Rain falls on both the happy man and the miserable;
but while the happy man will compare it to diamonds,
the sorrowful man will see it as tears.
The sky was a sulky gray, rain falling like a thick curtain from the heavy clouds. The large droplets crashed into the soaked ground, sending up sprays of water as it hit the soggy mud and drenched grass.
He stared into the falling rain, his forehead marred by an angry frown, a forgotten book resting open in his lap. For almost a week the weather had been lousy, and he couldn't help but wonder how much more rain the clouds could possibly hold. While not as roaring and wild as the blizzard that had struck as he had first come to this house, the constant tedious rattle of raindrops against the roof made him restless and agitated.
Well over a month had passed since the Holy Tree Flagoon had been planted in Sairaag. Still Sylphiel hadn't said a word about the future. At least for the moment being she seemed content just to let him live under her roof, take every day as it came, making no permanent decisions about anything. While that attitude had suited him fine in the start, when he himself had preferred not to think about the future, the indecisiveness and uncertainty about everything had begun getting on his nerves.
The whole situation was frustrating. Still, uncertainty about any future beyond the next few days loomed over him much like the stormclouds above. His magic also seemed to be taking its sweet time to recover in strength, as it was still pathetically weak. And that confounded rain, hammering against the windows and his thoughts...
His frown deepened.
He was sick of living this way. Sick of living at the mercy of a little girl's whims. Sick of having to keep up appearances of humility and gratitude. He was bored, frustrated, uncertain, and he was sick of it all. His fingers played absently with the pages of the book he held as his eyes kept glaring into the falling rain.
Sylphiel hesitated in the doorway to the living room. The purple-haired man sat huddled up in the couch with a book from her father's collection, like he usually did in the afternoon. However, rather than the serene, concentrated expression she was used to seeing on his face when he was reading, his brow was creased into an angry scowl. For the first time in quite a while she suddenly felt uncomfortable in his presence, wondering to herself what she had gotten herself into by letting that man stay in her house. His harsh expression reminded her of the furious snarl on his face when he was about to attack her for interrupting Lina's casting of the Giga Slave over two years ago. She hesitantly stepped forward and cleared her throat. He looked up, his eyes cold.
"Dinner's ready," she said with forced cheerfulness, waving the kettle-holder she still held in her hand. He nodded and put his book aside to join her.
They ate without speaking, the clatter of silverware against china the only sound to be heard, unnaturally loud in the silence. The scowl hadn't left his face and she couldn't help but feeling uneasy. As long as he had smiled and distracted her with small talk she had almost been able to forget who he really was, but now, with his darker moods returning, she was abruptly reminded. In an all but desperate attempt to lighten up the atmosphere she forced a smile.
"You don't seem too cheerful today."
He looked up, his eyes still cold and hostile.
"Is there any reason why I should be?"
She blinked, surprised by his sudden rancor.
"Well... There are always little things one can be happy about, isn't there? No matter how dispirited one may feel, there are always little things to take comfort in..."
She trailed off confronted with his level stare.
"Like what..?" he asked, his voice flat.
"Uhm. Well, if nothing else, then just the fact one's alive and healthy..."
"And that's just it, isn't it?" he cut her off, his voice acid and his eyes angry.
"I should be grateful I'm alive. Not only graciously granted life again, but mercifully taken in by you, isn't that it? Do you want me to grovel and play suitably thankful for the great mercy you've shown me? Well, I'm sick of it."
She just stared at him, completely taken aback by his sudden outburst. Then anger of her own flared inside her and she scowled.
"Yes, perhaps you should be grateful! After all the things you've done to me and the ones I loved, my hospitality and compassion is certainly nothing to take for granted! And if a little gratitude is too much to ask for in return, then you're free to leave any time you like."
He gave her a disgusted look.
"As if you couldn't care less. You just enjoy playing the martyr. 'This evil monster killed my father, yet I can mercifully pity him...' I'm sure you can get a lot of sympathy for that, but not from me."
Her eyes flew wide open and she gasped.
"How dare you?!"
When he didn't respond she stood with enough force to shove her chair back, making it scrape loudly against the floor. She leaned her hands on the table, her eyes sparking with uncharacteristic fury.
"Yes, you killed my father, destroyed my home before my eyes! You can't even begin to understand what it takes, what I've had to give up to let you into my own home, let you live here among the memories of those you murdered..."
Choking on her angry words she shook her head, then looked down and met his glare with one equally cold. He gave her a haughty look down his nose, clenching his hands.
"I don't intend to live the rest of my life apologizing for crimes committed in another lifetime! And I'm sick of keeping up appearances of suitable humility. I had enough of that with Eris. I don't see why I should have to start every day by asseverating my eternal gratitude over being allowed yet another day of life."
She looked away with a bitter smile, then back at him.
"I've told you before, I am not Eris. However, like any ordinary person, I do demand to be treated with fair respect. That's only proper behavior. And that is a human trait I guess you just haven't caught on to yet."
He flinched as from a physical blow, then his eyes narrowed dangerously. He stood and leaned forward as well, looming over her. She forced herself not to move an inch, glaring defiantly up at him.
"That was uncalled for, " he said, his voice low and menacing. She didn't even blink.
"That was uncalled for..? Then what do you call this entire production? What have I done to deserve being attacked like this, out of nowhere? For over a month's time I've battled my conscience and the ghosts of my dead friends to give you a second chance. And this is how you repay me?"
There was no shred of remorse in his eerie mismatched eyes as he looked down at her.
"I'm so tired of having to apologize for my existence, " he whispered,
"No more now. And if you want to spend the rest of your life licking your wounds, unable to see past the destruction of Sairaag, then that is certainly not my problem. Go talk to your ghosts, then, if that's all that matters to you. I'm sure they make a suitable company."
She could only stare at him, the venom of his words too much to comprehend.
"Damn you..."
It was all she could say, her mind screaming and raging with fury, grief and shock.
"Damn you... you... monster!"
His face could have been a mask, completely devoid of emotion. She managed to draw a shaky breath, her fingernails scraping against the table. It was all she could do not to call forth the power of the Dragon Slave to attack him right there and then. She knew his powers were still not recovered, she still had a good chance to stand up to him. Yet violence had never been her way.
"Get out of my home."
He made no move to leave and her eyes narrowed, the old hatred seeping forth again.
"Get out! And if I ever see your face again, I swear I will kill you!"
He remained standing there a moment longer, then he straightened and looked down at her, his eyes burning with something she couldn't quite name.
"Shrine Maiden of the dead... If you keep clinging on to your pain like a precious jewel it won't be long until you join them."
Then he turned around and left the kitchen. She heard the swish of cloth as he yanked his cloak from its hook in the hallway, and soon the sound of a door opening and slamming shut again marked the end of their conversation. He was gone
And she was alone.
Again.
Accursed woman. It wasn't as if he needed her anymore, anyway.
Not as if he owed her anything, either. Not really.
The destruction of Sairaag was a lifetime, a Death away.
It wasn't fair of her to keep holding that against him. Not much he could do about it, anyway.
Not that it mattered anymore.
Blasted rain. Blasted mud, for that matter.
At least the air was fresh. No one could tell him where to go.
Where to go?
Good question.
Now what?
East or west?
Not to Inaka, for certain. Too many people, too many questions.
Which meant Sairaag.
Well, that worked. There were many roads leading away from Sairaag. Once there he could pick one to follow, leaving all the complicated situations behind.
Rezo had had treasure and magical items stuffed away in all kinds of secret places. And he did, of course, know about most of them. That worked. A good enough plan, at least for now.
See if he cared whether he was kicked out from that moping girl's house.
Why should he?
Rain whipped down over the gray fields as the lonely figure flapped the collar of his cloak up against the heavy raindrops and started walking down the muddy road towards the ruins of the dead city.
Gray afternoon faded into gray evening, and finally into black night. The rain kept falling, stubbornly, splashing against the windows. She made up a fire in the fireplace in the living room to keep the damp chill away. The house was quiet. Absolutely quiet, save for the crackling of the fire and the whisper of rain. All was still. Empty.
Too restless to go to bed she turned away from the fireplace and looked around the living room. With a scowl she spotted up the neat pile of blankets, pillows and clothes beside the couch. Gathering them into her arms, she walked up the stairs to stuff them into a dark corner in the attic. She returned to the living room, noting with a satisfied sigh it looked just the way it ought to again. Untainted. Empty.
It was really a relief to be rid of him, at last. No more awkward situations, no constant reminders of a painful past. She was alone again, the cat her only company.
The way it should be.
Empty.
She scowled at herself. Certainly better to be alone than have him for company. The way he had assailed her this afternoon was unforgivable. She shouldn't have to put up with such things.
So much for kindness, she thought bitterly. You never get any in return.
She sat down in the couch, trying to ignore how Poohti walked around the house, as if looking for someone. With a studied gesture she picked up one of the books resting in a pile on the floor; today's batch. The top one turned out to be a little storybook for children, the one about the ferret and the rabbit she had loved when she was very little. She hadn't read it for a long time, and now she couldn't help but smiling at the naive story. Pretty amazing a man like him could take pleasure in reading such a book, she thought, then scowled at herself.
What did that have to do with anything?
She closed the book and put it back on the pile resting on the floor, making a mental note to put them all back in place in the bookshelf later. As she fiddled with the pile of books she spotted the one he had been reading as she had called him to dinner. It was still open and she picked it up to read a few lines.
"Due to the extreme complexity of the process the results vary, and even a seemingly successful attempt will usually proved flawed in time..."
She turned the book to read the title, not remembering having read it before. Her father had owned several books on science, civics and even magic that held no interest to her, being outside of her domain of white magic. As she read the words impregnated on the cover in stiff black writing she suddenly felt cold inside.
"Biotechnological Magic. Aspects on the creation of clones and chimeras..."
She knew her father hadn't had any interest in such matters; the book was probably a gift to the mayor of Sairaag from the Dark Sorcerers' Guild that had been located just outside town. They had specialized in such things after all. She opened the book again to read more.
"...for the Science to remain pure, distance and objectivity is required. Thus we must never forget the specimens we work with may look human, but are really scientifically created objects that must be disposed of after finished experiments to avoid any risk of contact with the real world..."
She closed her eyes, the cold feeling in her stomach making her feel sick.
"Ceipheed, good god..."
She opened her eyes again, staring into the dark night, the book falling forgotten from her hand.
No wonder.
The constant rain whipped against his face like needles, dripping from his eyelashes, making it difficult to see. His cloak was long since soaked and he shivered, wet as a drenched kitten. The mud sucked at his shoes, their black leather surface long since covered with a thick layer of dirt. It was truly a miserable night. He felt like he had been walking for hours, yet the landscape around him didn't seem to change. Just darkness filled with a gray haze of rain.
Always that accursed rain...
The ground finally began rising, and he recognized the steep slope that was the outer rim of the huge crater that surrounded the ruins of Sairaag. He paused as he reached the crest of the hill, looking out over the city before him. The darkness and veils of rain masked it from view, showing only vague dark shapes huddling in the night. He sighed. He wouldn't get much further tonight anyway. Better find somewhere dry to spend the night, get some sleep...
Even through the gloomy night the glowing rain of holy light from Flagoon could be seen, and he smiled a weary smile. No matter how ghostly the ruins of the city itself may seem, Flagoon whispered a promise of peace, rest.
Careful not to slide in the slippery mud he began making his way down the hill, heading towards the cracked dome and the Tree growing inside.
The city had changed since the last time was there. The reeking, bitter smell of smoke had left the broken stones; grass and weeds tentatively reclaimed the ruins, glittering in the rain. The astral touch of Flagoon could be felt all through the city, the ancient guardian cleaning the twice-destroyed place from the dark memories. As he reached the dark dome the huge stone construction finally provided shelter from the rain. The Tree stood tall and proud in the center of the dome, grown even higher since last time he saw it, its own rain of holy light a welcome change from the cold raindrops falling from the sky. The ground under the protecting branches was dry, no chilly rain allowed. Cold and wet he reached the enormous trunk and reached out to touch the rough bark. The moment his hand touched it, the astral currents flowed through him, the ancient spirit becoming a natural extension of himself. A strange feeling, yet comforting, a presence letting him know he was not alone.
With a weary sigh he leaned against the tree, then slid down to sit on the soft grass, closing his eyes. Ceipheed, he was tired.
Wrapping his drenched cloak closer around himself he leaned back, made himself as comfortable as he could in the embrace of the massive roots. Sparks of holy light fell around him, the silent rustle of leaves high above humming a serene lullaby. Leaving anger, frustration and anguish behind for a while he drifted into sleep.
She lay awake in her bed, staring into the darkness. It was very late, yet she couldn't fall asleep.
Why did things suddenly have to become complicated again?
She had been happy to take every day as it came, no longer seeing a need of making any immediate, important decision about the future. She had even begun appreciating his presence, the company.
That was the problem that kept her awake.
For the first time since that winter night in Sairaag she had the chance to look objectively at their strange arrangement. She had to admit it certainly seemed absolutely crazy. And yet... yet there had been something there. A happiness she hadn't felt in a long time, even a strange sense of security. Not being alone anymore. The company of another human being, someone she could talk to, laugh with. Despite their seemingly incompatible perspectives they had shared a common denominator in Flagoon, being able to work from there to see beyond differences and past antagonism.
A delicate understanding... Maybe even hesitant friendship? Possibly. Probably.
She turned uncomfortably, futilely trying to make the pillows more comfortable.
It was strange how it all had shattered, collapsed. She had been completely unprepared for his sudden outburst, grown so used to his silent, almost submissive attitude. She probably should have known better. She knew it all too well herself; foregoing your own opinions to please others only worked so far, then you had to react, had to struggle for change. Maybe she should have seen it coming.
And that confounded book... She hadn't even known she owned it, stacked away with other meaningless books from the guilds of Sairaag, she had never bothered reading it.
No wonder he'd been upset.
She frowned and chewed thoughtfully on a coil of silky hair.
According to that book clones were nothing but emotionless, soulless objects; merely empty shells created through a mix of magic and science. She might not know a whole lot about that kind of magic, but she'd gotten to know her guest well enough to know for certain that the book was wrong. Emotions had been what had caused him to rebel against his creator in the first place, to pursue his desperate ambition to surpass the original Red Priest. Hadn't she known what he was, she would never have suspected him to be anything but human. A rather powerful, violent and mentally unstable such, granted; but still very much human.
She had been so focused on his crimes, the destruction of Sairaag, she had completely forgotten what reasons lay behind them in the first place. Probably a foolish thing to do; she would know past pain didn't disappear just because you didn't talk about it.
She sighed and turned over yet again.
She had been unprepared for the sudden explosion; perhaps she would have acted differently had she known the reasons behind it. Yet, no matter how much she pondered it afterwards it had happened. He was gone. And she was alone.
Again.
Gray morning dawned, gray rain falling from a gray sky, gray light filtering through the branches above. He slowly, reluctantly opened his eyes. He swept the damp cloak aside and sat up, shivering with cold, yet feeling strangely warm. His head felt heavy, sleep unwilling to release him from its grip, the world strangely out of focus. He leaned his face in his hands, taking a few deep breaths.
He felt positively miserable.
Pushing some damp hair out of his burning face he managed to stand, leaning against the tree behind him. The dizziness immediately got worse. He frowned angrily and forced himself to take a few steps away from the Tree. The ground seemed to billow; now steeping away before him, now rushing up to hit him. The still damp clothes seemed stiff and chafing, every single cell of his body protesting.
This would be a fever, he thought. Never had one of those before. Not an agreeable experience.
He angrily tried to sweep the thick haze of dizziness out of his mind, searching his memories for a magic spell even his feeble powers might take on, to take care of the problem. And he found none.
Curse Eris, concentrating on Black magic... Knowing the copy process most likely wouldn't be fully completed in time she had focused on concluding the knowledge of the powerful and destructive spells, the Dark Arts. White magic, healing, had been put aside.
Damn it all.
With a frustrated sigh he straightened. Just a cold, nothing serious. Hopefully it would just go away by itself. He didn't have the time to be sick right now. He had to get going, get as far away from Sairaag and the past as possible. Once again pushing a few irritating strands of hair out of his eyes he began walking, leaving Flagoon's sheltering form behind to once again enter the gray world.
Rain splashed down over the hollow, echoing ruins. What had once been streets had become a labyrinth of dead stone, debris blocking old paths and fallen houses offering new ones. Fever raged through him as he slowly made his way through unfamiliar parts of the city. No sun was visible through the low, ominous clouds, no landmarks visible in this dead landscape of stone but the huge black dome, and its immensity made it impossible to navigate by. The ruins themselves seemed intent on leading him astray, throwing obstacles in his path, twisting the streets back on themselves. A city's revenge on the one who had taken its life away.
He swore under his breath as yet another path turned out to be a dead end, angrily picking up and hurling a small piece of chipped off mortar against the collapsed wall that cut off the street. Watching it shatter against the stones didn't help one bit. Nothing to do but backtrack to find another crossroad, another path to follow...
If only his powers had fully returned! He could have soared over the heaps of rubble with ease, or even better, blast them all out of his way. He kicked angrily at a heap of debris, earning himself a stubbed toe for the trouble. Limping, stumbling, the mother of all headaches burning behind his eyes, cold rain running down his face he sighed bitterly.
At least things could hardly get much worse...
Completely and utterly lost in the dead city he found a more or less dry spot between the remains of two buildings. Exhausted he slumped down onto a rough heap of fallen stone, leaning his face in his hands. His once so springy hair hung in limp, dripping wisps around his face, his clothes once again soaking wet from the rain. Exhaustion and pain turning the edge of his anger he leaned back against a wall and sighed.
Well, Sairaag... You're really bent on having me run the gauntlet in your twisted labyrinth, aren't you, he thought bitterly. And that eternal rain... By the Ruby Eyed one, I'm tired. I could have been sitting in a soft couch right now, in front of a warm fire.
Why did I leave, anyway?
That thought brought him up short and he thoughtfully bit his lip. Why had he left? It had been a good enough life, he hadn't really had any reasons to complain. He reluctantly had to admit Sylphiel had been right - he should have been grateful. No matter what her reasons had been, she had taken pity on him and let him stay in her house; it had been a generous gesture. One that he had then foolishly turned down in a childish fit of pique. After spending weeks being ever so careful to gain her appreciation he had gone and thrown it all away in a single move.
"I'm such a fool..." he mumbled, rubbing tired eyes.
She was not the one he had been angry with, yet she had become the one to take the blow when all his pent-up frustration had exploded; all the venom of his past pain and anger searching a target, someone to blame. She had been right. She was not Eris. Nothing like Eris at all.
He leaned his burning forehead in his hands, obstinate bangs of wet, purple hair falling into his face yet again. She would never forgive him now, not after the things he had said. She had said she would kill him if she ever saw him again; for that gentle girl to go as far as to make such a threat betrayed the extent of her anger, how deeply his words had hurt her. He was still not quite used to the full range of human emotions, but he was pretty certain the cold, dark feeling in his heart was regret, maybe even remorse. He shouldn't have done what he'd done, said the things he'd said. He had been wrong, and admitting it to himself was among the hardest things he had ever done.
Rain kept falling outside his temporary shelter, gray clouds billowing above. He was wet and cold, fever making his head ache and his skin burn, and he was all alone.
She was cleaning the house, as if sweeping all dust and cobwebs away would somehow expel all the memories along with them. With a near frenzy she scrubbed the floors, picked out all the china of the cupboards to wash it, dusting off the shelves it had been resting on. Every corner of the house was made spotlessly clean, and all the while she told herself she wasn't doing it to distract herself from the sudden loneliness. Poohti had given her a flat look that spoke volumes and disappeared to some secret hideout until the cleaning spree was over.
She stood in the living room and inspected her handiwork - the neatly arranged books in their shelves, the shiny wooden floor, the crystal-clear windows - and she nodded to herself, a satisfied expression on her face. Not a single trace of another's presence remained. The house was all hers again, belonging only to her and the memories of those who had lived there with her in her childhood. Ghosts of those long since gone...
Shrine maiden of the dead.
"Damn you!" she suddenly sobbed and sank down onto the couch, not certain whether she wept because those words had hurt her so bad, or because she actually missed the company of the man who had so cruelly uttered them.
He was standing before the Tree again, the darkness of evening already falling along with the rain. Movements barely conscious, like those of a sleepwalker made him take the last few steps, and he titled his aching head back to stare up at the ancient guardian. There was no anger left in him now, only tired sadness.
It would seem no matter what ever happened in his short, miserable life, the circles of time always brought him back here, to the same spot, his destiny mercilessly entwined with that of Flagoon. Well, he seemed to have run out of options this time. There was simply nowhere left to go.
Shivering with fever he sank down onto the ground. He was so tired... This was as good a place as any to wait and see whether he would live or die - again. Maybe it would be for the better. He was so tired, tired of it all. There was nowhere left to go, no one who would give a damn either way. That thought actually hurt a little, a sharp sting in the heart.
Since when did he care what other people thought?
Since the very beginning, probably, he wearily admitted to himself. If that hadn't mattered, he might have been content playing the part of another man. And yet he had wanted others to see him, not just the face he wore as a mask over his own soul. See him and think him worthy of respect, appreciation - or hatred. He wasn't picky, any emotion would do, as long as it was aimed towards him, not that other man. Rezo. The original.
But none of them had. None had ever seen past his face, glimpsed his true soul, discerned his pain and desperation. Maybe that was really why he had killed them. Because they hadn't even tried.
He leaned back against the rough bark of the immense tree trunk and closed his eyes. A certain sense of justice, perhaps, that he came to terms with all his faults and mistakes here, in this place. The place where he had committed his greatest crime, and paid the ultimate price for it. Sairaag.
He had had it all; a safe haven from the frightening unknown world, an easy life, lazily floating by. Even someone who had known him for what he was and yet shown him kindness. Someone who maybe even, although it admittedly was pretty unlikely, had cared. And through his paranoid mistrustfulness and arrogance he had thrown it all away...
Perhaps it was the right time to close yet another circle, let the memory of the city and himself die away so it could all start over. Death didn't seem quite as frightening when there was no longer anything to live for. On a whim, with a lopsided, sarcastic smile, he picked up a single leaf from the ground, a leaf fallen from the huge tree looming over him, and closed his pale fingers over it.
You never knew...
It's funny, he mused to himself, his thoughts slowly becoming too hazy to quite follow, fading into the darkness of unconsciousness.
Funny how you never realize your mistakes until it's too late, and never recognize what you have achieved until it has slipped through your fingers...
And thus ends Rain, another story about... Just kidding!
You didn't really think I'd let it end like that, did you? Of course not. Now read on, see what else is going to happen before we close the curtains on this little story once and for all...
She woke up to the sound of rain drumming against the roof. That constant rain. Some spring, she thought acidly. Not many weeks of sunshine between the blizzards of winter and rains of spring. She didn't even bother drawing back the curtains; she knew the light waiting to be let inside would be so gray it wasn't worth the trouble.
Almost three days of loneliness had passed and she found it didn't feel as awkward anymore. She was used to the feeling, and automatically fell back into the neatly ordered pattern her life had followed before. The cat kept her company, small chores around the house providing her with distraction from Time that flowed slow as treacle, neatly cut to pieces by the rhythmic hammering of the rain.
Why should she care, no matter what the reasons for him leaving? Perhaps it truly was for the better. With his powers still depleted he probably couldn't cause other people any real harm, hopefully he wouldn't even try. Either way it wasn't her responsibility any more. Flagoon had trusted him enough to grant him a life of his own; she shouldn't have to give up the rest of her own life to watch over him.
He was probably far away already, leaving her and the past behind to start over. She tried to convince herself she was neither hurt nor jealous.
Good riddance.
A few rare rays of sun managed to escape the heavy clouds, spilling the warm light of sunset into the living room. She stood from the couch where she had sat reading and carefully picked up the crystal unicorn from its shelf, held it into the light the way she had used to when she was little. The light refracted and cascaded over her hands like so many sparks of fire, gold and amber against her skin.
Sometimes I wish I could leave as well, she thought. Live like Lina and Gourry and the others, following the roads, living my life as an endless adventure.
But my home is here...
She looked around at the familiar surroundings, the cherished objects placed throughout the room. Yes, this was her home now. Leaving it to persuade a dream wouldn't lead her anywhere. Nowhere but away. Away from a place where dark memories lingered and the ghosts of the long since dead kept her from living a life fully her own. Shrine maiden of the dead...
She closed her eyes and sighed, then walked over to the shelf on the wall to put the unicorn back in place.
Nothing in her life was simple anymore; she couldn't just close her eyes and go on like before. She remained standing by the window, looking into the rain. The clouds were slowly breaking up and parting, letting warm light filter through the rain and turn it into falling droplets of blood. With a shudder she turned away and walked towards the stairs.
There was a place she could go to think come morning, a place that had always been a sanctuary before. Another place of childhood memories, but untouched by the memory of others.
Sairaag.
Flagoon...
Yet another morning dawned, still a sulky gray. The pouring rain had subsided into something between a drizzle and a thick fog, hiding the world in a think layer of white cotton. Dew glittered in the cobwebs along the road, the air raw and cold. She drew her thick cloak closer around herself and rubbed her hands to stay warm, the dampness already having covered her twilight-blue hair with crystal-beads of dew. Though spring had come mornings were still cold, and the muggy air was harsh to breathe. The gravel of the road was swampy from days of rain, and she walked on the grass beside it rather than sinking to her ankles in the mud.
Lost in thought she didn't pay much attention to her surroundings; her feet knew the way, having walked it so many times before.
Having left home early it was just past noon when she finally reached the ruins of the city. The mists had cleared enough for her to see the still delicate but determined flowers sprouting from the cracked slabs of stone. Life was returning to the once so barren place. She spotted the mighty branches of the Holy Tree reaching out through the open black dome and smiled. It had already grown even higher... Soon it would be like she remembered it again. She couldn't help but wondering if it would be the exact same tree, or another one, with the same spirit. It was still too early to tell. Flagoon had brought peace to her soul so many times through her life. The years when it was gone had been gloomy, the mere knowledge it would never comfort her worries again a heavy weight on her shoulders. Yet here it stood now, reaching for the sky through its fallen black prison.
She entered the black dome, trapped wisps of mists billowing lazily over the ground inside, like white-clad fairies dancing in intricate patterns. The fog gave the place an otherworldly atmosphere, the wide-spanning curved walls and the Tree rising through the mist like from a lake of smoke, grass-covered heaps of debris and stones forming landscapes in miniature, man-sized mountains rising from the mist, framing her path. She walked through the dreamscape, watching the golden rain of light that fell from the great tree, revitalizing the ground beneath it, making the milky mist glow where it fell.
She had almost reached the towering tree when she spotted him. She drew up short, staring in surprise. Leaning back in the embrace of two massive roots, back resting against the rough trunk he was perfectly still, his skin ashen and his hair hanging in limp, tangled wisps around his face.
She remained standing where she was, the sight of him so unexpected she had to take a moment to collect her thoughts. He didn't move, made no sound. He must be asleep or unconscious - or dead. She frowned, suddenly indecisive and uncertain. She had come to this place to find peace, maybe answers. Instead she was greeted by old problems. Somewhat reluctantly she slowly approached him. As she reached his side she could quickly establish two things. He was still alive - but it was just barely. His breathing was shallow and an unnaturally bright red smudge burned on each ashen cheek.
She closed her eyes and bowed her head with a bitter, self-ironical smile. All the time she had spent being hurt and jealous had been in vain. He wasn't on his way towards a carefree future, but had fled his frustration and despair only to wind up dying beneath the Holy Tree again, just as unable to escape the pull of destiny as herself, his chains no easier to break.
And once again she had been brought to his side, to make a choice. One death and one life she had dealt him before; remained to see what choice she would make this time. Looking down at his defenseless shape she knew her choice had already been made. She sighed and knelt beside him, slipping off one her gloves. Stroking some hair out of his face she rested the back of her hand against his damp forehead; his skin burned like fire. A really nasty fever. Then again, what to expect if you stay out in the cold rain for several days? She looked down again only to realize he had opened his eyes and was staring up at her.
The sudden presence of another living creature nearby pulled him from the heavy, throbbing darkness of unconsciousness and he forced his eyes open. She was there, with golden light falling around her, a blue-haired lorelei having ascended out of the mists themselves. Her hand was resting on his forehead, and his first instinctive thought was to move away, escape the hateful physical touch. However, the feeling of her cool fingers against his burning skin was not entirely unpleasant, and so he settled for studying her warily, ready to bolt at any time.
She looked down and their gazes met. Her face was impassive, her eyes clinical and detached. He had not forgotten the last words she had uttered when he had last seen her, but he was too weak to care. She didn't seem too intent on killing him; then again, all things considered, she could probably just sit back and wait, saving herself the trouble.
There were things he wanted to tell her, but the words wouldn't come, the dizziness threatening to drag him down into darkness again.
"Sylphiel..." he managed to get out, a dry whisper, acknowledging her presence. She pulled back and looked down on him with a slight disapproving frown.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice as flat as her look. He managed a weary half-shrug, looking away.
"There was nowhere else to go."
She studied him in silence for a while, her fingers picking at the purple glove she still held in her hand.
"Staying out in the cold rain for several days is not a very clever thing to do, you know," she commented. He simply nodded, hardly able to disagree on the truth of that statement. Besides he didn't really having the strength to argue with her even had he felt differently. She leaned her chin in her hand and gave him a thoughtful look.
"You're very sick," she pointed out. He grinned wearily.
"So I've been told."
She snorted and made a grimace.
"That's not what I meant, and you know it."
He nodded and his smile faded somewhat and turned sardonic.
"I know."
She put her glove back on and stood, looking down at him. Then she sighed and gestured at the Tree.
"I only came to check on Flagoon. Finding you here was certainly an unexpected surprise. However, I probably should start walking now if I want to get back home before nightfall."
As she turned to leave again he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the hurt inside. Concern would probably have been too much to ask for anyway. At least she hadn't actually decided to kil -
"Although, I must admit, that doesn't look too comfortable. Are you really certain you wouldn't rather give my couch another chance..?"
His eyes snapped open again and he stared at her in bafflement.
"What?"
She shrugged.
"Your call of course."
He blinked up at her as the meaning of her words sank in.
"You would... You'd let me come back..?"
She saw desperate hope blazing in his feverish eyes and knew she could crush him utterly and completely with a simple 'no'. She nodded, her expression firm.
"One last chance. Third time lucky, as they say."
Overwhelmed, shamed by her unfathomable generosity and compassion he turned away, not able to look at her, meet those green, glittering eyes.
"I..." he began, then trailed off. He wasn't good at these things - yet there were words that had to be spoken. He took a deep breath. Mustering strength he turned to look at her again, forcing himself not to avert his eyes this time.
"I'm sorry for what I said before. You were right; it was uncalled for. I shouldn't have said what I did, and Ceipheed knows I didn't mean it. I am... Sorry..."
Not a shallow, obedient 'I apologize', but a sincere 'I am sorry'. It was difficult to voluntarily admit a mistake, yet he somehow felt better once he had blurted the exotic words out. She bit her lip, looking away.
"Yes, it was uncalled for. What you said hurt me, a lot. I was caught completely unprepared."
She looked back at him and then for the first time her face softened; looked upon him, him with understanding, forgiveness - even warmth...?
"But I think I can understand why. I lived my own life like that for a long time, always adjusting to others' opinions, trying to live up to their expectations. I know how difficult it is. And I found the book. You had good reason to be upset. I just wish I had known about it all - maybe then I hadn't been so quick to anger myself."
He could only stare at her in astonishment. With just a few words she had erased the old hatred between them, offered peace anew. No punishment, no retribution; only unconditional forgiveness.
Whenever he thought he had her figured out she went ahead and did something like this, moving in perfectly mysterious ways, on a level so high above his he couldn't even begin to comprehend her thoughts or reasoning. He fought down feverish light-headedness and frowned in confusion.
"But why? Why do you do this? Why would you let me come back?"
Usually he would never have dreamed of risking the loss of a gift by examining the reasons behind it closer, but he was tired, sick and confused, and he knew that if he didn't ask now he might never learn.
She smiled a little, almost self-consciously.
"Well, to be honest..? Loneliness is no knockout. I guess I simply missed the company."
Which only served to add to his confusion.
"Me..?" he asked incredulously, giving her a skeptic look.
She just shrugged, still smiling.
"Well, until something better comes along, ne?"
Once again she turned to leave, looking back over her shoulder.
"You coming?"
He was really beginning to detest that particular road, he decided as they finally approached the oak trees sheltering her little cottage. Fever made him high, his mind soaring, altogether jumbled and dizzy, leaving his aching body to lurch along best it could. As they were finally able to leave the clinging, thick fog behind and enter that warm house he felt relieved. Home, or the closest thing he'd ever come to have one awaited, the cold, dank nightmare finally over. Sylphiel led the way into the living room, lighting a fire in the large fireplace. He didn't fail to notice every trace of his presence had been wiped away, and although he knew he had no real right claiming the room as his he felt suddenly unwanted, unwelcome. Also realizing the change Sylphiel quickly turned to him.
"I'll go get your things..."
He nodded, his previously soaring mind making a nose dive to crash and burn in the ruins of his foolishly confident expectations. It would be a long time till things had gone back to the way they used to be again, if ever. Dizziness threatening to overwhelm him, he sank down into the familiar couch with a tired sigh. He rubbed his aching temples, then held out his cold hands to warm them by the fire. He heard the stairs creak as Sylphiel returned, carrying an armful of blankets, pillows and clothes.
At least she had only moved his things well out of the way, he thought. She hadn't burned them or anything. Probably a good sign.
She dumped her burden on the couch beside him.
"There. You should probably try and get some dry clothes on. I'll make tea."
He nodded numbly as she left for the kitchen. Sheer willpower, and the strength Flagoon's golden rain of holy light had lent him had managed to carry him all the long way back from Sairaag, but now he was completely spent. No longer able to keep the nausea and dizziness away he sat still for a moment, resting his head in his hands.
At least the worst part is over, he thought vertiginously while he fumbled with the dragon-clasp of his damp cloak. I'll happily die in this bed as long as I don't have to walk another yard.
Finally getting out of the damp clothes and into soft, warm ones felt like sheer luxury to his abused body. He wrapped his blanket around himself, curling up like a cat by the fire to chase the muggy chill out of his bones. After a few minutes Sylphiel returned from the kitchen, pausing by the fireplace to put a few more logs on the crackling fire.
"The tea will be done soon," she commented while she stirred the flames with a poker. He nodded as she turned away from the fire and sat down in the other end of the couch, studying him thoughtfully while she played with a few loose strands of blue hair. Somewhat disturbed by the attention he shifted restlessly under her gaze, then closed his eyes and ignored her. He was too sick, too tired to really care.
"I removed that book," she remarked into the silence, then went back to playing with her hair. He glanced at her through the corner of his eye.
"You didn't have to."
She shrugged with a slight disapproving frown.
"I didn't like it. I don't want to keep such a book in my collection. It was most likely a gift to my father from the Dark Sorcerers' Guild outside town, nothing for me to actually read."
"He was a sorcerer..?" he asked, then bit his tongue. He shouldn't ask her questions about her father, lest he risked angering her again. She shook her head, her face deliberately void of expression.
"He was the Town Mayor of Sairaag. I think he even met you once, when Eris demanded the wanted posters of Lina to be spread in Sairaag."
He looked away in silence, the topic too difficult and delicate to discuss in his current condition. Reaching the same decision she changed the subject.
"Anyway, the book is gone. Seemed to be mostly pretentious rubbish anyway."
His eyes hidden by his bangs she still caught the bitter twist of his mouth.
"It was most accurate, as far as I could tell."
"Nonsense," she firmly declared.
He looked up in wonder.
"And why is that?"
She riveted her eyes on him until he had to force himself not to squirm under her steady gaze.
"I think its theories were extremely outdated and lacking in insight. From what I have seen for myself I'd dare to say there are no real differences between clones and other people, except possibly a slight tendency to obsessive behavior in the formers' case. And words like 'emotionless' certainly doesn't tally with outbursts like the one I was confronted with a few days ago."
He actually blushed a bit at that, flecks of bright red burning on his pale cheeks, his expression abashed. Her voice quiet but clear she closed her statement.
"It would seem I'm not the only one who clings on to past pain here. Other than that I see no reason why I should treat you any differently from any other person."
He looked up, suddenly uncertain, the central focus of his life so abruptly questioned. Looking much like a frightened child his eyes pleaded for her last words to have been sincere.
"Really..?" he managed to whisper, really too unwell to discuss such essential matters, yet unable to pull away.
She looked him straight in the face, her expression firm and her eyes naked and truthful. He had to fight all previous instincts not to flinch; she was too close, in every way. Only sheer desperation to hear her answer kept him still, although he all but shivered.
"Yes. It's what we do, not what we happen to be that matters."
He turned away, squeezing his eyes shut, clenching his hands until his knuckles shone white and his fingernails drew blood. With a few simple words she had turned his world upside down, questioning a perspective that had been part of him from the very beginning, questioning his secret shame and instead demanding complete responsibility for all actions; all with a single sentence. It was far too much to handle, his fever making thought faltering and confused.
He felt a light touch on his arm and recoiled violently out of instinct, trying to regain control, detached distance. A long time of practice allowed him to slide his emotionless mask on, forcing feelings down to be dealt with later to face the situation at hand. She was studying him with something similar to concern in her eyes, almost breaking through his defenses again. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to concentrate, stay indifferent.
"I'll go get the tea," she decided, finally moving away to grant him some space.
He nodded, thankful for the respite. He drew the blanket tighter around his shoulders, wiping his brow. With a sulky sniffle he realized he must appear pretty undignified with his limp, straggling hair and runny nose. Whatever.
He had never been ill before, but had quickly reached the conclusion he wasn't thrilled with the experience. A perfectly pointless condition. Stupid.
She returned with two teacups, apple and cinnamon-scented steam swirling from the hot liquid. He accepted his cup from her hand and stirred the tea with the spoon to cool it somewhat. She retreated to her corner of the couch with her own teacup, knowing he probably craved sleep, but wanting to straighten things out, talk now that she had a chance of getting past his usual defensive indifference.
"Your convictions are very important to you," she reflected. He shrugged, not looking at her.
"It's all I've ever known."
She breathed at her tea to cool it, then took a sip.
"Does it really matter all that much? What you are?"
His lips curved into a bitter sneer but his eyes weren't smiling.
"Of course it matters. I don't even know what it is I am! An unflawed enough human being or a mere thing, animated and programmed with someone else's memories? Isn't there a difference? Would a real man live like that, as a pale shadow of someone else?"
He broke off and looked into his teacup, his eyes unnaturally bright with fever. Finally beginning to grasp the depth of his feelings she bit her lip, uncertain whether she dared push further. But she had to finish what she had begun, she couldn't just leave it all now and pretend it had never happened.
"I can't say I understand, because I don't. But if you have a human body, a human mind, then how could you be anything else? Your thoughts are your own, aren't they?"
He shook his head in frustration, unable to quite explain.
"All living things are born, Sylphiel. They are born, they live and they die. But not me. I was created. Created in the image of someone else, as a tool, a second-best replacement. Created, like an inanimate thing, a machine. I don't even know if I'm really alive, or if I merely exist."
She detected the anguish in his voice as he gave away more emotions than he had since she had first found him in Sairaag over a month ago. She knew it was the illness blunting his usual defenses, but if she couldn't get through now he would put his protecting mask back on, and then she could do nothing but wait for his next outburst as he could no longer stand the pressure of his pent-up emotions. The way he was now, strangely helpless, vulnerable and exposed, it was so much easier than before to try to understand him, feel sympathy.
"I can still not see why that should matter. Birth or creation - it's what you make of it that matters, isn't it?
He just shook his head with a tired frown.
"I wish it was that simple, but it isn't. Nothing is ever simple. It's not just the act of creation, but the reasons behind it. I was created to be a replacement, a plaything, even from the start. That was my purpose. Only a convenient tool. A shadow."
She sipped at her tea and studied him over the rim of her teacup. It was all more complex than she had imagined, so many threads of pain, anger and despair, all so tangled together it seemed impossible to unwind it all. However, she felt she was slowly beginning to understand the central problem. What lay behind everything seemed to be nothing more than a desperate wish to be seen, appreciated for what he really was, but at the same time being mortally afraid not to be determined good enough.
Like a red thread that ran through all his words, coming back again and again was the theme of creation, his mixed emotions before his creator. She tried to compare her faint memories of the smiling face of her mother to the hard face of the black-clad woman who had attempted to resurrect a Demon Beast to destroy the world as revenge for the death of her loved one, and failed.
"But what about Eris..?" she asked, trying to break through his shielding barriers to acquire the last key to solve the mystery.
"What about Eris?" he muttered and turned away to put down his empty teacup on the floor, unmistakably uneasy as she brought up the subject.
"Eris must have cared a lot about you, wouldn't she? As your creator..."
He laughed then, a short bark of utter bitterness and agony.
"Eris..? She never cared about me, but him. And her 'affection' is certainly something I would rather have lived without! The way she utilized me, forced me, crushed all resistance to wrench from me what Rezo would never would give her... She took everything from me! Even as she forced me through the act of love she would try to tear my very soul from me, trying to force me into becoming him..."
He turned away, his voice hoarse and his feverish eyes shimmering with barely restrained tears. She just sat stunned, unable to fathom the pain breaking free before her eyes, the violation of which he spoke. The tea slowly grew cold as she clenched the forgotten teacup in fidgety fingers, her chaste mind flinching away from the full width of his final confession.
"You mean... She would even force you to... to... sleep with her?"
Her voice was unsteady as she blurted the awkward words out. His eyes snapped open and he turned to stare at her in shock, as if her question had finally made him aware of how much he had really made known. He remained silent for a second, opening his mouth as if to speak, then changing his mind. Finally he shook his head and leaned forward to rest his head in is hands.
"I did not intended to tell you about that." he mumbled between his fingers.
"I shouldn't have. It has nothing to do with you."
She closed her eyes as compassion caused her pain of her own. No wonder he'd become such a wretched, furious creature, she thought to herself. She had finally been told the whole story, and it was dark beyond her imagination. All that anguish, pain and shame...
Automatically she reached out to touch his hand, reconcile the distance between them, lend strength. Like before he drew back, turning away.
"Don't..."
She jerked back as if burned.
"I'm sorry! I... didn't mean to..."
He shook his head, frowning in annoyance with himself.
"I know! I'm just... too tired, too sick to think straight right now. I'm..."
He gave up trying to find the right words and trailed off, general misery adding to his already feverish confusion.
She felt helpless, having started the avalanche but not being able to offer comfort afterwards. But then, perhaps, it was better that way. She couldn't force her compassion upon him. He should be allowed to make his decisions with a clear mind, unaffected by fever and fatigue.
He blinked and looked up as she picked up their empty teacups and stood.
"I'll just leave you alone now," she said, quiet understanding in her deep, green sympathetic eyes. He frowned tiredly, wishing he could think of something to say. His exhausted mind refused to come up with anything appropriate, so he just nodded, hoping she would somehow understand that as well.
She thoughtfully looked down at him, then hesitantly flashed him an uncertain, feeble smile.
"We sure make a fine pair of misfits, don't we..?"
He looked up in surprise, and she wondered if she had gone too far, too soon. Then his weary features relaxed into a resigned grin.
"Positively hopeless," he agreed. She smiled and turned to leave. Just as she was about to leave the room she heard his voice hesitantly call her name. She turned in the doorway to look back at him where he sat, the blanket still protectively wrapped around his shoulders, firelight glittering in the depths of his eyes.
"Thank you," he mumbled. She smiled again, bowing her head, then turned to walk up the stairs.
She had learned an important lesson this night, once again reminded things were not always as simple as they seemed. Perhaps now, together, they could both leave their haunting ghosts behind and bury the past once and for all. She smiled as she met Poohti sauntering down the stairs to welcome her friend back home, with the sense of timing only a cat possessed, knowing with Sylphiel gone she would enjoy full attention and limelight.
"You're shameless," she berated the furry animal as it passed her, not receiving any response at all. She entered her room and lit a candle before sitting down on her bed to brush the tangles out of her long hair.
He had returned. And she was not alone anymore.
The way it should be.
And there you have it. Odd situations make for odd development of plot. Things have taken yet another unexpected turn. And what may the future hold? Read Shinjitsu to find out...
Write me at Silvestris@hotmail.com and bug me to write more if you want to find out.
The quotes are from Oshiro-sama's Letters to a Red Priest (in other words, I made 'em up) and can't be used without my permission. If you ask nicely and give me credit you'll most likely get my permission, but anyways...
The Thank You's for this one is easy. Thanks a lot Shadra for beta reading it when no-one else had the time. ^__^
See peoples! Now you know who to go beat up for this thing being published after all! It's all her fault!