last night, with that strange voice forcing him into unconsciousness?
He sat up, shaking. Why? Why did that voice want to keep him from thinking about the visions and what they meant? He needed to know. The last one especially bothered him. And there was one person here who might be able to enlighten him.
He leaned over the edge of the bed. The blacksmith was awake, sadly gazing at the opposite wall. Fakir frowned, debating within himself. But at last he spoke.
“Who am I?”
Charon started out of his mind. Rolling off the bottom bunk, he stood and stared at the boy. “Who . . . are you?” he repeated, unable to believe what he was hearing.
Fakir sat up and then slid off the top bunk to stand and face him. “I had some kind of a vision last night,” he said. “You were talking to a child. He had a mark on his body . . . the same mark that I bear.” He pulled off his shirt, revealing the cruel scars on his upper torso. “You said he . . . I . . . was the reincarnation of the knight.”
Charon continued to stare, his emotions bared in his eyes. “You . . . aren’t sure you’re Lohengrin?” he said carefully. Was Fakir actually remembering his true self?
“But who is Lohengrin?” Fakir exclaimed. “Am I his reincarnation?!”
Charon drew a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “What I do know is that . . .” He hesitated, weighing his choices against one another. They had decided they could not tell Fakir outright that he was Fakir. But that had been before this shocking development. As far as Charon was concerned, this changed a great deal. Maybe now Fakir would be more open to the truth.
“You are my son,” he said now, with conviction.
Fakir rocked back, his eyes wide in his shock. “I can’t be!” he cried. “The missing boy Fakir is your son!”
Charon nodded somberly, even as his heart was pierced again. “He’s missing not because he was abducted, but because he doesn’t remember himself,” he said. “You are Fakir!”
The color drained from Fakir’s face. “No,” he said, stepping back further. “No, I’m not. I’m Lohengrin, the Swan Knight. We’re traveling to the Prince’s kingdom to find a way to save Fakir. We . . . I . . .” He stumbled into a table, his emotions reeling in turmoil.
Charon’s stomach twisted. Had he just made another terrible mistake? “Fakir . . .” he said in desperation, reaching out for the teen.
Fakir slapped his hand away. “It’s a lie!” he roared. “I am not Fakir. I’m not. . . .” He sank to the floor, trembling, digging his hands into his hair.
Charon stood staring at the conflicted boy, horror and sorrow gripping his soul. Fakir was still not willing to believe it. And now, perhaps, Charon had made the situation worse than even before. He was not cut out to deal with this. In despair he turned away.
“Forgive me, Fakir,” he rasped. “I don’t know how to help you.”
****
Ahiru let out a tired, sad sigh as she leaned on the sill of one of the large observation windows. The wide-brimmed white straw hat she was wearing slipped back on her head, the stubborn piece of hair insisting on boinging upright as usual. She barely noticed.
Autor had not come out to breakfast again. Hopefully this time he was actually getting some proper sleep. If he did not come for lunch, however, she would go check on him and make sure he was alright. After nearly being strangled by what must have been Fakir’s Story, it was hard to say what kind of condition he might be in. He had said he was fine, but she was not willing to trust that.
This time Fakir had not come either, and when Charon had arrived, tired and weary and looking like he was not hungry in the slightest, he had been sobered and distant. Ahiru had tried to ask what was wrong, but he had shook his head and said he would tell her later.
What he had said to her after breakfast had only sent her further into worry and turmoil. The memories Fakir was getting back were doing something, albeit they were not helping as she had hoped. Autor would probably say it might take some time since it would be a blow to his mental state, but patience had never been one of Ahiru’s strong points, especially when someone she loved was in trouble. She wanted Fakir to get better now!
“Excuse me.”
She started out of her mind, covering her mouth as a quack nearly escaped. As she turned, her eyes widened to see Fakir standing before her. His eyes were still blank, and though his greeting had already informed her he did not remember her, it was a sharp pain nevertheless.
“Oh,” she stammered, “um . . . are you feeling okay? You didn’t come out for breakfast and . . .” She twisted a handful of her yellow dress in her hands.
Fakir grunted, walking over to stand next to her at the window. “I wanted to ask you something,” he said. “This friend of yours, this Fakir . . . what is he like?”
Ahiru stared at him, dumbfounded. “What is he like?” she echoed.
“You’re not deaf, are you?” he frowned.
Ahiru glowered. “In some ways, you’re still like him,” she muttered. Louder she said, “He can be really annoying! He’s grumpy and crabby and we argue all the time.”
Fakir raised an eyebrow. “Then why does he mean so much to you?” he countered.
Ahiru bit her lip. Why? She had pondered on that question a lot for some time, even when they had still been in Drosselmeyer’s Story. Her caring for Fakir had snuck up on her in such a subtle, unassuming way that she had not even realized until she had stepped back and taken a long look at them and their progressing friendship.
She turned to gaze out the window without really seeing anything. “Because . . . because we’ve been there for each other through so much,” she said softly. “It started out that we both just wanted to help Mytho, so we worked together. But then it ended up so much more than that. When we worked together, we ended up trusting each other a lot. And I . . .” She wrung her hands. “I realized we were friends. Even though we argue and he’s so frustrating, he’s my best friend.”
“Does he think of you the same?” Fakir asked, his voice impassive.
Ahiru froze. “I . . . I don’t know if he feels exactly the same,” she said, “but I think I’ve been a friend to him.”
Fakir whirled to look at her. “Am I Fakir?” he said without warning.
Ahiru rocked back, turning to stare at him as her eyes became saucers. Charon had already told him the truth. She should not deny a direct question, nor did she want to. And this question was causing all of the pain and sorrow and heartache she had bottled up to begin breaking free.
“Yes!” she cried. “You’re Fakir. Autor and me tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen! And Autor thought the only way you’d let us come with you was if we let you think you were Lohengrin and so we did and it’s been so hard and . . .” She stopped, taking a shuddering breath.
Fakir was looking at her, his eyes narrowed. “I’m Fakir,” he said, as if still trying to comprehend the idea.
Ahiru nodded, the tears pricking her own eyes. “Yes!” she said again. “You’re Fakir. And I . . . I . . .” I miss you so much! she screamed in her mind. Please come back, Fakir. Please. . . .
He turned away. “You realize this will take a lot of getting used to,” he said. “If this is true . . .”
“It is!” Ahiru interjected.
“. . . I don’t know how Lohengrin fits into this,” Fakir continued, ignoring her interruption.
“I don’t, either,” Ahiru admitted. She could not tell Fakir that he was Lohengrin too; that would get far too confusing for him, and anyway, maybe it was not even true. For the umpteenth time, she prayed that Mytho would be able to give them the solution to the mystery.
Fakir turned to glare out the window. He had been so certain of his identity as Lohengrin, but now everything was coming apart. If this was all true, if his regained memories were real and these people were not telling falsehoods, then he was the person he was leading them on a search to find. It was a blow not just to his beliefs, but his pride. He felt such a fool.
Why do you have to believe any of this?
He froze at the ominous voice that darkly mirrored his own. Who are you?! he demanded in his mind.
That boy is a sorcerer. He’s giving you false memories so you’ll believe what they long for.
Fakir stiffened. That could not be true . . . could it? How could he know one way or the other?
Why would they do that? he asked.
The real Fakir is dead. You look just like him, so when they saw you they carried vain hope that you were him reborn.
Fakir whirled to stare at Ahiru, who was looking at him in worry and concern. Could he believe that? The voice left him with a dark and cold feeling. It never told him who it was or how it knew these things. But in contrast, when he looked at this girl he felt nothing except purity and light.
“Fakir?” Ahiru swallowed hard. “Are you okay?”
His heart raced. She said he was Fakir. Should he believe her? What if she and these others really were delusional because of their grief over losing their son and friend?
But why should he believe a voice that left him feeling so unsettled?
His visage steeled. “I’m going to be,” he said.
As if in response to his words, a chill breeze swept over him and Ahiru. She gasped, grabbing onto her flying hat. “What’s going on?!” she cried.
Fakir shielded himself as papers and brochures blew in all directions. The dark feeling he had felt was now increasing. Outside the windows, the sky had gone completely black despite the fact that it was mid-morning.
“So! This is what you’ve chosen!”
“Who are you?!” Ahiru exclaimed in response to the mysterious voice. “Are you Fakir’s Story?!”
“Story?!” Fakir said in disbelief.
A cruel chuckle resonated through the observation car. “I am,” said the voice. “The Story that was completed and then forgotten. You will all suffer for that.”
The wind slowed and then ceased. Outside, the sky lightened to its proper hue. The feeling of evil faded into nothing.
Slowly Fakir and Ahiru straightened and looked around. The few others in the car were looking their way, fear in every eye. The voice had been heard by all. Carefully at first, but then with gathering speed, they fled the car.
Fakir turned to Ahiru, his eyes piercing with demands. “What is this about a story?” he said. “You’re not making sense.”
Ahiru bit her lip. “We’re still trying to figure everything out,” she said. “But the Story you wrote came to life and we think it’s what’s making you forget things and think you’re Lohengrin.”
“That’s preposterous,” Fakir snorted. “Stories don’t come to life.” Then, realizing what he had said, he amended, “I mean, not like that.”
“We didn’t believe it, either,” Ahiru protested. “But it’s true!”
“Who’s ‘we’?” Fakir frowned.
“All of us!” Ahiru said.
Fakir peered at her. Even though he did not want to believe that everything the voice had said was true, some of its words still nagged at him.
“That friend of yours,” he said. “What is he?”
Ahiru blinked, honestly confused. “Huh?”
“Is he a sorcerer?” Fakir asked.
Ahiru’s mouth dropped open. “Of course not!” she exclaimed.
“What is he then?!” Fakir demanded.
Ahiru clenched her fists in front of her. “What do you even mean?!” she snapped. “Why would you even think he’s a sorcerer?! That’s a really weird thing to say out of nowhere!”
Fakir narrowed his eyes. He did not want to tell her that the voice had said it.
“If he isn’t one, you should be able to tell me what he is instead,” he said.
Ahiru stared at him. His eyes were cold, just like when they had first met and Fakir had been so opposed to her. What was going on? Just a minute ago he had acted like he was willing to start accepting things! Then the voice had come and he had gotten all mysterious.
“He’s your friend too!” she said. “He’s been trying to help you remember yourself!”
“How was he doing that?!” Fakir had perked up now, as if Ahiru had said what he had been trying to get her to say.
Ahiru flinched. “We were all trying to help!” she said.
Fakir’s patience ran out. He seized her by her upper arms. “What was he doing?!” he snarled.
“Fakir, stop!” Ahiru cried. By now she had to admit she was afraid. Fakir was fierce as she had never known him to be around her, even at the beginning.
“Tell me!” Fakir ordered.
“Let her go.”
Both of them turned in surprise. Autor was standing in the doorway, his eyes narrowed.
“I’ll tell you what I did,” he said as he walked in, “if you let her go. How strange, that of all people I’d need to save Ahiru from you.”
Fakir stiffened. Something in his eyes flickered, a shadow of the Fakir they knew and remembered. For a moment, his hands shook as he released Ahiru.
“I wouldn’t have hurt her,” he said.
Ahiru was trembling as she fell back. But then she straightened and looked at Fakir with hope. She would cling to that glimpse of the old Fakir, however fleeting it had been.
“I know,” she said with a genuine smile.
Fakir looked at her in surprise. Then, uncomfortable, he turned back to the approaching Autor.
The music student stopped, looking at him without wavering. “Your Story used its power to make you forget,” he said. “I used mine to make you remember. The visions you’ve been having are because of that.”
Fakir’s eyes narrowed. “And how do I know that you weren’t giving me false memories?” he returned. “The memories you want me to have whether they belong to me or not?”
“You don’t,” Autor said. “You can’t.”
Fakir stalked over the rest of the way, his eyes cold and hard once more. “I don’t know,” he said. “You sound a lot like a sorcerer to me.” With that he walked past, leaving them staring helplessly after him for a long moment before they snapped to.
“What happened here?” Autor frowned, turning to face Ahiru. “I was in my compartment when I felt a dark presence. Then when I followed it here, Fakir was assaulting you!”
Ahiru looked at him in desperation. “Oh Autor, it was so weird!” she said. In several long and rambling sentences, she presented the events of the past hour to him. He listened with one hand on his hip, displeased and concerned.
“And now I don’t know what to think at all!” she concluded. “I thought he was maybe going to be more like our Fakir again, but . . .” Her lower lip quavered and she looked down. “He acts like he’s pushing us away like he was doing when he first woke up thinking he was Lohengrin. I don’t get it!”
Autor frowned. “If the Story isn’t exerting further control over him after manifesting itself to everyone in the car, then it’s at least cast some doubts in his mind,” he said. “I would say that at this point, Fakir doesn’t trust it. On the other hand, he doesn’t trust us, either.”
Ahiru felt her heart twist. Autor had tried to stay impassive while explaining, but at the end she had heard the sadness creeping into his voice. That only made her worry all the more. If Autor could no longer hold his façade, then it really was serious. Not that they did not know that already.
“What are we going to do?!” she said.
Autor sighed. “There’s still a while before we reach Mytho’s kingdom,” he said. “I could . . .”
“No, Autor!” Ahiru grabbed his arm. “You remember what the Story said, don’t you?! It . . . it will kill you if you try again! You’ve been so noble and brave wanting to help Fakir, but we have to find another way. Anyway, the way he is right now, he might not even believe any more memories.” Her shoulders slumped. “He might think you’re casting a spell on him or something.”
Autor sighed. “That’s true,” he said. Ahiru caught sight of something unreadable in his eyes before he half-turned, pushing up his glasses.
“. . . I’m not all that selfless, you know,” he said after an uneasy silence.
She blinked, tilting her head. “Eh? What are you talking about, Autor?”
He looked back to her. “Of course, I want to help Fakir,” he said. “That’s my main motivation. But I can’t deny that part of me is desperate to use these powers of mine, to prove that I’m capable of wielding them without losing my mind or being corrupted.”
“Autor . . .” For a moment Ahiru could not think what to say. She just looked at him, stunned and surprised.
He sniffed. “I know, you must think I’m terrible now,” he said. “I just don’t want you to have an overly idealistic view of me.”
She snapped out of her trance. “I thought you wanted people to not know what you’re like,” she said. “I mean, you don’t try to correct them if they think you’re awful.” Her eyes widened in realization. “Or . . . is that because you think you really are . . .” She trailed off in shock.
“Not entirely,” Autor said. “I just don’t find it worthwhile to even try reasoning with people who already have their minds made up on what to believe. But . . .” He fumbled with his glasses again. “It’s true that I’m not the good person you see me as.”
“That’s not true!” Ahiru retorted. “Autor, I know you’re not perfect or something. You can still get on my nerves. But that doesn’t mean you’re not a good person. Not being able to always be unselfish doesn’t mean that, either.”
She looked down. “When we were still in Drosselmeyer’s Story, and Rue had been captured and Mytho wanted me to give back the last heart shard, I tried really hard and it wouldn’t come off.” She shuddered. “Even after everyone got turned into crows, I still couldn’t get it off!” She raised her gaze to meet his. “It was my fault. I was so scared to stop being Princess Tutu. I didn’t want the Story to end. I didn’t want to go back to being a duck. I didn’t want to stop talking to everyone and studying ballet . . . and I didn’t want Mytho to forget about me and go away.
“I felt like the most selfish person ever.”
Autor’s eyes widened in surprise. The extent of his knowledge concerning the stubborn pendant was the Story Drosselmeyer had forced Fakir to write, the Story that had caused Autor’s own change of heart in the conflict. He had never expected to hear the full explanation, especially not from Ahiru herself.
“I know having power meant a whole lot to you,” Ahiru said now. “Now that you know you really do have it, of course you’d want to know you can use it without going crazy.” She gave him a genuine smile, though her eyes were sad. “You are a good person, Autor-even if you can’t realize that. And I’m proud to call you my friend.”
Autor looked at her for a long moment before at last shaking his head. “You’re really more mature than you’re given credit for,” he observed.
“No.” Ahiru linked her arm through his. “I just know a lot more than I did back then. So do you, Autor.” She looked up at him. “You’ve changed.”
“I guess that would happen after becoming so obsessed with world domination that I almost destroyed the only people who care about me.” There was bitterness in his voice now.
“It was your Story that almost killed us,” Ahiru said. “You weren’t in control at all right then. And speaking of Stories, what really are we going to do for Fakir?” She gave Autor a worried look. “There’s got to be something besides you trying to bring back all his memories.”
Autor sighed. “Right now, I’m not sure we can do anything except give him space,” he said. “As you saw, he doesn’t want to listen to any of us.”
Ahiru’s shoulders slumped. “I was afraid of that,” she mumbled.
Her eyes widened as something else came to her mind. “Oh! When the Story talked to us, it said we were all going to suffer because it was forgotten!” she said.
Autor frowned. “I’m not surprised,” he said. “That makes sense as to why all of this is happening.”
“But it made everyone remember now!” Ahiru cried. “Why couldn’t it just do that in the first place and not have hurt Fakir?!”
“That wouldn’t have been good enough revenge,” Autor said.
“Stupid revenge,” Ahiru said, sounding bitter now herself.
“It is, isn’t it,” Autor remarked.
****
The remainder of the journey was spent with everyone feeling extremely awkward. Fakir barely associated with any of them; even with Charon, he only spoke to the man if it was necessary. Autor was right that Fakir did not know whom to believe. As far as Fakir was concerned, the voice was certainly not trustworthy. But how did he know these other people were, either? Purity and light! He could not believe solely in such feelings, or in visions that could have been fabricated. He needed something concrete to prove their tales.
The more removed Fakir became, the more depressed and discouraged Ahiru grew. Autor and Uzura and Charon could only watch in helplessness at the tragedy that was playing out before them. Ahiru was eating and sleeping less and less as the days wore on. Autor was frantic to find a solution.
Surely if he could restore all of Fakir’s memories at once, there would not be any problem. Then Fakir would know what was going on and realize who he was. There would not be any room for doubt.
The dilemma there was that unless Autor could somehow be granted the endurance by a higher power, he knew he would never last long enough to write the rest of the composition that would unlock Fakir’s lost life. And he had promised Ahiru he would not die. Completely aside from that, he honestly did not want to die, either. He was at a loss.
****
It was an exhausted and well-worn party that at last arrived at Mytho’s kingdom and made their way to the castle gates. Fakir led the group, his eyes stern and sobered.
“It sure is dark here,” Ahiru observed with unease as they walked. “The sky’s like night. Isn’t it afternoon?”
“Yes,” Autor frowned.
Fakir seemed unconcerned by the phenomenon. Instead he walked to the guard at the gate and met his searching gaze head-on.
“We’re here to see the Prince,” he greeted.
The sentry raised an eyebrow. “Is Prince Siegfried expecting you?” he asked doubtfully.
“No,” Fakir said, “but he will see us. Tell him his knight has returned.”
Now the guard peered at him, incredulous. “His knight?” he repeated.
“Since your hearing is in working order, you should stop questioning me and fetch the Prince!” Fakir snapped, his eyes flashing.
Ahiru’s mouth dropped open. “Fakir . . . !” she exclaimed in protest.
The guard looked equally stunned. But before anything more could be said, Prince Siegfried himself appeared at the gate, adorned in his royal clothing.
“Fakir!” he gasped in surprise.
The sentry started. “My Prince, you know this boy?” he said.
“Yes!” Mytho reached for the gate, hauling one side of it open. “All of you, please come in.”
Fakir bowed on one knee, a hand to his heart. “My Prince, I am not this Fakir. It is I, Lohengrin, returned to you after this long absence.” He raised his gaze to meet Mytho’s, who was staring at him in utter disbelief. “If you can find it in your heart to forgive my prior failure, I am here to serve you once again.”
Ahiru hurried forward while Mytho stood in shock, unable to find words to respond. “Um, this is a really long story and it’s a big reason why we came!” she rambled. Her shoulders slumped. “Fakir thinks he’s Lohengrin.”
Mytho swallowed hard, at last coming back to himself. “So I see,” he said. “Everyone, please come with me. There’s a lot for us to talk about.” He laid a hand on Fakir’s shoulder. “I was actually thinking I’d contact you, and now, here you are.” He tried to smile, though he was still reeling.
“Yes, my Prince.” Fakir looked at him, both expectant and hopeful-though he tried to show neither. “Will you accept my services once again?”
At last Mytho came upon a suitable reply. “You haven’t stopped your services,” he said. “You’ve always been my knight.” He reached and took Fakir’s hand, drawing him upright. “But we’ll talk about that later. There are other things I need to talk to you about. All of you.”
“What is it?!” Ahiru exclaimed. “Is it bad?!”
“Well,” Mytho admitted as he half-turned to lead them up the walk, “I’m not sure.”
“Does it have something to do with the dark sky?” Autor asked.
Mytho turned back and looked at him. From the way his amber eyes flickered with suspicion, it was not hard to deduce that not only was the dark sky a concern, but that Mytho wondered if Autor was responsible for it.
“Yes,” he said then.
Autor felt a prick of hurt and guilt. He had thought Mytho would trust him more than this, after the conversations they had shared following his return to sanity. But on the other hand, they really were not that close. And he had caused a disastrous thing, even though his Story had possessed him for the very worst of it. Who was he to think that Prince Siegfried would really trust him? It was a miracle Ahiru and Fakir did.
Or Fakir had, before any of this Lohengrin madness had started.
Ahiru frowned. She had missed the look Mytho had given Autor, but she did not miss that his voice sounded eerie and vague. She glanced to Autor, her stomach turning in circles. Something was wrong, both with the kingdom and with Mytho himself.
The Story was making good on its word to bring suffering to all of them.
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 4,398
Main Characters: Fakir, Ahiru, Autor
Supporting Characters: Charon, Mytho
Summary: Fakir's regained memories only make their enemy grow all the more vicious.
Fanfiction.net Link: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5930393/7/
Will be posted to paranormal25 when complete.
Notes: Finally, an update! The first half of this chapter was like pulling teeth. The second half came together much better. Hopefully now that we’re at this point, the rest of the story will also come together without a long passage of time.
Chapter Seven
Fakir found himself slowly waking up when the morning light entered through the cracks in the closed blind. For a moment he lay there in confusion, squinting at the beams. How had he fallen asleep? He had not known how he would ever succumb to slumber after the visions he had experienced. Had the same thing happened that he vaguely remembered occurring last night, with that strange voice forcing him into unconsciousness?
He sat up, shaking. Why? Why did that voice want to keep him from thinking about the visions and what they meant? He needed to know. The last one especially bothered him. And there was one person here who might be able to enlighten him.
He leaned over the edge of the bed. The blacksmith was awake, sadly gazing at the opposite wall. Fakir frowned, debating within himself. But at last he spoke.
“Who am I?”
Charon started out of his mind. Rolling off the bottom bunk, he stood and stared at the boy. “Who . . . are you?” he repeated, unable to believe what he was hearing.
Fakir sat up and then slid off the top bunk to stand and face him. “I had some kind of a vision last night,” he said. “You were talking to a child. He had a mark on his body . . . the same mark that I bear.” He pulled off his shirt, revealing the cruel scars on his upper torso. “You said he . . . I . . . was the reincarnation of the knight.”
Charon continued to stare, his emotions bared in his eyes. “You . . . aren’t sure you’re Lohengrin?” he said carefully. Was Fakir actually remembering his true self?
“But who is Lohengrin?” Fakir exclaimed. “Am I his reincarnation?!”
Charon drew a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “What I do know is that . . .” He hesitated, weighing his choices against one another. They had decided they could not tell Fakir outright that he was Fakir. But that had been before this shocking development. As far as Charon was concerned, this changed a great deal. Maybe now Fakir would be more open to the truth.
“You are my son,” he said now, with conviction.
Fakir rocked back, his eyes wide in his shock. “I can’t be!” he cried. “The missing boy Fakir is your son!”
Charon nodded somberly, even as his heart was pierced again. “He’s missing not because he was abducted, but because he doesn’t remember himself,” he said. “You are Fakir!”
The color drained from Fakir’s face. “No,” he said, stepping back further. “No, I’m not. I’m Lohengrin, the Swan Knight. We’re traveling to the Prince’s kingdom to find a way to save Fakir. We . . . I . . .” He stumbled into a table, his emotions reeling in turmoil.
Charon’s stomach twisted. Had he just made another terrible mistake? “Fakir . . .” he said in desperation, reaching out for the teen.
Fakir slapped his hand away. “It’s a lie!” he roared. “I am not Fakir. I’m not. . . .” He sank to the floor, trembling, digging his hands into his hair.
Charon stood staring at the conflicted boy, horror and sorrow gripping his soul. Fakir was still not willing to believe it. And now, perhaps, Charon had made the situation worse than even before. He was not cut out to deal with this. In despair he turned away.
“Forgive me, Fakir,” he rasped. “I don’t know how to help you.”
****
Ahiru let out a tired, sad sigh as she leaned on the sill of one of the large observation windows. The wide-brimmed white straw hat she was wearing slipped back on her head, the stubborn piece of hair insisting on boinging upright as usual. She barely noticed.
Autor had not come out to breakfast again. Hopefully this time he was actually getting some proper sleep. If he did not come for lunch, however, she would go check on him and make sure he was alright. After nearly being strangled by what must have been Fakir’s Story, it was hard to say what kind of condition he might be in. He had said he was fine, but she was not willing to trust that.
This time Fakir had not come either, and when Charon had arrived, tired and weary and looking like he was not hungry in the slightest, he had been sobered and distant. Ahiru had tried to ask what was wrong, but he had shook his head and said he would tell her later.
What he had said to her after breakfast had only sent her further into worry and turmoil. The memories Fakir was getting back were doing something, albeit they were not helping as she had hoped. Autor would probably say it might take some time since it would be a blow to his mental state, but patience had never been one of Ahiru’s strong points, especially when someone she loved was in trouble. She wanted Fakir to get better now!
“Excuse me.”
She started out of her mind, covering her mouth as a quack nearly escaped. As she turned, her eyes widened to see Fakir standing before her. His eyes were still blank, and though his greeting had already informed her he did not remember her, it was a sharp pain nevertheless.
“Oh,” she stammered, “um . . . are you feeling okay? You didn’t come out for breakfast and . . .” She twisted a handful of her yellow dress in her hands.
Fakir grunted, walking over to stand next to her at the window. “I wanted to ask you something,” he said. “This friend of yours, this Fakir . . . what is he like?”
Ahiru stared at him, dumbfounded. “What is he like?” she echoed.
“You’re not deaf, are you?” he frowned.
Ahiru glowered. “In some ways, you’re still like him,” she muttered. Louder she said, “He can be really annoying! He’s grumpy and crabby and we argue all the time.”
Fakir raised an eyebrow. “Then why does he mean so much to you?” he countered.
Ahiru bit her lip. Why? She had pondered on that question a lot for some time, even when they had still been in Drosselmeyer’s Story. Her caring for Fakir had snuck up on her in such a subtle, unassuming way that she had not even realized until she had stepped back and taken a long look at them and their progressing friendship.
She turned to gaze out the window without really seeing anything. “Because . . . because we’ve been there for each other through so much,” she said softly. “It started out that we both just wanted to help Mytho, so we worked together. But then it ended up so much more than that. When we worked together, we ended up trusting each other a lot. And I . . .” She wrung her hands. “I realized we were friends. Even though we argue and he’s so frustrating, he’s my best friend.”
“Does he think of you the same?” Fakir asked, his voice impassive.
Ahiru froze. “I . . . I don’t know if he feels exactly the same,” she said, “but I think I’ve been a friend to him.”
Fakir whirled to look at her. “Am I Fakir?” he said without warning.
Ahiru rocked back, turning to stare at him as her eyes became saucers. Charon had already told him the truth. She should not deny a direct question, nor did she want to. And this question was causing all of the pain and sorrow and heartache she had bottled up to begin breaking free.
“Yes!” she cried. “You’re Fakir. Autor and me tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen! And Autor thought the only way you’d let us come with you was if we let you think you were Lohengrin and so we did and it’s been so hard and . . .” She stopped, taking a shuddering breath.
Fakir was looking at her, his eyes narrowed. “I’m Fakir,” he said, as if still trying to comprehend the idea.
Ahiru nodded, the tears pricking her own eyes. “Yes!” she said again. “You’re Fakir. And I . . . I . . .” I miss you so much! she screamed in her mind. Please come back, Fakir. Please. . . .
He turned away. “You realize this will take a lot of getting used to,” he said. “If this is true . . .”
“It is!” Ahiru interjected.
“. . . I don’t know how Lohengrin fits into this,” Fakir continued, ignoring her interruption.
“I don’t, either,” Ahiru admitted. She could not tell Fakir that he was Lohengrin too; that would get far too confusing for him, and anyway, maybe it was not even true. For the umpteenth time, she prayed that Mytho would be able to give them the solution to the mystery.
Fakir turned to glare out the window. He had been so certain of his identity as Lohengrin, but now everything was coming apart. If this was all true, if his regained memories were real and these people were not telling falsehoods, then he was the person he was leading them on a search to find. It was a blow not just to his beliefs, but his pride. He felt such a fool.
Why do you have to believe any of this?
He froze at the ominous voice that darkly mirrored his own. Who are you?! he demanded in his mind.
That boy is a sorcerer. He’s giving you false memories so you’ll believe what they long for.
Fakir stiffened. That could not be true . . . could it? How could he know one way or the other?
Why would they do that? he asked.
The real Fakir is dead. You look just like him, so when they saw you they carried vain hope that you were him reborn.
Fakir whirled to stare at Ahiru, who was looking at him in worry and concern. Could he believe that? The voice left him with a dark and cold feeling. It never told him who it was or how it knew these things. But in contrast, when he looked at this girl he felt nothing except purity and light.
“Fakir?” Ahiru swallowed hard. “Are you okay?”
His heart raced. She said he was Fakir. Should he believe her? What if she and these others really were delusional because of their grief over losing their son and friend?
But why should he believe a voice that left him feeling so unsettled?
His visage steeled. “I’m going to be,” he said.
As if in response to his words, a chill breeze swept over him and Ahiru. She gasped, grabbing onto her flying hat. “What’s going on?!” she cried.
Fakir shielded himself as papers and brochures blew in all directions. The dark feeling he had felt was now increasing. Outside the windows, the sky had gone completely black despite the fact that it was mid-morning.
“So! This is what you’ve chosen!”
“Who are you?!” Ahiru exclaimed in response to the mysterious voice. “Are you Fakir’s Story?!”
“Story?!” Fakir said in disbelief.
A cruel chuckle resonated through the observation car. “I am,” said the voice. “The Story that was completed and then forgotten. You will all suffer for that.”
The wind slowed and then ceased. Outside, the sky lightened to its proper hue. The feeling of evil faded into nothing.
Slowly Fakir and Ahiru straightened and looked around. The few others in the car were looking their way, fear in every eye. The voice had been heard by all. Carefully at first, but then with gathering speed, they fled the car.
Fakir turned to Ahiru, his eyes piercing with demands. “What is this about a story?” he said. “You’re not making sense.”
Ahiru bit her lip. “We’re still trying to figure everything out,” she said. “But the Story you wrote came to life and we think it’s what’s making you forget things and think you’re Lohengrin.”
“That’s preposterous,” Fakir snorted. “Stories don’t come to life.” Then, realizing what he had said, he amended, “I mean, not like that.”
“We didn’t believe it, either,” Ahiru protested. “But it’s true!”
“Who’s ‘we’?” Fakir frowned.
“All of us!” Ahiru said.
Fakir peered at her. Even though he did not want to believe that everything the voice had said was true, some of its words still nagged at him.
“That friend of yours,” he said. “What is he?”
Ahiru blinked, honestly confused. “Huh?”
“Is he a sorcerer?” Fakir asked.
Ahiru’s mouth dropped open. “Of course not!” she exclaimed.
“What is he then?!” Fakir demanded.
Ahiru clenched her fists in front of her. “What do you even mean?!” she snapped. “Why would you even think he’s a sorcerer?! That’s a really weird thing to say out of nowhere!”
Fakir narrowed his eyes. He did not want to tell her that the voice had said it.
“If he isn’t one, you should be able to tell me what he is instead,” he said.
Ahiru stared at him. His eyes were cold, just like when they had first met and Fakir had been so opposed to her. What was going on? Just a minute ago he had acted like he was willing to start accepting things! Then the voice had come and he had gotten all mysterious.
“He’s your friend too!” she said. “He’s been trying to help you remember yourself!”
“How was he doing that?!” Fakir had perked up now, as if Ahiru had said what he had been trying to get her to say.
Ahiru flinched. “We were all trying to help!” she said.
Fakir’s patience ran out. He seized her by her upper arms. “What was he doing?!” he snarled.
“Fakir, stop!” Ahiru cried. By now she had to admit she was afraid. Fakir was fierce as she had never known him to be around her, even at the beginning.
“Tell me!” Fakir ordered.
“Let her go.”
Both of them turned in surprise. Autor was standing in the doorway, his eyes narrowed.
“I’ll tell you what I did,” he said as he walked in, “if you let her go. How strange, that of all people I’d need to save Ahiru from you.”
Fakir stiffened. Something in his eyes flickered, a shadow of the Fakir they knew and remembered. For a moment, his hands shook as he released Ahiru.
“I wouldn’t have hurt her,” he said.
Ahiru was trembling as she fell back. But then she straightened and looked at Fakir with hope. She would cling to that glimpse of the old Fakir, however fleeting it had been.
“I know,” she said with a genuine smile.
Fakir looked at her in surprise. Then, uncomfortable, he turned back to the approaching Autor.
The music student stopped, looking at him without wavering. “Your Story used its power to make you forget,” he said. “I used mine to make you remember. The visions you’ve been having are because of that.”
Fakir’s eyes narrowed. “And how do I know that you weren’t giving me false memories?” he returned. “The memories you want me to have whether they belong to me or not?”
“You don’t,” Autor said. “You can’t.”
Fakir stalked over the rest of the way, his eyes cold and hard once more. “I don’t know,” he said. “You sound a lot like a sorcerer to me.” With that he walked past, leaving them staring helplessly after him for a long moment before they snapped to.
“What happened here?” Autor frowned, turning to face Ahiru. “I was in my compartment when I felt a dark presence. Then when I followed it here, Fakir was assaulting you!”
Ahiru looked at him in desperation. “Oh Autor, it was so weird!” she said. In several long and rambling sentences, she presented the events of the past hour to him. He listened with one hand on his hip, displeased and concerned.
“And now I don’t know what to think at all!” she concluded. “I thought he was maybe going to be more like our Fakir again, but . . .” Her lower lip quavered and she looked down. “He acts like he’s pushing us away like he was doing when he first woke up thinking he was Lohengrin. I don’t get it!”
Autor frowned. “If the Story isn’t exerting further control over him after manifesting itself to everyone in the car, then it’s at least cast some doubts in his mind,” he said. “I would say that at this point, Fakir doesn’t trust it. On the other hand, he doesn’t trust us, either.”
Ahiru felt her heart twist. Autor had tried to stay impassive while explaining, but at the end she had heard the sadness creeping into his voice. That only made her worry all the more. If Autor could no longer hold his façade, then it really was serious. Not that they did not know that already.
“What are we going to do?!” she said.
Autor sighed. “There’s still a while before we reach Mytho’s kingdom,” he said. “I could . . .”
“No, Autor!” Ahiru grabbed his arm. “You remember what the Story said, don’t you?! It . . . it will kill you if you try again! You’ve been so noble and brave wanting to help Fakir, but we have to find another way. Anyway, the way he is right now, he might not even believe any more memories.” Her shoulders slumped. “He might think you’re casting a spell on him or something.”
Autor sighed. “That’s true,” he said. Ahiru caught sight of something unreadable in his eyes before he half-turned, pushing up his glasses.
“. . . I’m not all that selfless, you know,” he said after an uneasy silence.
She blinked, tilting her head. “Eh? What are you talking about, Autor?”
He looked back to her. “Of course, I want to help Fakir,” he said. “That’s my main motivation. But I can’t deny that part of me is desperate to use these powers of mine, to prove that I’m capable of wielding them without losing my mind or being corrupted.”
“Autor . . .” For a moment Ahiru could not think what to say. She just looked at him, stunned and surprised.
He sniffed. “I know, you must think I’m terrible now,” he said. “I just don’t want you to have an overly idealistic view of me.”
She snapped out of her trance. “I thought you wanted people to not know what you’re like,” she said. “I mean, you don’t try to correct them if they think you’re awful.” Her eyes widened in realization. “Or . . . is that because you think you really are . . .” She trailed off in shock.
“Not entirely,” Autor said. “I just don’t find it worthwhile to even try reasoning with people who already have their minds made up on what to believe. But . . .” He fumbled with his glasses again. “It’s true that I’m not the good person you see me as.”
“That’s not true!” Ahiru retorted. “Autor, I know you’re not perfect or something. You can still get on my nerves. But that doesn’t mean you’re not a good person. Not being able to always be unselfish doesn’t mean that, either.”
She looked down. “When we were still in Drosselmeyer’s Story, and Rue had been captured and Mytho wanted me to give back the last heart shard, I tried really hard and it wouldn’t come off.” She shuddered. “Even after everyone got turned into crows, I still couldn’t get it off!” She raised her gaze to meet his. “It was my fault. I was so scared to stop being Princess Tutu. I didn’t want the Story to end. I didn’t want to go back to being a duck. I didn’t want to stop talking to everyone and studying ballet . . . and I didn’t want Mytho to forget about me and go away.
“I felt like the most selfish person ever.”
Autor’s eyes widened in surprise. The extent of his knowledge concerning the stubborn pendant was the Story Drosselmeyer had forced Fakir to write, the Story that had caused Autor’s own change of heart in the conflict. He had never expected to hear the full explanation, especially not from Ahiru herself.
“I know having power meant a whole lot to you,” Ahiru said now. “Now that you know you really do have it, of course you’d want to know you can use it without going crazy.” She gave him a genuine smile, though her eyes were sad. “You are a good person, Autor-even if you can’t realize that. And I’m proud to call you my friend.”
Autor looked at her for a long moment before at last shaking his head. “You’re really more mature than you’re given credit for,” he observed.
“No.” Ahiru linked her arm through his. “I just know a lot more than I did back then. So do you, Autor.” She looked up at him. “You’ve changed.”
“I guess that would happen after becoming so obsessed with world domination that I almost destroyed the only people who care about me.” There was bitterness in his voice now.
“It was your Story that almost killed us,” Ahiru said. “You weren’t in control at all right then. And speaking of Stories, what really are we going to do for Fakir?” She gave Autor a worried look. “There’s got to be something besides you trying to bring back all his memories.”
Autor sighed. “Right now, I’m not sure we can do anything except give him space,” he said. “As you saw, he doesn’t want to listen to any of us.”
Ahiru’s shoulders slumped. “I was afraid of that,” she mumbled.
Her eyes widened as something else came to her mind. “Oh! When the Story talked to us, it said we were all going to suffer because it was forgotten!” she said.
Autor frowned. “I’m not surprised,” he said. “That makes sense as to why all of this is happening.”
“But it made everyone remember now!” Ahiru cried. “Why couldn’t it just do that in the first place and not have hurt Fakir?!”
“That wouldn’t have been good enough revenge,” Autor said.
“Stupid revenge,” Ahiru said, sounding bitter now herself.
“It is, isn’t it,” Autor remarked.
****
The remainder of the journey was spent with everyone feeling extremely awkward. Fakir barely associated with any of them; even with Charon, he only spoke to the man if it was necessary. Autor was right that Fakir did not know whom to believe. As far as Fakir was concerned, the voice was certainly not trustworthy. But how did he know these other people were, either? Purity and light! He could not believe solely in such feelings, or in visions that could have been fabricated. He needed something concrete to prove their tales.
The more removed Fakir became, the more depressed and discouraged Ahiru grew. Autor and Uzura and Charon could only watch in helplessness at the tragedy that was playing out before them. Ahiru was eating and sleeping less and less as the days wore on. Autor was frantic to find a solution.
Surely if he could restore all of Fakir’s memories at once, there would not be any problem. Then Fakir would know what was going on and realize who he was. There would not be any room for doubt.
The dilemma there was that unless Autor could somehow be granted the endurance by a higher power, he knew he would never last long enough to write the rest of the composition that would unlock Fakir’s lost life. And he had promised Ahiru he would not die. Completely aside from that, he honestly did not want to die, either. He was at a loss.
****
It was an exhausted and well-worn party that at last arrived at Mytho’s kingdom and made their way to the castle gates. Fakir led the group, his eyes stern and sobered.
“It sure is dark here,” Ahiru observed with unease as they walked. “The sky’s like night. Isn’t it afternoon?”
“Yes,” Autor frowned.
Fakir seemed unconcerned by the phenomenon. Instead he walked to the guard at the gate and met his searching gaze head-on.
“We’re here to see the Prince,” he greeted.
The sentry raised an eyebrow. “Is Prince Siegfried expecting you?” he asked doubtfully.
“No,” Fakir said, “but he will see us. Tell him his knight has returned.”
Now the guard peered at him, incredulous. “His knight?” he repeated.
“Since your hearing is in working order, you should stop questioning me and fetch the Prince!” Fakir snapped, his eyes flashing.
Ahiru’s mouth dropped open. “Fakir . . . !” she exclaimed in protest.
The guard looked equally stunned. But before anything more could be said, Prince Siegfried himself appeared at the gate, adorned in his royal clothing.
“Fakir!” he gasped in surprise.
The sentry started. “My Prince, you know this boy?” he said.
“Yes!” Mytho reached for the gate, hauling one side of it open. “All of you, please come in.”
Fakir bowed on one knee, a hand to his heart. “My Prince, I am not this Fakir. It is I, Lohengrin, returned to you after this long absence.” He raised his gaze to meet Mytho’s, who was staring at him in utter disbelief. “If you can find it in your heart to forgive my prior failure, I am here to serve you once again.”
Ahiru hurried forward while Mytho stood in shock, unable to find words to respond. “Um, this is a really long story and it’s a big reason why we came!” she rambled. Her shoulders slumped. “Fakir thinks he’s Lohengrin.”
Mytho swallowed hard, at last coming back to himself. “So I see,” he said. “Everyone, please come with me. There’s a lot for us to talk about.” He laid a hand on Fakir’s shoulder. “I was actually thinking I’d contact you, and now, here you are.” He tried to smile, though he was still reeling.
“Yes, my Prince.” Fakir looked at him, both expectant and hopeful-though he tried to show neither. “Will you accept my services once again?”
At last Mytho came upon a suitable reply. “You haven’t stopped your services,” he said. “You’ve always been my knight.” He reached and took Fakir’s hand, drawing him upright. “But we’ll talk about that later. There are other things I need to talk to you about. All of you.”
“What is it?!” Ahiru exclaimed. “Is it bad?!”
“Well,” Mytho admitted as he half-turned to lead them up the walk, “I’m not sure.”
“Does it have something to do with the dark sky?” Autor asked.
Mytho turned back and looked at him. From the way his amber eyes flickered with suspicion, it was not hard to deduce that not only was the dark sky a concern, but that Mytho wondered if Autor was responsible for it.
“Yes,” he said then.
Autor felt a prick of hurt and guilt. He had thought Mytho would trust him more than this, after the conversations they had shared following his return to sanity. But on the other hand, they really were not that close. And he had caused a disastrous thing, even though his Story had possessed him for the very worst of it. Who was he to think that Prince Siegfried would really trust him? It was a miracle Ahiru and Fakir did.
Or Fakir had, before any of this Lohengrin madness had started.
Ahiru frowned. She had missed the look Mytho had given Autor, but she did not miss that his voice sounded eerie and vague. She glanced to Autor, her stomach turning in circles. Something was wrong, both with the kingdom and with Mytho himself.
The Story was making good on its word to bring suffering to all of them.