[Lamento] Between Two Thieves, Part 3
Title: Between Two Thieves
Fandom: Lamento - Beyond the Void
Part: 3/6
Rating: overall R
Characters/Pairings: Bardo, RaixKonoe
Warnings: violence, backstory spoilers
Disclaimer: Lamento belongs to Nitro+Chiral. Header art drawn by Fujino.
Notes: Thanks to akuma_no_kage for betaing, and sexual_ennui and jllai_smile for the moral support.
Summary: We tend to crucify ourselves between two thieves - regret for the past and fear of the future. ~ Fulton Oursler
Story Index | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Epilogue
Between Two Thieves
Chapter 3
He did not know what had awoken him.
The room was dark, the pale light of the night-moon painting the swaying shadows of tree branches against the opposite wall, but he simply could not dispel the feeling that something was very, very wrong...
Move!
He obeyed his instinct without a thought, rolling to the side even as he felt the burning slice of a blade grazing the side of his face, tumbling off the edge of the bed and landing in a low crouch on the floor.
His assailant's confusion over the fact that he had woken was all he needed; his fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger hidden beneath his pillow without fail, and he brought it up just in time to parry another stab.
The shadow hissed in frustration, pulling back for another strike-Bardo lashed out with his foot, sending the enemy careening back into the furniture with a loud crash. He knew that he had no time to waste.
It was to kill or be killed-he sprang at his attacker, aiming for his throat, but the shadow threw himself out of the way and fled out the front door. Bardo scrambled after him, slamming into him from behind and burying the dagger deep in his back.
The shadow howled, pitching forward and landing on the ground with a dull thud. He twitched, wet gurgling noises coming from his throat. Then, a great spasm shook his body, and he lay still.
For a moment, Bardo simply stood over the fallen body, trying to comprehend what had just happened, while the assailant's blood was beginning to spread across the ground in a dark puddle. Then, the distant sounds of fighting reached his ears, shouts and yells, torches flaring to life in the pre-dawn gloom, and he knew what was going on.
Raid. A raid.
...Shit.
Yanking the dagger free and flicking the blood off the blade, Bardo slipped back into the bedroom to fetch his sword and boots. Buckling the scabbard around his waist, he ran out of the house.
Chaos had broken out in the streets. Everywhere, cats were fighting against the intruders, protecting themselves with whatever they had managed to grab in their haste-knives, tools, hunting spears. Several of them were wounded, but kept pushing the enemies back with a strength born out of desperation and fury.
However, Bardo kept avoiding the combatants, running towards the other end of the village as fast as he could. The only thing on his mind was to get to Rika and Anri, to make sure they were okay.
Be safe. Dear goddess, let them be safe!
One of the cloaked figures jumped into his path and rushed towards him, sword gleaming in the light of the torches. Bardo let his own momentum fuel his strike, blade knocking against blade with enough force to send reverberations coursing through his arms.
The figure grunted and managed to land a solid kick in his side.
Bardo stumbled back, wincing.
The other charged again, and he barely managed to bring up his sword to deflect the blow, his side still numb. Twisting out of the way, he brought the dagger around to strike at his attacker's abdomen.
The blade tore through the other's cloak, but missed its target, and the other cat hastily fell back out of range.
Bardo followed, determined not to allow him to take back the offensive. The assailant cursed, pouring all his weight into a full frontal jab aimed at his face, but Bardo ducked, all too well feeling the draft as the blade carved through the air where his head had been a split second ago. Dashing forward just as the other retracted the blow, Bardo drove the dagger deep into his thigh.
Giving a hoarse yell, the figure stumbled back, clutching at the dagger still embedded in his leg, and Bardo took his chance. He brought his sword down, knocking the other's weapon out of his grasp, and cutting him clean across the torso.
Blood splattered across his face and chest, but Bardo hardly noticed. He bent over the fallen cat, not even caring to make sure whether he was really dead, and pulled the dagger from his thigh to a wet sound and the spray of more blood. Without a second glance, he continued on down the street at a fast pace, his worry for his friends growing by the minute.
----
Up ahead, the house was dark, a silhouette against the first faint hues of dawn.
Bardo had kept expecting to encounter his friends, if not in the street, then at least somewhere around here. They had Rai to consider, after all; it was unlikely that they would join the fighting with their child in tow.
The sight of the darkened house made something in him falter and tense, though. He slowed his steps down to a walk, straining eyes and ears for any hint of their whereabouts.
It was possible that they were hiding inside or close by, to protect Rai. In that case, he knew it would be better to make his presence known, lest he be mistaken for an intruder and attacked by two heavily armed parents. Of course, it might also draw unwanted attention to himself, but between those raiders and Anri's skill with a blade, he would rather take his chances with the raiders.
"Anri, it's me!" he called as he approached the house. "Are you guys alright?"
There was no reply.
"Anri! Rika!"
The continued silence was unnerving, making him bristle.
"…Anri?"
A light wind picked up, ruffling his hair and carrying with it the subtle scent of freshly spilt blood.
Dread as cold as ice pooled in his stomach.
It could not be. Anri was one of the best swordsmen in Setsura, and Rika's abilities were nothing to be laughed at, either. There was simply no way…
The door to the house stood wide open.
He paused on the threshold, listening intently as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darker interior, but the silence was stifling. No signs of any struggle.
Cautiously, he entered, walking in the direction of the bedroom, hoping against hope that reality would prove him wrong. The smell of blood had become thick enough to taste, but Bardo steeled himself. He had to be sure…
Blood, blood everywhere, shining wetly in the faint light, spreading in thin trickles on the wooden floor. Two silver-haired bodies on the floor, barefoot and in their nightclothes.
They had never even had the chance to reach their weapons.
Bardo had taken lives in the line of his job and had seen others die, innocents, victims, people he had known… but it had never felt like this, like a giant hand had wrapped around his torso and was slowly squeezing the air out of his lungs. He reached for the doorframe to steady himself.
Something moved.
He tensed, lifting his sword-
A small white-haired figure emerged from behind the bodies of his parents, straightening into a sitting position.
"Rai!" Bardo breathed, relief at the realization that the boy was alive almost sending him to his knees.
Rai did not look up, did not turn his head in his direction.
He kept kneeling between his dead parents, in the middle of the pool of blood, uncaring that he was becoming soaked with it. After a moment, he dipped his hands into the liquid and smeared it on his face, across his cheeks, the way one might spread water, before sticking his fingers in his mouth.
Bardo's stomach churned. "Rai..."
The child did not heed him, simply continued bathing in the blood of his parents.
Finally getting a hold of himself, Bardo forced himself to step closer. The boy was not sane. Not right now.
"Rai. It's me. Come on, stop that."
The boy dipped his hands again, not even registering Bardo's presence.
"Rai!"
Out of desperation, Bardo gripped him by the shoulders and shook him hard.
Rai blinked slowly, his eyes finally focusing on Bardo. He made a soft, high-pitched sound, and began to shiver, trembles growing more and more powerful until his entire body was shaking like a leaf.
"Rai," Bardo whispered fiercely, letting go of his shoulders in order to wrap his arms around him. The boy was going into shock, his body quaking, his breath coming in rapid, shallow gasps.
"Come on, let's get you out of here."
With Rai obviously in no condition to stand, let alone walk by himself, Bardo had to resort to lifting him bodily into his arms. He adjusted his grip, Rai hanging in his arms like a deadweight, making no effort to hold on to him. Taking a deep breath, he carried him out of the bedroom, away from so much death.
Outside, dawn was breaking.
-----
The walk back home was a surreal experience.
The street was filled with cats, some being tended to by the healers, others trying to gather the bodies of the fallen, some crying, still others rallying to organize a search party to hunt down the raiders that had fled.
Bardo barely registered any of it, nor the sight the two of them had to present, his own face and chest stained with drying blood, carrying a limp and equally blood-soaked child in his arms.
Some people went after him, tried to ask him if he was hurt or needed help, but Bardo found himself unable to respond. His mind was in turmoil, images, impressions, and feelings all whirling together, so he clung to the only clear thought that surfaced, using it to ground himself. The only thing that mattered now was getting Rai to safety.
The body in front of his house had yet to be moved, so Bardo simply stepped over it. Rai did not even seem to notice; he was still trembling, his face resting against Bardo's neck.
He sat the boy down in the armchair, unmindful of the fact that they were getting blood everywhere. All he cared about was that it did not seem to be Rai's blood, but he had to check to be certain.
"Rai. Are you hurt anywhere?" he asked as gently as possible, trying to put all the calm he did not feel into his voice.
No response.
Kneeling down in front of him, Bardo put his hands on Rai's shoulders, trying to get his attention. "Rai… come on, look at me."
Again no response, so he leaned forward and carefully forced the boy to lift his chin. The blue eyes seemed strangely distant, like they had been when he had found Rai. It was as if Rai was not seeing him at all, but was rather looking through him, beyond him, at something that did not even exist.
Then, slowly, he lifted his hand, reaching out and resting it on Bardo's cheek, the gesture a strange mimicry of his own. Bardo mustered an encouraging smile, even though he knew that it had to look quite ghastly on his bloodstained face.
"It's okay, you're safe now. I promise I'll-"
Without warning, Rai's sharp nails tore into his cheek.
Bardo yowled, rocking back, staring at the child in shock. Something warm began trickling down the side of his face, and he realized that Rai had just ripped open the barely healed sword cut on his cheek.
"Rai, what the hell-?!"
His eyes widened as Rai stared vacantly at his own hand for a moment, before lifting it to his face and beginning to lick off the fresh blood the way one might clean one's fingers from a feast.
"Rai!" Bardo shouted, lunging forward and shaking the boy violently. "Stop that! Stop that, you hear me?! Look at me, for goodness' sake! Look. at. me!"
"Bar…do…?"
The soft, choked voice cut him like a knife. Bardo stopped immediately, searching Rai's face for any signs of recognition.
Something seemed to shift behind the boy's eyes, the strange haze dissipating until it was Rai looking at him, truly looking, confused and frightened.
"What… what is… I don't…" he stammered, his eyes slowly filling with tears.
Bardo gently put his arms around him. He knew that Rai did not like to be touched, but words felt so inadequate and downright meaningless in this situation. He knew there was nothing he could say to console Rai now, but he at least wanted to let him know that he was not completely alone.
Rai barely even seemed to notice the contact; his gaze was flickering from Bardo's face to some invisible point beyond his shoulder, silent tears rolling down his bloody cheeks, leaving pale pink trails. He did not return the embrace, but did not resist when Bardo pulled him closer, hesitantly rubbing his back.
Bardo knew that there were things he would have to do, the most immediate of which was to get them both clean and into a fresh change of clothes. However, he could not bring himself to move very much for a good while, simply holding the traumatized child as tightly as he dared, waiting for the world to make sense again.
----
The day of the funeral was ridiculously warm and bright, making everything seem that much more unreal.
It was difficult to tell what was more out of place; the light filtering through the fragrant pink blossoms of the kuim trees, coupled with cheerful bird song, him and Rai-him dressed in his full bounty hunter gear and Rai in one of Cheryl's old, overly frilly outfits instead of clothes appropriate for mourning, both of them targets of the priest's displeased stare… or the priest himself, chanting prayers to the goddess and the afterlife.
Neither of them, but Anri in particular, had ever been very religious, and at least in Bardo's mind, the headhunting gear and the ruffles were, in their own way, a tribute to that.
At his side, Rai stood very stiffly, hands hanging at his sides, face blank and unreadable. It made him wonder what was going through the boy's mind-he himself had been sobbing openly at his mother's funeral, despite being older than Rai. Bardo was not sure whether he should admire the boy's composure or be worried by it.
His own mind was too preoccupied to truly grieve. Yesterday evening, he had been summoned to the village chief's house with all the good old Setsuran imperiousness the elders had always been known for, to discuss Rai's future. He had been bewildered by their sudden and pragmatic approach, not even a full four days after Rika and Anri's death, but he supposed that he should not have been surprised. Setsura had no orphanage, so children without parents were usually sent to whatever family could best afford to feed them.
The discussion had been fairly one-sided. Bardo had listened to all they had had to say, all the carefully crafted reasons merely showing that they still held him, the stranger, in derision, and then, he had simply said "no".
No, you're not sending him away. No, he's staying with me. No, you don't get to tell me what to do.
The full weight of his decision had not hit him until he had been back in his own home, peering in on Rai sleeping fitfully, pale and terribly small in the large bed.
When he had defied the elders' ruling, Bardo had not really thought about the possible consequences-he had been angry at their close-minded prejudice, and the idea of Rai being sent to a place foreign to him, to people he barely knew and who barely knew him… He could imagine only too vividly how a child as taciturn and socially awkward as Rai would be received by people who had enough of their own children to take care of.
Bardo had spoken without thinking, and when he had had time to think about it, the realization of the implications had dropped on him like an anvil-even now, several hours later, he was still feeling mildly dazed.
He now had a child in his house, and no idea what to do. A child relying on him to be fed and clothed, not just for today or tomorrow, but every day afterwards. He would be responsible not just for such basic necessities, but for everything else, as well. He would have to tell him to brush his teeth, make him eat his vegetables, and send him to his room. Keep him out of trouble. Watch over him when he was sick. Teach him some kind of morals. See to it that he would grow into a respectable man.
He would have to take on the role of a parent.
He would have to be a substitute for Rika and Anri.
To say that he had not caught much sleep last night was an understatement.
Just thinking about it made him feel a little queasy. He was absolutely not cut out for parenting; he barely even knew how to take care of himself.
Yet, Bardo knew in his heart that even if he had had the time to think it through, he would have made the same decision all over again. He owed at least that much to his friends. To all three of them.
At his side, Rai shifted, drawing him out of his thoughts.
The priest had stopped chanting and was instead drawing warding signs in the air above the grave, which meant that the ceremony had come to a close. Bardo knew that it was customary to remain to give one's own wishes to the departed, but he was eager to leave. He had never been good in believing that the dead could hear him, and besides, there were things he had to do, things he was not looking forward to but which needed to be done all the same.
Bardo glanced down at the boy, who shuffled his feet slightly, the only hint at his discomfort.
"What do you say we head back?" he murmured.
Rai looked up at him for a moment, then gave a small nod.
The priest's disapproving glare followed them all the way back to the entrance of the graveyard.
----
"You'll be alright walking back by yourself, right?"
They had walked the short distance from the graveyard to the village, when Bardo had stopped in the street, considering. He really did not want Rai with him for what he was about to do, and putting it off any longer was simply not possible anymore. Rai needed his things, clothing most of all; Cheryl's garments did not fit him properly.
Rai looked at him questioningly.
Bardo cleared his throat. "You can go on ahead. I'll be getting your stuff."
Rai's tail twitched. "…I want to come."
"What? You're not serious…"
The determination in Rai's eyes was answer enough.
"Come on, Rai, you don't have to do this. That's…"
"I want to come."
The boy's voice was still quiet, but his eyes flashed with something fierce Bardo was not sure how to interpret. It sounded as if Rai was trying to prove something, though to whom and what, he did not know.
Finally, he sighed and acquiesced, knowing full well that if he had been any kind of parent material, any kind of responsible person, he would have ordered Rai to go home.
----
From the outside, the house looked like any other, inconspicuous and normal. It was hard to imagine that a tragedy had taken place here not five days ago, which just made everything that much worse. The only sign that anything out of the ordinary had happened was the fact that the shutters had been closed, giving everything an air of finality.
Bardo hesitated at the door, looking down at Rai. It made him feel ashamed to know that if the boy had not been with him, he would have probably turned tail and gone back the way he had come.
Rai was tense, the fine hairs at the back of his neck standing on end. Bardo put a careful hand on his shoulder, and did not miss the way his muscles jumped and trembled.
"You really don't have to do this. You can wait here. I'll go in and get your things. You've been brave enough already."
The kitten did not reply, save for a small shake of his head. Sighing inwardly, Bardo resigned himself and pressed down on the handle.
The door opened with a slight creak, casting a rectangle of light into the dimness of the interior. He knew that the cats who had retrieved the bodies had cleaned up the house as well, so as not to attract anything unpleasant, but the smell of death still hung in the air, however faintly, a stuffy, unnerving odor that made him want to bristle and growl.
Rai stepped in first, and Bardo followed suit, falling into step at his right side to shield his view from the bedroom. He himself could not help the glance, though, eyes darting towards the open doorway as if drawn by an invisible force. The blood had been washed off and away, but even in the gloom, he could still make out the darker patch on the floor where it had seeped into the wooden grain, never to be removed.
Rai's bedroom was a bare, spartan affair; no pictures, no decorations, and everything so neat and clean that Bardo wondered for a moment whether they had entered the wrong room. Of course, he could not draw conclusions from the way his own room had been at that age-filled with toys and books, his mother only too happy to supply him with all the things that kept him inside and out of harm's way-but weren't children's rooms usually a bit more… childlike?
The boy walked to the closet, opening it and beginning to lay out his clothes on the bed; he did not rush, but his movements were jerky, abrupt, hinting at the turmoil beneath his calm façade. Bardo stood for a moment, fidgeting, wanting to reach out but remembering the way Rai had tensed before, casting his eyes about for something to do.
"I'll, uh, go get a bag," he said, not sure if he imagined the quiet nod in response, and ducked out of the room.
It felt wrong to go through their things, almost as if Anri or Rika could pop up at any moment and scold him for snooping around, so Bardo was grateful when he did not have to look for very long, a chest in the kitchen containing an assortment of baskets and sacks.
He quickly returned to Rai's room, where the boy had arranged his belongings in a small, orderly pile, two or three leather-bound books and a box of wooden carvings and marbles joining the clothes on the bed. It was hard to believe that his entire existence should fit into a single bag.
Putting the bag down, Bardo watched as Rai tensely began to put the items into it, one at a time, fine shivers running down his body until he was shaking so badly he ended up dropping the clothes he was holding to the floor.
Bardo winced. Enough was enough, what the boy was doing here was nothing but self-torture, and he really should have put his foot down about the entire business in the first place.
"That's enough, Rai," he murmured gently, bending down to pick up the items, and quickly finished stuffing everything into the bag, order and wrinkles be damned.
"Let's get out of here," he said, shouldering the bag and leading Rai out of the room, noticing with no small amount of worry how Rai was dragging his feet and trying to lag behind, despite the fact that he was still quivering from head to toe.
Bardo had never been more grateful for the day-moon's dazzling warmth and the blossom-sweetened air, almost as if they were stepping back into life again when they had merely crossed the threshold of a house.
Pulling the door shut decisively, he was relieved to notice that this seemed to improve Rai's condition-the boy relaxed slowly, the shivers subsiding. Bardo did not know what to say to him; the usual questions-Are you alright? Do you need anything? Is there something I can do to help?-seemed so inane, so stupid.
Of course Rai was not alright. Of course he needed something. Of course there was no way to provide it.
Swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat, Bardo shifted the sack's weight and said more enthusiastically than he felt, "Well, let's go back. We still need to set up your room; doubt you'd be as fond of ruffles as my mom was."
Not the most brilliant thing in the world to say, maybe, but at least, it made the boy stay with him.
Rai blinked at him dazedly before giving a hesitant nod.
"Yeah, let's…"
----
The day-moon was already waning by the time they had finished cleaning up the room, and Bardo had counted it as a minor success when Rai had begun wrinkling his nose in disdain at every new piece of lace and ruffles that was unearthed in the form of blankets, toys and bow-ties.
Now, Rai was watching from the table, head propped up with one hand and obviously tired out from the day as Bardo set a simple soup of milk, bread and leek stalks to boil. Neither of them had eaten anything all day.
When it was done, they took their bowls outside to the porch, forgoing spoons in favor of simply lapping at the soup. Rai took his time blowing at the steam, hesitantly dipping his tongue at intervals only to immediately withdraw it again.
"Too hot?" Bardo asked.
The boy flushed, quickly turning his face away as if a sensitive tongue was something to be ashamed of.
"Heh, it's fine, don't worry about it. I'll take more care, next time."
"…Okay," Rai said, eventually.
It remained their only attempt at conversation, both lost in their own thoughts as the colors were fading from the sky, the stars winking into existence one by one.
Bardo started when something landed against his side with a soft thump, Rai falling asleep sitting up. He let him stay there as he watched the street become quiet and empty, the only points of activity the shadows in the brightly lit windows.
During the last few days, he had staved off the grief with one hand. He had purposefully kept himself occupied, had even used Rai as a shield in order to avoid confronting his own emotions, but now, it was time.
First came the impressions from that night, sharp and painfully vivid.
Then the memories from the recent past, and then his childhood, all the days they had spent together, the recollections sometimes bittersweet and sometimes mildly amusing, all cloaked with the gentle veil of nostalgia.
And finally, a strange sort of nothingness, almost resignation, the knowledge that life would continue without them. The last people who had known Cheryl were now gone.
The thought lingered like a haunting tune.
Bardo looked down at the boy curled against his side with his tail wrapped around himself, drawing small, shallow breaths, and knew that he did not have the right to compare himself to him, who had lost everything. And yet, at least for the moment, he could not help but feel very, very alone.
----
Bardo had taken to keeping his bedroom door open at night.
At first, he did so because the night of the raid kept straying to the forefront of his mind. Despite the fact that most of the bandits had been killed, his mind stayed restless and alert, jerking him out of sleep at the slightest noise. He did not fear so much for himself as he feared for Rai, though, and the idea that he would be able to hear if there was an intruder in the boy's room assuaged his own irrational anxiety.
As the weeks went by and nothing happened, however, that fear began to subside, a different kind of worry taking up residence in his heart. Worry for the child in the other room, who never told him what he needed, never said when something pained or upset him. Who had nightmares nearly every night, his quiet whimpers often rousing Bardo from his own uneasy sleep.
He had taken to going to Rai's bedside and waking him when the nightmares were particularly bad. Rai never said anything, never asked for comfort and drew away from Bardo's awkward attempts to give it, so Bardo usually resorted to taking him out into the kitchen and making tea.
He never knew what to say in these kinds of situations; it was abundantly clear just what Rai was dreaming about, so asking was pointless, and would not get him answers anyway. But all the things that came to him in lieu of questions were so meaningless, almost mocking in their simplicity. Bardo remembered hearing them all before, hearing them out of his own mother's mouth upon his father's death and hating them. He had hated how his mother had used to sit in the armchair by the window, fingers restlessly stroking the quilt draped over her legs, and reciting the same phrases in a soft, toneless voice, over and over again-
"It will be alright. Life goes on."
"We will manage, Cheryl, don't worry."
"I'm sure your father is proud of you, my darling."
-all the while watching the street from the window, as if expecting him to come home.
He did not want to parrot those meaningless phrases back at Rai.
A part of him kept hoping that Rai would tell him if there was something he truly wanted or needed, even though he had seen enough evidence to the contrary. And really, it seemed unfair to be relying on Rai for cues and pointers, when the kitten had so much to deal with already.
Pondering what Rika and Anri would have done never seemed to get him anywhere, either. For all the time he had spent around them, he had never really seen them interacting with Rai, which was a mystery in itself. He often felt like he had been abandoned in unfamiliar terrain, with no map and no points of orientation, and that he was edging his way along, desperately hoping that he would not end up getting lost.
So it all came down to two mugs of tea, prepared in near-silence in the middle of the night, while Rai sat at the table watching him, bare feet dangling. Then Bardo joined him with the tea, and they kept sitting opposite each other, both staring into their own mugs until the tea was gone and the silence seemed so wrong that Bardo almost began to think that meaningless words were better than no words at all.
It was at this point, however, that Rai always got up and returned to his bed, leaving Bardo with the vague comfort that what he had done might not have been all wrong, because usually, the nightmares would not return after that.
----
The early summer mornings were warm and humid, the water from the nightly rains turning into mist with the first light, gifting all that walked through it with a fine, moist sheen.
Bardo wiped his face with the back of one hand, his pants becoming soaked from the damp moss he was kneeling in. He ducked down, trying to examine the dark inside of a hollow log.
After learning, with no small surprise, that Rai could not even distinguish a simple blueberry from a deadly nightshade, he had resorted to taking the boy out into the forest, to try and teach him at least a rudimentary understanding of plants. He could not for the life of him fathom why Rika and Anri would neglect such basic and important lessons-his own parents had begun imparting their knowledge on the subject when he had barely been old enough to pronounce most of the names.
Nothing like the kitten accidentally killing himself with some deadly berries while you aren't looking, eh?
For the past week, they had been out and about at the break of dawn, collecting samples all morning, and recording their discoveries in a small book when they arrived back home. Rai was as apt a pupil as ever, although he was inarguably more interested in the plants that could kill one horribly, preferably after hours of pain and suffering.
Bardo supposed that was a boy thing, even though he himself had never been quite as fascinated with death and gore. But then again, he had hardly been a normal boy, sheltered as he had been.
So he simply kept answering with a baffled sort of amusement as Rai begged him for more gruesome stories-as much as the boy ever did beg-making an awed noise in the back of his throat whenever he learned of a new way to die.
"And if you eat it, you can really see the veins turning all blue?"
"Yeah."
"In the face, too?"
"Uh, yeah."
"…Cool."
Bardo reached out, running his fingers along the rotting inside of the log until they bumped into a soft, spongy growth. Giving a pleased hum, he unsheathed his dagger and began cutting away the mushroom.
Drawing back, he turned around to find Rai taking an interest in a patch of grass with thin, pointed blades.
"Ah, I wouldn't touch that," he warned, "That's sword grass-cuts you like nobody's business."
Rai gave the innocuous-looking weed a measuring glance, but decided that he would rather not test it on himself.
"And don't sit down on it, or you'll be sorry. I'm not speaking from experience or anything."
He smiled ruefully, recalling his own unfortunate childhood encounter with sword grass, which had resulted in torn trousers and a very, very sore bottom. Rai snorted, the sound very nearly a snicker, eyes gleaming with mirth as he undoubtedly contemplated the possible results of seating oneself in razor-sharp grass.
Bardo's smile widened. He would gladly sacrifice a little of his dignity if it meant teasing out those choked little almost-laughs, a feat he had only recently been able to accomplish. Rai was starting to relax a little more around him, no longer quite as jumpy, quite as impassive, for which he was immensely grateful. In a way, Rai seemed more alive and less like a quiet little doll that was only moving because somebody had wound it up.
It made him wonder like so many other things did about Rai, but he usually nipped those thoughts in the bud. He did not like the answers that would come to his mind.
Shaking his head to dispel the thoughts, he waved to Rai. "Come here, I need to show you something."
Rai wandered over, adjusting the bag he was carrying over his shoulder. Bardo opened his palm, displaying the fist-sized white mushroom to him.
"What's that?" Rai asked, poking it cautiously, before leaning closer to sniff it.
"A reshi mushroom," Bardo said, letting him pick up the plant and weigh it in his hand.
"Feels funny. All… soft and…" He poked at the spiky outgrowths for emphasis.
"Yeah. That's a mushroom thing. Reshi grow on trees and fallen logs. Found that one in there." He pointed. "They're useful for treating infections."
Rai nodded.
Bardo took the mushroom back and put it into Rai's bag. "When you've drawn it in your book, we're gonna take this one to the healers. We don't have a use for it anyway, and it'll sell for a good price."
Rai gave him a look.
Bardo grinned. "Believe it or not, charity is for those with money in their pockets, and as a bounty hunter, you learn to barter for every coin. Besides, at least we're giving it to the right people. You wouldn't believe how many quacks there are in Ransen, selling everything from fakes to poison, and all for outrageous prices. If you ever find yourself in need of medicine while you're there, it's best to remember a little rule of thumb: The less someone is reputed for selling miracle drugs and wonder cures, the more likely you are to find stuff in their shop that actually helps you."
Rai stared at him with big eyes. "Why do they sell stuff that makes people sick?"
Bardo shrugged. "Because they're greedy, I guess, and don't care who gets hurt. Some people are like that."
"And nobody minds?"
"Heh, of course they do. But there's all that stuff that needs to be done… you have to prove that they're doing something bad, and then you can only hope they'll get locked up for doing it, and even that is no guarantee they won't do it again as soon as they're out of prison. People like that… aren't known for changing their ways."
Rai seemed to mull this over for a while, brows furrowed.
Eventually, Bardo cleared his throat, a little embarrassed with himself for causing such a serious mood. It was not that he wanted to leave Rai ignorant of the cruelties of the world, it was just that the day seemed too beautiful to waste it thinking dark thoughts.
"Well, let's see if we can find some sugina weed, and then we're done for today. It's getting pretty warm."
He stood up, brushing off his knees even though it was useless, the pine needles and dirt sticking to the wet fabric, and started out in the direction they had come from.
Rai perked up immediately, falling into step beside him. "What's that for?"
"To stem the blood flow. You just press it to a wound and it works its magic. No bounty hunter travels without it. In fact, nobody who's smart does."
The boy nodded again, his face once more adopting that intense expression he always wore when he was learning.
Bardo had more or less resigned himself to the fact that he was indeed teaching Rai the ways of a bounty hunter. To be truthful, he had been doing so all along, but never with the actual intention of training Rai into becoming one. He knew that this was most likely going against everything his friends would have wanted for their son, but it was the only thing he knew how to do for a living. And the thought of someone like Rai as a farmer or merchant, the thought of all that potential gone, wasted… For the better or worse, it seemed to be what Rai wanted, and that was all that mattered. The boy seemed to want so little.
The corners of his lips twitched. He was pretty sure the village elders were going to have a collective aneurysm.
----
"Pay attention to your left side," Bardo admonished for the umpteenth time in the last half hour, lightly tapping the offending shoulder with the flat of his wooden sword. "Stepping forward like this without doing anything with the dagger will only give your opponent more room to attack you. They'll only have to do this-" He pushed Rai's weapon aside and feigned a slash across his belly, "And you'll find yourself admiring your own intestines."
Teaching Rai the dual-blade technique had sounded like a good idea in theory, but was a lot harder to put into practice. The boy had been put off that he was made to use the wooden substitute weapons again, but Bardo had not wanted to risk anything until Rai had become acquainted with the new style. And now, he found himself glad for this decision, as Rai was making the most elementary mistakes all over again.
Bardo supposed that that it was his fault-he had been too eager again, too enamored with Rai's talent; no matter how quickly the boy had mastered fighting with one weapon, he was still only twelve. He would have dearly liked to call the practice off and go back to fighting with only one blade, as he was all too aware of how hard his constant failings were on Rai, but the boy's pride stood in the way of that plan.
Rai remained frustrated with his own poor progress, his ears flat and his tail bristling. His posture was tense, making his movements jerky and abrupt, devoid of his usual fluidity.
He positioned himself again, his stance too rigid, and turned his next feint awkwardly, once again following with a jab that was too slow as he tried to counterattack.
Bardo parried and tapped him on the shoulder once more, sharper this time. "No, that's not how it goes."
Rai could not suppress the little angry noise that escaped him, as he moved back into position again. His next parry was clumsy because he was too set on countering with the dagger. Bardo noticed it a second too late-his blade came down hard on the boy's hand, drawing blood.
Rai dropped the sword, hissing in pain.
"Oh, damn!" Bardo cursed, moving to check the damage.
"It's fine," Rai said stubbornly, pulling the hand out of his grasp. "I want to try again."
He bent down to pick up the sword, but his fingers were too stiff from the blow to properly close around the hilt.
"Rai, that's enough," Bardo said, an edge of fond exasperation coloring his voice.
"But-"
"A brash cat dies young. When I say it's enough, it is enough. Now let me have a proper look at your hand, I think I caught you pretty hard."
"It's fine," Rai huffed, but still allowed him to inspect the wound. The scratch was not deep, but Bardo was more worried about bones being damaged. He did not think that he had hit him that hard, but child bones were bird bones, so easy to break. To his relief, he found nothing; it would most likely just turn into a lovely bruise.
Bardo let go of his hand. "Okay, that's it for today."
Rai opened his mouth to protest, but he cut him off. "We're going to treat your hand properly, and maybe try again tomorrow. If you're better. If not, we wait. Understand?"
The boy drew his eyebrows together, the closest he had ever come to pouting, and nodded reluctantly.
"Good." Bardo smiled. "We'll just keep practicing and you'll get the hang of it eventually, you'll see."
Rai did not look convinced.
"Making mistakes doesn't make you a failure, Rai, so get that idea out of your head."
"But if it were real-"
Bardo sighed. "That's not the point, Rai. It's called practice for a reason. You've only just started with two blades. Give yourself some time. Ransen wasn't built in a day, either, you know. And hey… if you're still mad by the time we get back, you can always help me by taking out your anger on the helpless vegetables."
That elicited the ghost of a smile.
He patted the boy on the shoulder, turning them towards home.
----
Tidiness, prettiness, had always been very important to his mother. He knew what was behind this, though, thought he could-at least now-comprehend her motivations, some of her fears, but his aversion towards certain methods was too deeply ingrained to truly be removed.
He still remembered with trepidation the countless times his mother had spent grooming him, snipping his bangs into perfect order, licking his fur until it gleamed, long after he had passed the age where children were still fussed over by their parents.
"Are you shining?" Anri had used to tease him, mock-shielding his eyes.
"Shut up," he had muttered back in a small, embarrassed voice, desperately trying to give his neatly brushed hair some form of disorder again.
Now, when his hair grew too long and began to obstruct his vision, he simply took his dagger and cut it off, uncaring of the ragged bangs it left behind. And as childish as it was, he could not help but feel better about it.
So when he walked in on Rai with a blade held dangerously close to his face, a fistful of white bangs in his hand, he very nearly had a heart attack.
"What are you doing?!" he asked, quickly stepping to his side and taking the dagger out of his hand.
Rai looked at him, clearly puzzled by his sharp tone.
"It's too long," he said, letting the handful of hair fall back into his eyes with an edge of frustration. "It always gets in the way."
That much was true, Bardo had to admit, now that he was really looking at the long, shaggy mane Rai's hair had become. Thinking back on it, he had probably not cut it since before his parents' death; Bardo could not recall ever taking the scissors to it.
Perhaps it's time you started paying attention to those little details, before the kitten hacks off his own face on accident.
He smiled sheepishly. "Let's do it properly, then."
A few minutes later found Rai sitting on a stool in the kitchen, kicking his heels against the wooden legs in anticipation. However, when Bardo came back with a towel and a pair of scissors, he shook his head.
"No. I want to cut it like you."
Bardo blinked. "But that's not how it usually goes. I'm just lazy, you know."
Rai gave him a long look.
Eventually, Bardo sighed. "You're… set on this, aren't you."
The boy just stared.
"Fine, fine. We'll do it your way. But don't blame me if it doesn't look good."
Rai did not blame him, and sat very still as Bardo trimmed his bangs with much more care and consideration than he had ever given himself, meticulously separating the strands and making sure not to bring the blade too close to his face. There was something strangely calming, almost meditative about the task, and all at once, Bardo had the feeling that he could understand why his mother had liked to groom him so much.
When he moved to take care of the hair in the back, Rai shifted. "No. I want to keep it long, like yours."
He could not hold back his laughter, surprised and inexplicably a little pleased at Rai's announcement. Perhaps, he mused, he ought to start watching his bad habits a bit, before Rai started picking them up, too, thinking they were "cool".
"Okay, then how about this?" Bardo asked, gathering up the white strands and tying them with a piece of leather cord. "Now it won't get in the way anymore."
He brushed a few lingering hairs from Rai's shoulders, before the boy hopped off the stool and ran to check his appearance in the water barrel. Bardo watched him go, and ruthlessly suppressed the sudden urge to take care of Rai's fur.
----
Winter gifted the forests of Setsura with a light frosty cover, a sheen of icy crystals covering the rim of every leaf. An unusual spell of coldness had spread a fine, powdery blanket of snow across the ground during the night, much to the children's delight. Even from his position behind the house, Bardo could hear them cheering and shrieking, tumbling through the snow.
He brought the axe down again, splitting a log clean in half.
Bardo could not recall the last time he had had to heat the house in winter-it had to have been during his childhood-but after waking up this morning with an ice-cold nose and feet, he had decided to do so, even if the cold weather was likely to last only for a few days.
Rai had wrinkled his nose when Bardo had made him wear woolen socks inside the house, as fond as the boy was of running around barefoot, but had not protested the warm cloak for going outside. He had been fairly unimpressed with the snow, instead opting to hunt for rabbits in the forest.
Swinging the axe downward one last time, Bardo let the blade stick in the chopping block and simply took a moment to catch his breath. Despite the cold, sweat was running down his temples, dribbling into his collar. He wiped his forehead with the back of one hand, before leaning down to gather up the scattered pieces of wood.
Carefully balancing the stack in his arms, he made his way towards the back door, blindly feeling for the steps of the porch with his feet since he could barely see around the pile. In the kitchen, he put the stack down next to the stove, opening the small door and throwing a few more pieces into the crackling fire.
The house already seemed considerably warmer than it had been a few hours ago. Maybe he should start making lunch-Rai would probably be grateful for something warm to eat when he returned.
Bardo set a pot of water to boil, then ducked into the pantry to hunt for ingredients to a decent stew.
He was still rummaging around when he heard the back door fall shut.
"Oh, you back already?" he called, but received no response. "Rai?"
Frowning, he slipped out of the pantry… and froze.
Rai was covered in blood, his hair, face and clothes smeared with rusty red. He was alternately rubbing his cheeks and licking his arms, trying to get the blood off, his breath coming in fast little gasps.
Oh no. No.
Bardo shook himself out of his stupor, stepping forward slowly.
Rai's eyes still had some of that glassy expression, but he seemed to be mostly here, and aware.
"Rai," he said gently, cautiously.
The boy started, staring at him with wide, frightened eyes.
"Hey, it's okay," Bardo murmured, not quite daring to touch him, but desperately wanting to.
"I-it doesn't come off…" Rai whispered, rubbing at his arms and cheeks again. "Why-why doesn't it-"
Very lightly, Bardo rested a hand on his shoulder, feeling the panicky quiver of the tense muscles. "I'll help you. We'll get it off, you'll see," he said, trying to keep his voice as calm and soothing as he possibly could. "You'll see."
The water on the stove was warm but not yet boiling, so he simply took the pot and poured everything into a wooden tub he usually used for doing the laundry. Rai was still shaking, jittery fingers unable to untie the lacings of his shirt, so Bardo had to help him out of his clothes, slowly, carefully, because the boy was as brittle as ice.
He stood in the tub like a statue, fine tremors still running down his body while Bardo scooped water from the tub and poured it over his head to rinse the caked blood from his hair. Rai began to calm the more of the blood was washed away, allowing Bardo to run a wet cloth over his face and chest to wipe off the mess.
He had no idea what drove Rai to do this, what manner of illness was lurking in the boy's mind. A superstitious person would have called it possession, and even though he knew how stupid this was, he could not shake the feeling that some force was taking control of Rai in these moments, sweeping sanity and reason away. He would have dearly liked to take the boy to a healer, but knew that it would be useless-this was not something that could be cured with herbs and prayers.
Rai was shaken enough by these incidents that it made Bardo loath to address them, and he doubted that Rai could tell him what was going on, anyway-the boy seemed to have little to no awareness of slipping into those trances, and the being that surfaced then was something primal and driven, wearing a horribly happy smile.
So all he could do was hold Rai as he shook, trying to bring some manner of comfort with his awkward touches, and irrationally hope that this time, the madness would be washed away for good, like the tiny red flakes dissolving at the bottom of the tub.
- TBC -
----
A/N:
- All those fight scenes were insanely difficult to write. I wish I could have animated them, they'd look so much better. XD
- I imagine Rai has huge problems with actually crying. The tears he cries here are more or less an automatic reaction when the shock sets in.
- Bardo and Rai have lots of communication issues, but I wanted to use this chapter to show the bond they formed despite that, and how it grew.
- Why yes, I do love using real-world plants. Even if I sometimes pretentiously use their names from a different language.
- "A brash cat dies young" is a saying Rai sometimes uses in the game. He learned it from Bardo. ;D
- Aw, nobody solved the riddle for Rai's parents from chapter one, so I'll just reveal the truth behind their names: They are anagrams. Take away the unnecessary letter, mix them up a bit... and see what happens. XD
<< Return to Part 2? | Continue to Part 4? >>
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Fandom: Lamento - Beyond the Void
Part: 3/6
Rating: overall R
Characters/Pairings: Bardo, RaixKonoe
Warnings: violence, backstory spoilers
Disclaimer: Lamento belongs to Nitro+Chiral. Header art drawn by Fujino.
Notes: Thanks to akuma_no_kage for betaing, and sexual_ennui and jllai_smile for the moral support.
Summary: We tend to crucify ourselves between two thieves - regret for the past and fear of the future. ~ Fulton Oursler
Story Index | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Epilogue
Between Two Thieves
Chapter 3
He did not know what had awoken him.
The room was dark, the pale light of the night-moon painting the swaying shadows of tree branches against the opposite wall, but he simply could not dispel the feeling that something was very, very wrong...
Move!
He obeyed his instinct without a thought, rolling to the side even as he felt the burning slice of a blade grazing the side of his face, tumbling off the edge of the bed and landing in a low crouch on the floor.
His assailant's confusion over the fact that he had woken was all he needed; his fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger hidden beneath his pillow without fail, and he brought it up just in time to parry another stab.
The shadow hissed in frustration, pulling back for another strike-Bardo lashed out with his foot, sending the enemy careening back into the furniture with a loud crash. He knew that he had no time to waste.
It was to kill or be killed-he sprang at his attacker, aiming for his throat, but the shadow threw himself out of the way and fled out the front door. Bardo scrambled after him, slamming into him from behind and burying the dagger deep in his back.
The shadow howled, pitching forward and landing on the ground with a dull thud. He twitched, wet gurgling noises coming from his throat. Then, a great spasm shook his body, and he lay still.
For a moment, Bardo simply stood over the fallen body, trying to comprehend what had just happened, while the assailant's blood was beginning to spread across the ground in a dark puddle. Then, the distant sounds of fighting reached his ears, shouts and yells, torches flaring to life in the pre-dawn gloom, and he knew what was going on.
Raid. A raid.
...Shit.
Yanking the dagger free and flicking the blood off the blade, Bardo slipped back into the bedroom to fetch his sword and boots. Buckling the scabbard around his waist, he ran out of the house.
Chaos had broken out in the streets. Everywhere, cats were fighting against the intruders, protecting themselves with whatever they had managed to grab in their haste-knives, tools, hunting spears. Several of them were wounded, but kept pushing the enemies back with a strength born out of desperation and fury.
However, Bardo kept avoiding the combatants, running towards the other end of the village as fast as he could. The only thing on his mind was to get to Rika and Anri, to make sure they were okay.
Be safe. Dear goddess, let them be safe!
One of the cloaked figures jumped into his path and rushed towards him, sword gleaming in the light of the torches. Bardo let his own momentum fuel his strike, blade knocking against blade with enough force to send reverberations coursing through his arms.
The figure grunted and managed to land a solid kick in his side.
Bardo stumbled back, wincing.
The other charged again, and he barely managed to bring up his sword to deflect the blow, his side still numb. Twisting out of the way, he brought the dagger around to strike at his attacker's abdomen.
The blade tore through the other's cloak, but missed its target, and the other cat hastily fell back out of range.
Bardo followed, determined not to allow him to take back the offensive. The assailant cursed, pouring all his weight into a full frontal jab aimed at his face, but Bardo ducked, all too well feeling the draft as the blade carved through the air where his head had been a split second ago. Dashing forward just as the other retracted the blow, Bardo drove the dagger deep into his thigh.
Giving a hoarse yell, the figure stumbled back, clutching at the dagger still embedded in his leg, and Bardo took his chance. He brought his sword down, knocking the other's weapon out of his grasp, and cutting him clean across the torso.
Blood splattered across his face and chest, but Bardo hardly noticed. He bent over the fallen cat, not even caring to make sure whether he was really dead, and pulled the dagger from his thigh to a wet sound and the spray of more blood. Without a second glance, he continued on down the street at a fast pace, his worry for his friends growing by the minute.
----
Up ahead, the house was dark, a silhouette against the first faint hues of dawn.
Bardo had kept expecting to encounter his friends, if not in the street, then at least somewhere around here. They had Rai to consider, after all; it was unlikely that they would join the fighting with their child in tow.
The sight of the darkened house made something in him falter and tense, though. He slowed his steps down to a walk, straining eyes and ears for any hint of their whereabouts.
It was possible that they were hiding inside or close by, to protect Rai. In that case, he knew it would be better to make his presence known, lest he be mistaken for an intruder and attacked by two heavily armed parents. Of course, it might also draw unwanted attention to himself, but between those raiders and Anri's skill with a blade, he would rather take his chances with the raiders.
"Anri, it's me!" he called as he approached the house. "Are you guys alright?"
There was no reply.
"Anri! Rika!"
The continued silence was unnerving, making him bristle.
"…Anri?"
A light wind picked up, ruffling his hair and carrying with it the subtle scent of freshly spilt blood.
Dread as cold as ice pooled in his stomach.
It could not be. Anri was one of the best swordsmen in Setsura, and Rika's abilities were nothing to be laughed at, either. There was simply no way…
The door to the house stood wide open.
He paused on the threshold, listening intently as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darker interior, but the silence was stifling. No signs of any struggle.
Cautiously, he entered, walking in the direction of the bedroom, hoping against hope that reality would prove him wrong. The smell of blood had become thick enough to taste, but Bardo steeled himself. He had to be sure…
Blood, blood everywhere, shining wetly in the faint light, spreading in thin trickles on the wooden floor. Two silver-haired bodies on the floor, barefoot and in their nightclothes.
They had never even had the chance to reach their weapons.
Bardo had taken lives in the line of his job and had seen others die, innocents, victims, people he had known… but it had never felt like this, like a giant hand had wrapped around his torso and was slowly squeezing the air out of his lungs. He reached for the doorframe to steady himself.
Something moved.
He tensed, lifting his sword-
A small white-haired figure emerged from behind the bodies of his parents, straightening into a sitting position.
"Rai!" Bardo breathed, relief at the realization that the boy was alive almost sending him to his knees.
Rai did not look up, did not turn his head in his direction.
He kept kneeling between his dead parents, in the middle of the pool of blood, uncaring that he was becoming soaked with it. After a moment, he dipped his hands into the liquid and smeared it on his face, across his cheeks, the way one might spread water, before sticking his fingers in his mouth.
Bardo's stomach churned. "Rai..."
The child did not heed him, simply continued bathing in the blood of his parents.
Finally getting a hold of himself, Bardo forced himself to step closer. The boy was not sane. Not right now.
"Rai. It's me. Come on, stop that."
The boy dipped his hands again, not even registering Bardo's presence.
"Rai!"
Out of desperation, Bardo gripped him by the shoulders and shook him hard.
Rai blinked slowly, his eyes finally focusing on Bardo. He made a soft, high-pitched sound, and began to shiver, trembles growing more and more powerful until his entire body was shaking like a leaf.
"Rai," Bardo whispered fiercely, letting go of his shoulders in order to wrap his arms around him. The boy was going into shock, his body quaking, his breath coming in rapid, shallow gasps.
"Come on, let's get you out of here."
With Rai obviously in no condition to stand, let alone walk by himself, Bardo had to resort to lifting him bodily into his arms. He adjusted his grip, Rai hanging in his arms like a deadweight, making no effort to hold on to him. Taking a deep breath, he carried him out of the bedroom, away from so much death.
Outside, dawn was breaking.
-----
The walk back home was a surreal experience.
The street was filled with cats, some being tended to by the healers, others trying to gather the bodies of the fallen, some crying, still others rallying to organize a search party to hunt down the raiders that had fled.
Bardo barely registered any of it, nor the sight the two of them had to present, his own face and chest stained with drying blood, carrying a limp and equally blood-soaked child in his arms.
Some people went after him, tried to ask him if he was hurt or needed help, but Bardo found himself unable to respond. His mind was in turmoil, images, impressions, and feelings all whirling together, so he clung to the only clear thought that surfaced, using it to ground himself. The only thing that mattered now was getting Rai to safety.
The body in front of his house had yet to be moved, so Bardo simply stepped over it. Rai did not even seem to notice; he was still trembling, his face resting against Bardo's neck.
He sat the boy down in the armchair, unmindful of the fact that they were getting blood everywhere. All he cared about was that it did not seem to be Rai's blood, but he had to check to be certain.
"Rai. Are you hurt anywhere?" he asked as gently as possible, trying to put all the calm he did not feel into his voice.
No response.
Kneeling down in front of him, Bardo put his hands on Rai's shoulders, trying to get his attention. "Rai… come on, look at me."
Again no response, so he leaned forward and carefully forced the boy to lift his chin. The blue eyes seemed strangely distant, like they had been when he had found Rai. It was as if Rai was not seeing him at all, but was rather looking through him, beyond him, at something that did not even exist.
Then, slowly, he lifted his hand, reaching out and resting it on Bardo's cheek, the gesture a strange mimicry of his own. Bardo mustered an encouraging smile, even though he knew that it had to look quite ghastly on his bloodstained face.
"It's okay, you're safe now. I promise I'll-"
Without warning, Rai's sharp nails tore into his cheek.
Bardo yowled, rocking back, staring at the child in shock. Something warm began trickling down the side of his face, and he realized that Rai had just ripped open the barely healed sword cut on his cheek.
"Rai, what the hell-?!"
His eyes widened as Rai stared vacantly at his own hand for a moment, before lifting it to his face and beginning to lick off the fresh blood the way one might clean one's fingers from a feast.
"Rai!" Bardo shouted, lunging forward and shaking the boy violently. "Stop that! Stop that, you hear me?! Look at me, for goodness' sake! Look. at. me!"
"Bar…do…?"
The soft, choked voice cut him like a knife. Bardo stopped immediately, searching Rai's face for any signs of recognition.
Something seemed to shift behind the boy's eyes, the strange haze dissipating until it was Rai looking at him, truly looking, confused and frightened.
"What… what is… I don't…" he stammered, his eyes slowly filling with tears.
Bardo gently put his arms around him. He knew that Rai did not like to be touched, but words felt so inadequate and downright meaningless in this situation. He knew there was nothing he could say to console Rai now, but he at least wanted to let him know that he was not completely alone.
Rai barely even seemed to notice the contact; his gaze was flickering from Bardo's face to some invisible point beyond his shoulder, silent tears rolling down his bloody cheeks, leaving pale pink trails. He did not return the embrace, but did not resist when Bardo pulled him closer, hesitantly rubbing his back.
Bardo knew that there were things he would have to do, the most immediate of which was to get them both clean and into a fresh change of clothes. However, he could not bring himself to move very much for a good while, simply holding the traumatized child as tightly as he dared, waiting for the world to make sense again.
----
The day of the funeral was ridiculously warm and bright, making everything seem that much more unreal.
It was difficult to tell what was more out of place; the light filtering through the fragrant pink blossoms of the kuim trees, coupled with cheerful bird song, him and Rai-him dressed in his full bounty hunter gear and Rai in one of Cheryl's old, overly frilly outfits instead of clothes appropriate for mourning, both of them targets of the priest's displeased stare… or the priest himself, chanting prayers to the goddess and the afterlife.
Neither of them, but Anri in particular, had ever been very religious, and at least in Bardo's mind, the headhunting gear and the ruffles were, in their own way, a tribute to that.
At his side, Rai stood very stiffly, hands hanging at his sides, face blank and unreadable. It made him wonder what was going through the boy's mind-he himself had been sobbing openly at his mother's funeral, despite being older than Rai. Bardo was not sure whether he should admire the boy's composure or be worried by it.
His own mind was too preoccupied to truly grieve. Yesterday evening, he had been summoned to the village chief's house with all the good old Setsuran imperiousness the elders had always been known for, to discuss Rai's future. He had been bewildered by their sudden and pragmatic approach, not even a full four days after Rika and Anri's death, but he supposed that he should not have been surprised. Setsura had no orphanage, so children without parents were usually sent to whatever family could best afford to feed them.
The discussion had been fairly one-sided. Bardo had listened to all they had had to say, all the carefully crafted reasons merely showing that they still held him, the stranger, in derision, and then, he had simply said "no".
No, you're not sending him away. No, he's staying with me. No, you don't get to tell me what to do.
The full weight of his decision had not hit him until he had been back in his own home, peering in on Rai sleeping fitfully, pale and terribly small in the large bed.
When he had defied the elders' ruling, Bardo had not really thought about the possible consequences-he had been angry at their close-minded prejudice, and the idea of Rai being sent to a place foreign to him, to people he barely knew and who barely knew him… He could imagine only too vividly how a child as taciturn and socially awkward as Rai would be received by people who had enough of their own children to take care of.
Bardo had spoken without thinking, and when he had had time to think about it, the realization of the implications had dropped on him like an anvil-even now, several hours later, he was still feeling mildly dazed.
He now had a child in his house, and no idea what to do. A child relying on him to be fed and clothed, not just for today or tomorrow, but every day afterwards. He would be responsible not just for such basic necessities, but for everything else, as well. He would have to tell him to brush his teeth, make him eat his vegetables, and send him to his room. Keep him out of trouble. Watch over him when he was sick. Teach him some kind of morals. See to it that he would grow into a respectable man.
He would have to take on the role of a parent.
He would have to be a substitute for Rika and Anri.
To say that he had not caught much sleep last night was an understatement.
Just thinking about it made him feel a little queasy. He was absolutely not cut out for parenting; he barely even knew how to take care of himself.
Yet, Bardo knew in his heart that even if he had had the time to think it through, he would have made the same decision all over again. He owed at least that much to his friends. To all three of them.
At his side, Rai shifted, drawing him out of his thoughts.
The priest had stopped chanting and was instead drawing warding signs in the air above the grave, which meant that the ceremony had come to a close. Bardo knew that it was customary to remain to give one's own wishes to the departed, but he was eager to leave. He had never been good in believing that the dead could hear him, and besides, there were things he had to do, things he was not looking forward to but which needed to be done all the same.
Bardo glanced down at the boy, who shuffled his feet slightly, the only hint at his discomfort.
"What do you say we head back?" he murmured.
Rai looked up at him for a moment, then gave a small nod.
The priest's disapproving glare followed them all the way back to the entrance of the graveyard.
----
"You'll be alright walking back by yourself, right?"
They had walked the short distance from the graveyard to the village, when Bardo had stopped in the street, considering. He really did not want Rai with him for what he was about to do, and putting it off any longer was simply not possible anymore. Rai needed his things, clothing most of all; Cheryl's garments did not fit him properly.
Rai looked at him questioningly.
Bardo cleared his throat. "You can go on ahead. I'll be getting your stuff."
Rai's tail twitched. "…I want to come."
"What? You're not serious…"
The determination in Rai's eyes was answer enough.
"Come on, Rai, you don't have to do this. That's…"
"I want to come."
The boy's voice was still quiet, but his eyes flashed with something fierce Bardo was not sure how to interpret. It sounded as if Rai was trying to prove something, though to whom and what, he did not know.
Finally, he sighed and acquiesced, knowing full well that if he had been any kind of parent material, any kind of responsible person, he would have ordered Rai to go home.
----
From the outside, the house looked like any other, inconspicuous and normal. It was hard to imagine that a tragedy had taken place here not five days ago, which just made everything that much worse. The only sign that anything out of the ordinary had happened was the fact that the shutters had been closed, giving everything an air of finality.
Bardo hesitated at the door, looking down at Rai. It made him feel ashamed to know that if the boy had not been with him, he would have probably turned tail and gone back the way he had come.
Rai was tense, the fine hairs at the back of his neck standing on end. Bardo put a careful hand on his shoulder, and did not miss the way his muscles jumped and trembled.
"You really don't have to do this. You can wait here. I'll go in and get your things. You've been brave enough already."
The kitten did not reply, save for a small shake of his head. Sighing inwardly, Bardo resigned himself and pressed down on the handle.
The door opened with a slight creak, casting a rectangle of light into the dimness of the interior. He knew that the cats who had retrieved the bodies had cleaned up the house as well, so as not to attract anything unpleasant, but the smell of death still hung in the air, however faintly, a stuffy, unnerving odor that made him want to bristle and growl.
Rai stepped in first, and Bardo followed suit, falling into step at his right side to shield his view from the bedroom. He himself could not help the glance, though, eyes darting towards the open doorway as if drawn by an invisible force. The blood had been washed off and away, but even in the gloom, he could still make out the darker patch on the floor where it had seeped into the wooden grain, never to be removed.
Rai's bedroom was a bare, spartan affair; no pictures, no decorations, and everything so neat and clean that Bardo wondered for a moment whether they had entered the wrong room. Of course, he could not draw conclusions from the way his own room had been at that age-filled with toys and books, his mother only too happy to supply him with all the things that kept him inside and out of harm's way-but weren't children's rooms usually a bit more… childlike?
The boy walked to the closet, opening it and beginning to lay out his clothes on the bed; he did not rush, but his movements were jerky, abrupt, hinting at the turmoil beneath his calm façade. Bardo stood for a moment, fidgeting, wanting to reach out but remembering the way Rai had tensed before, casting his eyes about for something to do.
"I'll, uh, go get a bag," he said, not sure if he imagined the quiet nod in response, and ducked out of the room.
It felt wrong to go through their things, almost as if Anri or Rika could pop up at any moment and scold him for snooping around, so Bardo was grateful when he did not have to look for very long, a chest in the kitchen containing an assortment of baskets and sacks.
He quickly returned to Rai's room, where the boy had arranged his belongings in a small, orderly pile, two or three leather-bound books and a box of wooden carvings and marbles joining the clothes on the bed. It was hard to believe that his entire existence should fit into a single bag.
Putting the bag down, Bardo watched as Rai tensely began to put the items into it, one at a time, fine shivers running down his body until he was shaking so badly he ended up dropping the clothes he was holding to the floor.
Bardo winced. Enough was enough, what the boy was doing here was nothing but self-torture, and he really should have put his foot down about the entire business in the first place.
"That's enough, Rai," he murmured gently, bending down to pick up the items, and quickly finished stuffing everything into the bag, order and wrinkles be damned.
"Let's get out of here," he said, shouldering the bag and leading Rai out of the room, noticing with no small amount of worry how Rai was dragging his feet and trying to lag behind, despite the fact that he was still quivering from head to toe.
Bardo had never been more grateful for the day-moon's dazzling warmth and the blossom-sweetened air, almost as if they were stepping back into life again when they had merely crossed the threshold of a house.
Pulling the door shut decisively, he was relieved to notice that this seemed to improve Rai's condition-the boy relaxed slowly, the shivers subsiding. Bardo did not know what to say to him; the usual questions-Are you alright? Do you need anything? Is there something I can do to help?-seemed so inane, so stupid.
Of course Rai was not alright. Of course he needed something. Of course there was no way to provide it.
Swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat, Bardo shifted the sack's weight and said more enthusiastically than he felt, "Well, let's go back. We still need to set up your room; doubt you'd be as fond of ruffles as my mom was."
Not the most brilliant thing in the world to say, maybe, but at least, it made the boy stay with him.
Rai blinked at him dazedly before giving a hesitant nod.
"Yeah, let's…"
----
The day-moon was already waning by the time they had finished cleaning up the room, and Bardo had counted it as a minor success when Rai had begun wrinkling his nose in disdain at every new piece of lace and ruffles that was unearthed in the form of blankets, toys and bow-ties.
Now, Rai was watching from the table, head propped up with one hand and obviously tired out from the day as Bardo set a simple soup of milk, bread and leek stalks to boil. Neither of them had eaten anything all day.
When it was done, they took their bowls outside to the porch, forgoing spoons in favor of simply lapping at the soup. Rai took his time blowing at the steam, hesitantly dipping his tongue at intervals only to immediately withdraw it again.
"Too hot?" Bardo asked.
The boy flushed, quickly turning his face away as if a sensitive tongue was something to be ashamed of.
"Heh, it's fine, don't worry about it. I'll take more care, next time."
"…Okay," Rai said, eventually.
It remained their only attempt at conversation, both lost in their own thoughts as the colors were fading from the sky, the stars winking into existence one by one.
Bardo started when something landed against his side with a soft thump, Rai falling asleep sitting up. He let him stay there as he watched the street become quiet and empty, the only points of activity the shadows in the brightly lit windows.
During the last few days, he had staved off the grief with one hand. He had purposefully kept himself occupied, had even used Rai as a shield in order to avoid confronting his own emotions, but now, it was time.
First came the impressions from that night, sharp and painfully vivid.
Then the memories from the recent past, and then his childhood, all the days they had spent together, the recollections sometimes bittersweet and sometimes mildly amusing, all cloaked with the gentle veil of nostalgia.
And finally, a strange sort of nothingness, almost resignation, the knowledge that life would continue without them. The last people who had known Cheryl were now gone.
The thought lingered like a haunting tune.
Bardo looked down at the boy curled against his side with his tail wrapped around himself, drawing small, shallow breaths, and knew that he did not have the right to compare himself to him, who had lost everything. And yet, at least for the moment, he could not help but feel very, very alone.
----
Bardo had taken to keeping his bedroom door open at night.
At first, he did so because the night of the raid kept straying to the forefront of his mind. Despite the fact that most of the bandits had been killed, his mind stayed restless and alert, jerking him out of sleep at the slightest noise. He did not fear so much for himself as he feared for Rai, though, and the idea that he would be able to hear if there was an intruder in the boy's room assuaged his own irrational anxiety.
As the weeks went by and nothing happened, however, that fear began to subside, a different kind of worry taking up residence in his heart. Worry for the child in the other room, who never told him what he needed, never said when something pained or upset him. Who had nightmares nearly every night, his quiet whimpers often rousing Bardo from his own uneasy sleep.
He had taken to going to Rai's bedside and waking him when the nightmares were particularly bad. Rai never said anything, never asked for comfort and drew away from Bardo's awkward attempts to give it, so Bardo usually resorted to taking him out into the kitchen and making tea.
He never knew what to say in these kinds of situations; it was abundantly clear just what Rai was dreaming about, so asking was pointless, and would not get him answers anyway. But all the things that came to him in lieu of questions were so meaningless, almost mocking in their simplicity. Bardo remembered hearing them all before, hearing them out of his own mother's mouth upon his father's death and hating them. He had hated how his mother had used to sit in the armchair by the window, fingers restlessly stroking the quilt draped over her legs, and reciting the same phrases in a soft, toneless voice, over and over again-
"It will be alright. Life goes on."
"We will manage, Cheryl, don't worry."
"I'm sure your father is proud of you, my darling."
-all the while watching the street from the window, as if expecting him to come home.
He did not want to parrot those meaningless phrases back at Rai.
A part of him kept hoping that Rai would tell him if there was something he truly wanted or needed, even though he had seen enough evidence to the contrary. And really, it seemed unfair to be relying on Rai for cues and pointers, when the kitten had so much to deal with already.
Pondering what Rika and Anri would have done never seemed to get him anywhere, either. For all the time he had spent around them, he had never really seen them interacting with Rai, which was a mystery in itself. He often felt like he had been abandoned in unfamiliar terrain, with no map and no points of orientation, and that he was edging his way along, desperately hoping that he would not end up getting lost.
So it all came down to two mugs of tea, prepared in near-silence in the middle of the night, while Rai sat at the table watching him, bare feet dangling. Then Bardo joined him with the tea, and they kept sitting opposite each other, both staring into their own mugs until the tea was gone and the silence seemed so wrong that Bardo almost began to think that meaningless words were better than no words at all.
It was at this point, however, that Rai always got up and returned to his bed, leaving Bardo with the vague comfort that what he had done might not have been all wrong, because usually, the nightmares would not return after that.
----
The early summer mornings were warm and humid, the water from the nightly rains turning into mist with the first light, gifting all that walked through it with a fine, moist sheen.
Bardo wiped his face with the back of one hand, his pants becoming soaked from the damp moss he was kneeling in. He ducked down, trying to examine the dark inside of a hollow log.
After learning, with no small surprise, that Rai could not even distinguish a simple blueberry from a deadly nightshade, he had resorted to taking the boy out into the forest, to try and teach him at least a rudimentary understanding of plants. He could not for the life of him fathom why Rika and Anri would neglect such basic and important lessons-his own parents had begun imparting their knowledge on the subject when he had barely been old enough to pronounce most of the names.
Nothing like the kitten accidentally killing himself with some deadly berries while you aren't looking, eh?
For the past week, they had been out and about at the break of dawn, collecting samples all morning, and recording their discoveries in a small book when they arrived back home. Rai was as apt a pupil as ever, although he was inarguably more interested in the plants that could kill one horribly, preferably after hours of pain and suffering.
Bardo supposed that was a boy thing, even though he himself had never been quite as fascinated with death and gore. But then again, he had hardly been a normal boy, sheltered as he had been.
So he simply kept answering with a baffled sort of amusement as Rai begged him for more gruesome stories-as much as the boy ever did beg-making an awed noise in the back of his throat whenever he learned of a new way to die.
"And if you eat it, you can really see the veins turning all blue?"
"Yeah."
"In the face, too?"
"Uh, yeah."
"…Cool."
Bardo reached out, running his fingers along the rotting inside of the log until they bumped into a soft, spongy growth. Giving a pleased hum, he unsheathed his dagger and began cutting away the mushroom.
Drawing back, he turned around to find Rai taking an interest in a patch of grass with thin, pointed blades.
"Ah, I wouldn't touch that," he warned, "That's sword grass-cuts you like nobody's business."
Rai gave the innocuous-looking weed a measuring glance, but decided that he would rather not test it on himself.
"And don't sit down on it, or you'll be sorry. I'm not speaking from experience or anything."
He smiled ruefully, recalling his own unfortunate childhood encounter with sword grass, which had resulted in torn trousers and a very, very sore bottom. Rai snorted, the sound very nearly a snicker, eyes gleaming with mirth as he undoubtedly contemplated the possible results of seating oneself in razor-sharp grass.
Bardo's smile widened. He would gladly sacrifice a little of his dignity if it meant teasing out those choked little almost-laughs, a feat he had only recently been able to accomplish. Rai was starting to relax a little more around him, no longer quite as jumpy, quite as impassive, for which he was immensely grateful. In a way, Rai seemed more alive and less like a quiet little doll that was only moving because somebody had wound it up.
It made him wonder like so many other things did about Rai, but he usually nipped those thoughts in the bud. He did not like the answers that would come to his mind.
Shaking his head to dispel the thoughts, he waved to Rai. "Come here, I need to show you something."
Rai wandered over, adjusting the bag he was carrying over his shoulder. Bardo opened his palm, displaying the fist-sized white mushroom to him.
"What's that?" Rai asked, poking it cautiously, before leaning closer to sniff it.
"A reshi mushroom," Bardo said, letting him pick up the plant and weigh it in his hand.
"Feels funny. All… soft and…" He poked at the spiky outgrowths for emphasis.
"Yeah. That's a mushroom thing. Reshi grow on trees and fallen logs. Found that one in there." He pointed. "They're useful for treating infections."
Rai nodded.
Bardo took the mushroom back and put it into Rai's bag. "When you've drawn it in your book, we're gonna take this one to the healers. We don't have a use for it anyway, and it'll sell for a good price."
Rai gave him a look.
Bardo grinned. "Believe it or not, charity is for those with money in their pockets, and as a bounty hunter, you learn to barter for every coin. Besides, at least we're giving it to the right people. You wouldn't believe how many quacks there are in Ransen, selling everything from fakes to poison, and all for outrageous prices. If you ever find yourself in need of medicine while you're there, it's best to remember a little rule of thumb: The less someone is reputed for selling miracle drugs and wonder cures, the more likely you are to find stuff in their shop that actually helps you."
Rai stared at him with big eyes. "Why do they sell stuff that makes people sick?"
Bardo shrugged. "Because they're greedy, I guess, and don't care who gets hurt. Some people are like that."
"And nobody minds?"
"Heh, of course they do. But there's all that stuff that needs to be done… you have to prove that they're doing something bad, and then you can only hope they'll get locked up for doing it, and even that is no guarantee they won't do it again as soon as they're out of prison. People like that… aren't known for changing their ways."
Rai seemed to mull this over for a while, brows furrowed.
Eventually, Bardo cleared his throat, a little embarrassed with himself for causing such a serious mood. It was not that he wanted to leave Rai ignorant of the cruelties of the world, it was just that the day seemed too beautiful to waste it thinking dark thoughts.
"Well, let's see if we can find some sugina weed, and then we're done for today. It's getting pretty warm."
He stood up, brushing off his knees even though it was useless, the pine needles and dirt sticking to the wet fabric, and started out in the direction they had come from.
Rai perked up immediately, falling into step beside him. "What's that for?"
"To stem the blood flow. You just press it to a wound and it works its magic. No bounty hunter travels without it. In fact, nobody who's smart does."
The boy nodded again, his face once more adopting that intense expression he always wore when he was learning.
Bardo had more or less resigned himself to the fact that he was indeed teaching Rai the ways of a bounty hunter. To be truthful, he had been doing so all along, but never with the actual intention of training Rai into becoming one. He knew that this was most likely going against everything his friends would have wanted for their son, but it was the only thing he knew how to do for a living. And the thought of someone like Rai as a farmer or merchant, the thought of all that potential gone, wasted… For the better or worse, it seemed to be what Rai wanted, and that was all that mattered. The boy seemed to want so little.
The corners of his lips twitched. He was pretty sure the village elders were going to have a collective aneurysm.
----
"Pay attention to your left side," Bardo admonished for the umpteenth time in the last half hour, lightly tapping the offending shoulder with the flat of his wooden sword. "Stepping forward like this without doing anything with the dagger will only give your opponent more room to attack you. They'll only have to do this-" He pushed Rai's weapon aside and feigned a slash across his belly, "And you'll find yourself admiring your own intestines."
Teaching Rai the dual-blade technique had sounded like a good idea in theory, but was a lot harder to put into practice. The boy had been put off that he was made to use the wooden substitute weapons again, but Bardo had not wanted to risk anything until Rai had become acquainted with the new style. And now, he found himself glad for this decision, as Rai was making the most elementary mistakes all over again.
Bardo supposed that that it was his fault-he had been too eager again, too enamored with Rai's talent; no matter how quickly the boy had mastered fighting with one weapon, he was still only twelve. He would have dearly liked to call the practice off and go back to fighting with only one blade, as he was all too aware of how hard his constant failings were on Rai, but the boy's pride stood in the way of that plan.
Rai remained frustrated with his own poor progress, his ears flat and his tail bristling. His posture was tense, making his movements jerky and abrupt, devoid of his usual fluidity.
He positioned himself again, his stance too rigid, and turned his next feint awkwardly, once again following with a jab that was too slow as he tried to counterattack.
Bardo parried and tapped him on the shoulder once more, sharper this time. "No, that's not how it goes."
Rai could not suppress the little angry noise that escaped him, as he moved back into position again. His next parry was clumsy because he was too set on countering with the dagger. Bardo noticed it a second too late-his blade came down hard on the boy's hand, drawing blood.
Rai dropped the sword, hissing in pain.
"Oh, damn!" Bardo cursed, moving to check the damage.
"It's fine," Rai said stubbornly, pulling the hand out of his grasp. "I want to try again."
He bent down to pick up the sword, but his fingers were too stiff from the blow to properly close around the hilt.
"Rai, that's enough," Bardo said, an edge of fond exasperation coloring his voice.
"But-"
"A brash cat dies young. When I say it's enough, it is enough. Now let me have a proper look at your hand, I think I caught you pretty hard."
"It's fine," Rai huffed, but still allowed him to inspect the wound. The scratch was not deep, but Bardo was more worried about bones being damaged. He did not think that he had hit him that hard, but child bones were bird bones, so easy to break. To his relief, he found nothing; it would most likely just turn into a lovely bruise.
Bardo let go of his hand. "Okay, that's it for today."
Rai opened his mouth to protest, but he cut him off. "We're going to treat your hand properly, and maybe try again tomorrow. If you're better. If not, we wait. Understand?"
The boy drew his eyebrows together, the closest he had ever come to pouting, and nodded reluctantly.
"Good." Bardo smiled. "We'll just keep practicing and you'll get the hang of it eventually, you'll see."
Rai did not look convinced.
"Making mistakes doesn't make you a failure, Rai, so get that idea out of your head."
"But if it were real-"
Bardo sighed. "That's not the point, Rai. It's called practice for a reason. You've only just started with two blades. Give yourself some time. Ransen wasn't built in a day, either, you know. And hey… if you're still mad by the time we get back, you can always help me by taking out your anger on the helpless vegetables."
That elicited the ghost of a smile.
He patted the boy on the shoulder, turning them towards home.
----
Tidiness, prettiness, had always been very important to his mother. He knew what was behind this, though, thought he could-at least now-comprehend her motivations, some of her fears, but his aversion towards certain methods was too deeply ingrained to truly be removed.
He still remembered with trepidation the countless times his mother had spent grooming him, snipping his bangs into perfect order, licking his fur until it gleamed, long after he had passed the age where children were still fussed over by their parents.
"Are you shining?" Anri had used to tease him, mock-shielding his eyes.
"Shut up," he had muttered back in a small, embarrassed voice, desperately trying to give his neatly brushed hair some form of disorder again.
Now, when his hair grew too long and began to obstruct his vision, he simply took his dagger and cut it off, uncaring of the ragged bangs it left behind. And as childish as it was, he could not help but feel better about it.
So when he walked in on Rai with a blade held dangerously close to his face, a fistful of white bangs in his hand, he very nearly had a heart attack.
"What are you doing?!" he asked, quickly stepping to his side and taking the dagger out of his hand.
Rai looked at him, clearly puzzled by his sharp tone.
"It's too long," he said, letting the handful of hair fall back into his eyes with an edge of frustration. "It always gets in the way."
That much was true, Bardo had to admit, now that he was really looking at the long, shaggy mane Rai's hair had become. Thinking back on it, he had probably not cut it since before his parents' death; Bardo could not recall ever taking the scissors to it.
Perhaps it's time you started paying attention to those little details, before the kitten hacks off his own face on accident.
He smiled sheepishly. "Let's do it properly, then."
A few minutes later found Rai sitting on a stool in the kitchen, kicking his heels against the wooden legs in anticipation. However, when Bardo came back with a towel and a pair of scissors, he shook his head.
"No. I want to cut it like you."
Bardo blinked. "But that's not how it usually goes. I'm just lazy, you know."
Rai gave him a long look.
Eventually, Bardo sighed. "You're… set on this, aren't you."
The boy just stared.
"Fine, fine. We'll do it your way. But don't blame me if it doesn't look good."
Rai did not blame him, and sat very still as Bardo trimmed his bangs with much more care and consideration than he had ever given himself, meticulously separating the strands and making sure not to bring the blade too close to his face. There was something strangely calming, almost meditative about the task, and all at once, Bardo had the feeling that he could understand why his mother had liked to groom him so much.
When he moved to take care of the hair in the back, Rai shifted. "No. I want to keep it long, like yours."
He could not hold back his laughter, surprised and inexplicably a little pleased at Rai's announcement. Perhaps, he mused, he ought to start watching his bad habits a bit, before Rai started picking them up, too, thinking they were "cool".
"Okay, then how about this?" Bardo asked, gathering up the white strands and tying them with a piece of leather cord. "Now it won't get in the way anymore."
He brushed a few lingering hairs from Rai's shoulders, before the boy hopped off the stool and ran to check his appearance in the water barrel. Bardo watched him go, and ruthlessly suppressed the sudden urge to take care of Rai's fur.
----
Winter gifted the forests of Setsura with a light frosty cover, a sheen of icy crystals covering the rim of every leaf. An unusual spell of coldness had spread a fine, powdery blanket of snow across the ground during the night, much to the children's delight. Even from his position behind the house, Bardo could hear them cheering and shrieking, tumbling through the snow.
He brought the axe down again, splitting a log clean in half.
Bardo could not recall the last time he had had to heat the house in winter-it had to have been during his childhood-but after waking up this morning with an ice-cold nose and feet, he had decided to do so, even if the cold weather was likely to last only for a few days.
Rai had wrinkled his nose when Bardo had made him wear woolen socks inside the house, as fond as the boy was of running around barefoot, but had not protested the warm cloak for going outside. He had been fairly unimpressed with the snow, instead opting to hunt for rabbits in the forest.
Swinging the axe downward one last time, Bardo let the blade stick in the chopping block and simply took a moment to catch his breath. Despite the cold, sweat was running down his temples, dribbling into his collar. He wiped his forehead with the back of one hand, before leaning down to gather up the scattered pieces of wood.
Carefully balancing the stack in his arms, he made his way towards the back door, blindly feeling for the steps of the porch with his feet since he could barely see around the pile. In the kitchen, he put the stack down next to the stove, opening the small door and throwing a few more pieces into the crackling fire.
The house already seemed considerably warmer than it had been a few hours ago. Maybe he should start making lunch-Rai would probably be grateful for something warm to eat when he returned.
Bardo set a pot of water to boil, then ducked into the pantry to hunt for ingredients to a decent stew.
He was still rummaging around when he heard the back door fall shut.
"Oh, you back already?" he called, but received no response. "Rai?"
Frowning, he slipped out of the pantry… and froze.
Rai was covered in blood, his hair, face and clothes smeared with rusty red. He was alternately rubbing his cheeks and licking his arms, trying to get the blood off, his breath coming in fast little gasps.
Oh no. No.
Bardo shook himself out of his stupor, stepping forward slowly.
Rai's eyes still had some of that glassy expression, but he seemed to be mostly here, and aware.
"Rai," he said gently, cautiously.
The boy started, staring at him with wide, frightened eyes.
"Hey, it's okay," Bardo murmured, not quite daring to touch him, but desperately wanting to.
"I-it doesn't come off…" Rai whispered, rubbing at his arms and cheeks again. "Why-why doesn't it-"
Very lightly, Bardo rested a hand on his shoulder, feeling the panicky quiver of the tense muscles. "I'll help you. We'll get it off, you'll see," he said, trying to keep his voice as calm and soothing as he possibly could. "You'll see."
The water on the stove was warm but not yet boiling, so he simply took the pot and poured everything into a wooden tub he usually used for doing the laundry. Rai was still shaking, jittery fingers unable to untie the lacings of his shirt, so Bardo had to help him out of his clothes, slowly, carefully, because the boy was as brittle as ice.
He stood in the tub like a statue, fine tremors still running down his body while Bardo scooped water from the tub and poured it over his head to rinse the caked blood from his hair. Rai began to calm the more of the blood was washed away, allowing Bardo to run a wet cloth over his face and chest to wipe off the mess.
He had no idea what drove Rai to do this, what manner of illness was lurking in the boy's mind. A superstitious person would have called it possession, and even though he knew how stupid this was, he could not shake the feeling that some force was taking control of Rai in these moments, sweeping sanity and reason away. He would have dearly liked to take the boy to a healer, but knew that it would be useless-this was not something that could be cured with herbs and prayers.
Rai was shaken enough by these incidents that it made Bardo loath to address them, and he doubted that Rai could tell him what was going on, anyway-the boy seemed to have little to no awareness of slipping into those trances, and the being that surfaced then was something primal and driven, wearing a horribly happy smile.
So all he could do was hold Rai as he shook, trying to bring some manner of comfort with his awkward touches, and irrationally hope that this time, the madness would be washed away for good, like the tiny red flakes dissolving at the bottom of the tub.
- TBC -
----
A/N:
- All those fight scenes were insanely difficult to write. I wish I could have animated them, they'd look so much better. XD
- I imagine Rai has huge problems with actually crying. The tears he cries here are more or less an automatic reaction when the shock sets in.
- Bardo and Rai have lots of communication issues, but I wanted to use this chapter to show the bond they formed despite that, and how it grew.
- Why yes, I do love using real-world plants. Even if I sometimes pretentiously use their names from a different language.
- "A brash cat dies young" is a saying Rai sometimes uses in the game. He learned it from Bardo. ;D
- Aw, nobody solved the riddle for Rai's parents from chapter one, so I'll just reveal the truth behind their names: They are anagrams. Take away the unnecessary letter, mix them up a bit... and see what happens. XD
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