Between Two Worlds (Ch.4) PT. 1
Conrart gripped the bouquet he held in his hands firmly but gently and smiled softly down onto the assorted flowers: a dozen Beautiful Wolframs nestled among a few Celi’s Red Sighs, Secretive Gwendals, and Conrart Standing Talls.
His little brother was such a narcissist, he thought fondly. If anything would make him feel better, it would certainly be seeing these flowers when he woke up.
The flowers which he had gathered together and managed to salvage from the storm-struck wreck that had once been the gardens…
He had been so afraid when had found out what had happened in the gardens. He had almost lost his little brother! What kind of life would that be like, with no big green eyes begging to be comforted or paid attention to, or gazing at him in adoring hero worship? No more tucking in and telling stories to a small energetic blond or waking him at night so they could both launch a sneak attack on an unsuspecting sleeping Gwendal. Who would he look after? Who else could need or he possibly share his protection with?
Conrart stopped right outside the door from his little brother’s room and took a deep breath to calm himself. He didn’t want to alarm Wolfram with looking worried or upset. He was here to verify for himself the report that his younger sibling was alive and recovering from his near-disaster with his element and possibly entertain Wolfram, who was no doubt probably throwing one of his infamous temper tantrums at having to stay in bed all day.
Finally regaining his composure, Conrart pushed open the door and entered, smiling broadly as he opened his mouth in greeting…
The words he had been about to utter died before they even made it to his throat and the bouquet he had so carefully picked slipped out of his numb grasp and fell to the floor, scattering loose flowers in its wake.
Conrart stared at the empty bed, completely devoid of anything: pillows, covers, sheets, but most especially, Wolfram.
Thoughts raced madly across the boy’s mind. Why would Wolfram not be in his bed? Hadn’t he been told that all his little brother needed was a period of rest to recuperate? Why was the bed stripped completely bare? Wasn’t that only done when a person…died?
The room started to reel and tilt around him and Conrart’s vision blurred as he started taking in short, panicked breaths.
A noise to his right shattered him out of frozen state and Conrart jerked his head towards the sound to view his mother seated in a rocking chair over by the window, her face turned as she gazed outside.
Celi had not sat in that rocking chair for over thirty years. It had only been used when she had nursed Wolfram as a baby.
“MOTHER!” Conrart exclaimed rushing over to her side. “Where’s Wolfram?! Where is he?!”
Celi said nothing but continued to keep her vigil at the window, and the only sign of movement she made was the wild shaking of her hands as she clutched something tightly between them.
It was a stuffed animal: a badly deformed blue dragon, knitted by Gwendal for his newest little brother, blackened and ragged over the passage of time and Wolfram’s rough horse-play.
It hadn’t been that long ago, Wolfram couldn’t get to sleep without his “Liesel”.
“Mother, please,” Conrart pleaded, kneeling down and placing his head on his mother’s lap. “Where’s Wolfram? Tell me.”
Something warm and wet plopped down on his head and he looked up to see the traces of twin rivulets of tears from Celi’s green eyes and the sparkling of unshed ones yet to come.
“Gone,” Celi said, her gaze never leaving the view outside from the window, as she repeated herself. “Gone”.
What did she mean by “gone”, Conrart wondered, fear gnawing at him. Surely not…
“Conrart,” came a voice from the doorway and the boy turned to see Gwendal standing in the threshold with a very odd expression upon his face: sadness and perhaps a bit of pity as well.
“Aniue,” Conrart said, getting up from kneeling. “What’s happened? Where’s Wolfram? What does Mother mean he’s ‘gone’?”
“He’s with Waltorana. They’re heading back to Bielefeld now,” Gwendal explained, his voice never once faltering from nonchalant tone he spoke in, although his knuckles has turned white from his hands gripping his arms which were crossed over his chest.
Conrart stared, unable to believe his own ears. It couldn’t be true! Not when Celi had seemed so dead set against it and Shinou himself had declared that was the last option if the trial period he had graced their mother with had failed. Had Wolfram’s perilous bungle with his element tipped the scales of the Great One’s judgment? Or had Waltorana simply bullied his sister-in-law into giving in to what he wanted? No, their mother was not one to be intimidated by scare tactics, but what was the reasoning behind Celi’s decision then?
“I brought this…on myself,” came a soft whisper and Conrart turned to see his mother no longer gazing outside the window but staring with unfocused eyes at the space in front of her.
“Who…puts herself…before her own children?” Celi asked no one in particular. “Who is so blind not to notice when one of her children needs something other than toys and presents? I …have been selfish. So selfish…”
“Mother, you haven’t selfish!” Conrart protested, placing his hands over one of hers, which clutched his little brother’s stuffed animal. “You’ve been the best mother anyone ever had! How could you let Waltorana take Wolfram? He belongs here with us!”
“I…deserve this,” Celi said, not appearing to hear what was said or even be aware of her surroundings. “I wasn’t able to keep him from harm. I’m unable…to keep a lot of things from happening…”
Conrart suddenly realized that perhaps it wasn’t just Wolfram his mother was talking about anymore.
“He’ll be better off with his uncle,” Celi said, speaking to the air again. “He adores him and Waltorana loves him like a true son. He’ll be better off…”
Then the Demon Queen turned her head towards the window once more and lapsed into silence, Wolfram’s blue dragon falling out of her limp grasp onto the floor by her feet.
Conrart turned away, unable to bear seeing his mother in such a broken state, and ran out of the room, pushing past forcefully by Gwendal.
His older brother caught his arm as he attempted to flee and asked, “Where exactly do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going after Wolfram and I’m bringing him back!” Conrart shouted, struggling to break free out of the strong grip.
“Don’t be a fool!” Gwendal snapped out harshly. “They’re a good hour ride ahead of you, and even if you do catch up with them, what do you propose you do? Challenge Waltorana to a duel? Or get down on your knees and beg for him to change his mind? I’m sure you groveling in the dirt before him is something the bastard would enjoy very much!”
“At least I’m actually going to try and do something about it, unlike you and mother!” Conrart yelled, angry tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes as much as he attempted to stop them.
Gwendal froze for a moment, although his stoic mask never faltered, then he let go of his brother’s arm and watched as Conrart took off down the hallway. The mazoku stood there in the same spot even when he heard the loud commotion of cries and shouts of alarm from outside in the courtyard. Gwendal remained where he was, until even the sounds of a horse’s neighing and the wild pounding of hooves had long since faded into the distance.
Sometimes life dealt out hard circumstances that were unavoidable. It was a lesson Conrart was going to have to learn sooner or later.
oOoOoOo
It was nearing dusk and slowly the setting of the sun crept upon the land transforming all the earthly tones into varying shades of crimson, orange and a golden splendor, making the trees and grass seem ablaze with fire.
Fire, Waltorana mused, staring at the coppery scenery from the carriage’s window. To think that his own nephew was almost killed by his own element…an end like that would be a shameful embarrassment for any vonBielefield, who took the utmost pride in being masters of their elements. That, however, was not the reason for Waltorana’s anger. The mazoku was furious, no doubt, but it was at himself, for being stupid and foolish enough to leave his nephew in the clutches of that blithering harpy he called his mother. A cat possessed more nurturing instincts that amorous wench.
Contrary to what that oaf, Stoffel had accused him of, he had not visited Covenant Castle on behalf of the Ten Aristocrats to survey how the kingdom was being run. Really, if they were all to blind to see that that woman would bring the walls crumbling down around her during her reign, they were just as idiotic as she was. Neither had he been there to usurp the present Maou from her throne and place himself or one of his relatives upon it, although, now that he thought about it, that notion did have merit. Wolfram would make a much better Maou than his mother, however, he was still quite young. It would be best to wait a couple of decades until his nephew came of age and had been cued in the role and mannerisms of how to rule. Now that the boy was safely out of reach from being corrupted from his mother’s ludicrous whims and reprobate habits, he would truly be able to grow in his power and character! He had seen the way Wolfram had been sheltered and babied by his mother and two older brothers. Most assuredly, they would keep on in such a manner even when Wolfram reached adult-hood. There was nothing wrong with being loved so greatly, however coddling such as that often produced tremendously spoiled children. Although he had never actually seen Wolfram act up in front of him, he had heard the servants’ hushed whisperings in the castle. It seemed his nephew had earned quite a few titles for his infamous temper tantrums: Selfish Pooh, Little Lord Brat, and so on.
Yes, he was definitely doing the right thing separating him from his mess of a family and the bad reputation he was already gaining. A future Maou couldn’t afford to have entanglements like that hanging about him.
But still, training Wolfram for that purpose was not why Waltorana had come to the Covenant Castle and had vied so hard for his nephew’s custody.
He had always wanted to raise Wolfram. Perhaps he had felt guilty at his brother not desiring to have a child and refusing to have anything to do with his own son. Perhaps he had felt responsible for taking care of the boy who never really knew his father that well before the father died all too soon and too young.
Perhaps it was because Waltorana himself, had come to view his nephew as his own son over time and could no longer swallow the bitter jealousy of seeing him so utterly happy with the woman he so despised.
Perhaps the title Selfish Pooh did not just apply to Wolfram, but to all vonBielefelds in general.
The carriage bounced a little too roughly over a rough patch in the road and Waltorana was jostled out of his thoughts along with it. A small head slumped across his shoulder and onto his chest and the mazoku blinked and looked down to see Wolfram, bundled up securely in the blankets and sheets from his bed, his complexion still a little grey but now sporting hints of rosy cheeks. He was snoring contentedly, even drooling slightly, while a gentle evening breeze wafted through the carriage’s window and tousled the boy’s golden locks.
Waltorana smiled fondly and twirled one soft curl between his gloved fingertips.
He honestly had expected to be at the castle for several weeks before he could figure out some way to get around Shinou’s decision. He had been certain Cecile was going to slip up and he would be there to see her utmost demise, however, he had never once imagined she would simply relent and allow him his way. He supposed Wolfram’s elemental incident may have been the straw that broke the stack, that his combined preaching. It was probably one of her spontaneous resolutions, one which she would undoubtedly change her mind in a few hours or so, but he had seized the moment of victory when it was presented and left almost immediately with his prize.
He now possessed full guardianship of his nephew. Even if the Maou regained her senses and sent the guard after him, there was nothing she could do legally.
Wolfram was his.
“Lord vonBielefeld! There’s a rider approaching!” announced one of the men in his traveling party.
“So soon, Cecile?” Waltorana murmured surprised. It was only an hour since they had left the castle. He had thought he would get a day’s start ahead at least. His sister-in-law must be more distressed than he thought.
“My Lord?” asked his man waiting for instructions.
“Stop the coach,” Waltorana said, getting up and carefully laying Wolfram down across the seat so he would not wake him. “I’ll deal with this myself.”
The mazoku stepped out of the carriage and waited with crossed arms as he watched the rider in the distance become larger and larger, until at last he came into full view and reined his horse in.
Waltorana raised an inquiring eyebrow surprised. Perhaps Cecile hadn’t tried to recall her decision after all. If she had, she surely picked a poor choice sending her mulling half-human whelp to do the job.
“What do you want, boy?” Waltorana asked, emphasizing the last word, to show there were a few more colorful examples he could address him as.
The boy dismounted but kept a firm grip on the reigns as he stared Waltorana straight in the eye and said, “I want my brother.”
“Go home, boy. Don’t meddle in adult affairs you don’t understand,” Waltorana stated, turning to leave.
“I understand things better than you think,” he heard the young Weller’s voice say. “I understand that Mother isn’t the best Maou to rule and that she lets Uncle Stoffel have his way more that he should have. And I understand that you think you are doing Wolfram a favor taking him away from us, but really, he’s just a tool for you to use.”
Waltorana tilted his head over his shoulder and half-smiled, “If that’s what you want to think, go ahead. Now, begone, I have better things to do than make small talk with whiny children like you.”
“Wolfram’s happy where he is!” Conrart shouted, a hot rage swelling up in his chest.
Unbidden, the hand holding the reins of his horse fell open and strayed to the hilt of his sword which had begun accompanying him everywhere. The vonBielefeld guardsmen noted the movement and copied it warningly.
Waltorana glanced behind him and laughed, “Really, now, men, are you that intimidated by a weakling human spawn? I highly suggest you do not draw that toy of yours, boy. Demon Queen’s son or not, you will show an Aristocrat the proper respect or you will get sound thrashing!”
“What do you propose you do? Challenge Waltorana to a duel? Or get down on your knees and beg for him to change his mind?”
Conrart’s hand shook in restrained fury as Gwendal’s words drifted back to him. No, he would not beg. He wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction. And however much he wished to gut him open, he was still several lessons from being able to defeat a whole group of guards single-handed.
But one day...one day he would be the best swordsman there ever was! And when that day came, Waltorana had best watch his back.
Waltorana nodded as Conrart slowly let his hand drop from his sword’s hilt, appeased at the sight, and motioned for his men to get moving.
“Wait,” came a soft voice and the mazoku turned back yet again to see the boy’s face no longer swarming with hatred and anger, but sadness and despair.
“Can I…can I see him, please?” Conrart asked, his voice pleading. “I never got…to say good-bye”.
Waltorana stared at him for a long while with a measuring look, before he finally spoke his answer into the air.
“Yes, it is unfortunate that half-mazoku age quicker than full-bloods. Still, I suppose you’ll live long enough to see him again when he returns to show everyone what a true Maou should be, that is, if you don’t die ill-fatedly, challenging your betters and superiors to a hopeless duel!”
The vonBielefeld guards laughed uproariously at this and Waltorana, as he stood, one foot on the steps of the carriage, commented, “My nephew is sleeping. I do not see any reason to disturb his rest.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
Waltorana paused and directed an inquisitive eye upon the figure of the boy standing forlornly in the road, despondent for all to see and with eyes that had once been burning with a determined fire minutes before, now so achingly hollow.
The mazoku stared, knowing what the question being asked was about, and when he finally answered, listeners might have mistaken the response for pity or compassion, however for Waltorana, it was a simple matter of fact realization.
“I don’t think there’s any need to destroy the boy’s delusions he may have concerning you,” Waltorana said, his eyes narrowing. “I’m sure you and all humans alike will over time reveal their true colors. I’d rather he found that out for himself first hand.”
Then he climbed into the carriage and soon the traveling company was off with a steady rolling pace, leaving Conrart in a cloud of dust.
It was twilight now and the brazen radiant colors of the earth had all faded into a pale shimmering blue, while the night sky had been enshrouded in a deep purple hue which quickly turned a dark grey color as storm clouds gathered.
Conrart remained in the same spot and watched the carriage disappear from his line of vision, even when the warning rumbles of thunder boomed and flashes of lightning flared overhead.
He stayed, even when the heavens opened their floodgates and let lose a torrent of rain upon the land below.
And through the raging downpour, it was unable to determine raindrops from tears streaking down the boy’s face.
oOoOoOo
The vonBielefeld coach’s windows had been tightly closed to keep the cold air and stinging rain out. Waltorana could not help feeling sympathetic to his men who riding in the awful weather.
If I were a more poetic person, I might think the gods are grieving in tune with the Demon Queen’s melancholy mood, he mused.
The carriage gave a violent lurch forward then before rolling in the opposite direction a few paces with a loud squelching sound, causing its passengers inside to slam backwards into their seats quite hard.
A hand knocked against the window and Waltorana pushed it open and inquired with an annoyed countenance, “What is going on out there?”
“The carrriage’s wheels have gotten stuck in the mud, sir!” one of his guards explained with an apologetic face. “Even if we do get them clear, they’ll just get stuck again with the road the way it is!
“There’s also the possibility of falling trees to be wary of, sir” stated another guard.
“What are you suggesting? We just stay out here all night like sitting ducks until the storm passes then?” Waltorana said, his voice heavy with irony.
“We passed an inn not too far behind, My Lord,” one of his men offered. “We could spend the night there and set out in the morning when everything’s calm.”
Waltorana’s lip curled up in distaste at the very idea of staying in such a common place among lesser people, however the only other option was to return to Covenant Castle on horseback. He would not give Cecile another chance to take back what she had willingly given.
It might be hazardous to Wolfram’s health if he spent the night in a damp coach though.
“Very well,” he said reluctantly, picking his sleeping nephew up, making sure he was securely bundled up in his blankest, and wrapping his cloak around him, before he stepped out into the soaking rain and gusts of wind.
oOoOoOo
Wolfram woke up confused and just a little bit frightened. This room with wooden walls, rotting in some places, bare with little furniture, its shabby bed and scratchy sheets were not his room. A window to his left held no fancy curtains with tassels and was streaked with dirt, and the view outside showed that it was night and a storm was blowing. The room was very dark with only a small lamp lit, its glow casting odd-figured shadows to dance eerily about.
The door to the room suddenly opened and Wolfram sat up and stared wide-eyed at the outline of the person unable to see their identity until they stepped fully into the light.
“O-Ojiiue?” Wolfram asked, relieved to see the familiar face.
“Ah, Wolfram, you’re awake,” his uncle said, smiling charmingly as he took off his cloak which was thoroughly drenched and hung it on the bedpost and flung his cap onto the bed next to his nephew’s. “I’d thought you’d sleep till morning.”
“Where, where am I?” Wolfram questioned blinking, uncertain if this was a dream or not. “Where’s mother?”
Waltorana frowned slightly at the mention of Celi, then cleared his expression as he walked around his bed to Wolfram’s and kneeled down so he was eye to eye with the boy, “She’s at the castle. She agreed to let me take you to vonBielefeld. We’re staying at this location they have the gull to call an inn until the storm dies down.”
“I get to visit you for awhile?” Wolfram asked excitedly, not understanding.
Waltorana hesitated, wondering if he should correct him. He wasn’t sure how Wolfram would take the news, and didn’t want to jeopardize the boy’s already fragile state. He was still weak from abusing his maryoku. The last thing he needed was his nephew to launch into an impressive fit. Not only would he become more ill, but he would probably bring this decrepit shoddy inn to its foundation in flames.
“Yes, for quite a long while,” Waltorana replied, settling for a half truth. He would explain the situation fully when they were back at his home.
“Go back to sleep, Wolfram,” he said, and swept one hand through the young boy’s flaxen hair affectionately. “You need to rest some more.”
Wolfram lay back down and let his uncle tuck him in, his gaze never leaving the older mazoku. Waltorana glanced up and smiled in bemusement at his nephew’s close examining of him.
“What is it?” he asked puzzled.
“Are you lonely, Ojiiue?” Wolfram questioned, his green eyes blinking large and owlishly in the dim lighting. “Because you don’t have to be. I’m here.”
With that, Wolfram leaned up and planted a soft peck on his uncle’s cheek, before rolling over and quickly drifting into peaceful slumber.
Waltorana remained in his kneeling position by the foot of his nephew’s bed for a few moments, before getting up and going to stand by the window to watch the never-ending cloudburst from the sky batter mercilessly against the glass pane.
Lifting one hand to his cheek, he voiced out loud to his reflection, vivid with the flashes of lightning, “Lonely…I wonder…”
(Continued in PT.2)