Chaos 3 & 4

[maderr]

And a picture!



Three

He woke quietly, stifling a groan with an effort, feeling every ache and pain of pushing himself hard the past several weeks. A Great Sentinel, that was why he’d been pushing himself. The one that moved around. He’d finally gotten its pattern down and gone after it.

Had he killed it?

The bastard had driven him to magic, he remembered that much. That was why…

Ah, now he remembered. He’d collapsed. Again. Wincing, he slowly sat up and opened his eyes.

He was in some sort of…he’d hazard to say a temple or sanctuary. It had the look of it. Austere, beautiful, immune to the ravages of time. Only the small fire he lay beside was anomalous, and from the look of it this place was used more as a campsite than a holy place.

A soft, surprised gasp brought his attention around, and he looked at the Schatten staring at him with wide eyes – pale lavender, surrounded by a thick fall of wavy, blue-black hair. Young – if the boy was more than twenty summers he would eat his whip. Probably not more than seventeen or eighteen.

The boy’s cheeks were flushed, and he almost laughed at the way those pale eyes dipped to look at him before skittering away. Obviously they’d stripped him out of his wet clothes; it was the sensible thing to do. He could feel the cool air against his skin as the furs he was covered with slid down when he sat up. He wasn’t exactly pale, but next to the dark copper skin of the Schatten, he probably looked it.

Suppressing a chuckle at the boy’s discomfiture over his nakedness now that he was awake, he tugged the furs more securely around his lap to spare the boy further embarrassment – and it was a bit chilly in the room despite the fire and the way the stonework trapped heat – and finally spoke. "Thank you for helping me."

The boy finally looked at him again. "I was starting to worry you wouldn’t wake. You were near frozen straight through and we had a hard time with your clothes…" His cheeks heated again. "Uh—my name is Stefan. I’m from Oak Hill, about four days’ journey from here." He motioned vaguely behind him, obviously in the direction of his home. "You’re not from Schatten."

"No. My name is Sasha. I’m…visiting, I guess you could say." More or less. Sasha repressed a snort. He glanced down at his hands, at the ring shining on his left middle finger. It was, at first glance, a plain silver band – but a second look and suddenly it seemed to sparkle like a diamond. A third glance and it seemed iridescent, like a rainbow had been turned into metal. Beautiful…powerful. He’d never wanted this kind of power.

So you want me to storm the gates of Schatten like some idiot from a child’s tale.

We would like you to free Schatten, yes. More to the point, you are the only one who can right now.

You’re saying I have little choice.

No. You, more than anyone in this world, have a choice. I’ve made our request. If you say no, that is your choice and right. We will wait for another to appear. However, you did say—

I know what I said. Give me the ring.

"Is the Great Sentinel dead?" he asked. "I’m fairly certain I killed it…"

"You burned it!" the boy – Stefan said, leaning forward eagerly, lavender eyes flaring. "I’ve never seen anything like that. How did you do it? Was that magic? No one has magic in Schatten. Where did you come from? Does everyone there have hair like—" he cut himself off abruptly, dark skin taking on a deep red tone.

Sasha chuckled. Had he been so at that age? So easily embarrassed by the sight of a bare chest? So quick to ask questions? No, he thought with a twinge of sadness. By eighteen he had ceased to care about anything but doing his duty. He shoved away the thoughts of why that was so as they tried to rise. No more dwelling, not when he had better things to do. "I do not suppose my clothes have survived?"

"They’re over there—" Stefan said, pointing, not quite looking at him.

Following the direction he indicated, Sasha felt some of his tension ease. Everything was there – his sword, his whip, all of his clothes, even his pack it seemed, had made it. Another concern struck him. "Did you find my horse?"

"Yes," Sasha answered, eagerness returning to his voice. "She’s a fine mare. I think she was worried about you, but after we got you settled and warm, tended your injuries, she seemed to calm a great deal. Um…I hope you don’t mind but Killian took her into Deer Run, to get the shade tonic we needed and stuff for you…though you seem just fine now…the first day your chest was a mess of bruises. That’s why we were worried. Now, though…"

Sasha grimaced. "I guess I heal fast." He guessed. Sasha almost snorted.

A ring made of pure chaos, to enhance and strengthen a person of chaos. In addition, it carries the blessing of four of the five countries – strength to your magic, to your health, to your spirit. You will not fall easily.

"Where are we?" he asked, changing the subject.

"About a day’s walk from Deer Run, four days from Swallowtail, which is at the foot of the Haunted Mountains. Which reminds me…thank you for saving us from that adult Sent a few days ago. We were stupid and careless…without you…"

Sasha blinked. "Ah. I had not realized that was you. I thought a couple of kids had wandered off too far while playing or foraging."

Stefan flushed again. "We’re headed toward Deer Run in hopes of obtaining more shade tonic."

"Shade tonic?" Sasha asked.

"Yes…" Stefan frowned. "It’s the antidote to newborn Sent venom. If administered quick enough it can even help against baby and child bites. Surely you know that?"

"I’ve never been bitten. Usually my only problem is claws, teeth, and tails."

Those lavender eyes flared again. "How did you do that? No one – it’s impossible. Their scales are impossibly hard. Cutting through them – I’ve never known anyone to do it."

Sasha snorted softly. "I’m guessing not many of you have ever bothered to really try."

"That’s not true! Plenty of men have tried," Stefan said, awe turning to anger. "They all died, and their swords were always chipped, if not broken. Adult Sent scales are harder than steel or stone. Everyone knows that."

"Part of the trick is cutting against the scales – they overlap, forming a tight seal, but there is a way to get through them. It just takes strong, sharp steel and cutting against the – back to forward. That’s the main part of it. My sword, though, was a gift. It’s specially made."

Stefan frowned. "Specially made? To kill Sents?"

"To kill vicious, nasty creatures that object strenuously to being killed." Sasha looked toward his clothes, folded neatly and set aside against one wall. His boots were next to them. He stretched, slowly testing all his bones and muscles – other than some lingering soreness and a slightly aching head he seemed to have fully recovered. Time to get back to work.

Throwing off the furs, he strode across the wide room to his clothes – barely smothering a laugh at the quickly muffled gasp from Stefan. Honestly, had the boy never seen another naked man before?

Probably not one with Sasha’s skin – or hair, the boy had been quite clear about his feelings on Sasha’s hair – but still. He tugged on his underclothes and breeches, fastening the buttons and making sure the breeches were snugly in place before he retrieved his shirts. A thick undershirt went on first, padded heavily in the chest to help keep him warm, the shirt itself layered wool and silk, both of which were good at trapping heat. Over that went a heavy linen shirt, dyed black – all of his clothing was black. All things considered, it had seemed fitting.

Dressed, he grabbed his stockings, boots, and the rest of his gear and moved back to the fire. Sitting down, he pulled the stockings on, drawing them up his calves and fastening them to the ends of his breeches. Like everything else, they were made to block out as much of the cold as possible. That done, he stood back and began the laborious process of putting on his boots, slowly pulling them on and doing up the laces, making certain he had enough flexibility in the knee.

Task accomplished, he finally sat back down with his legs stretched out and turned back to his rescuer – who was once more red in the face. It was amusing and sort of refreshing – certainly he’d had nothing to blush about by the time he was eighteen. Obviously this boy had not done the things boys usually did at his age.

Idly Sasha wondered if perhaps it was because the boy obviously was so affected by men. Certainly a boy with an interest in women would not have cared about seeing another man naked. In small villages especially, nudity was not an unusual thing. He’d seen enough of the villages to know Schatten was much like his home, with public bathhouses separated only by gender.

Well, it was wholly irrelevant as a train of thought. He smothered a chuckle – perhaps in partial recompense for saving him, he was giving the boy something new to think about at night.

Maybe that Sent had hit him harder than he realized, if he was letting his thoughts wander to such idiotic corners. Shaking his head, Sasha pulled his gear close and began to go over it.

First was his whip – he’d had it for years. They’d fascinated him since childhood; the one year he’d spent his summer at the family estate rather than in the city, watching the herdsmen keep the cattle in line, even the stubborn, territorial bulls. Learning and mastering the use of a whip had been one of the only times he’d defied his parents. It would need some light repair and cleaning, but all things considered it had come through the fight well.

"What…what is that?" Stefan asked, breaking the silence. "Killian’s right – it’s sort of like the crops the herders use."

Sasha nodded. "Intended for a similar use, but it also makes an excellent weapon." Especially when it carried the blessing of a god; he could feel the power of it thrumming through the leather, against his palm.

He coiled the whip with motions as natural as breathing and set it aside, then picked up his sword and drew it from the scabbard.

The metal shone in the light of the fire, flashing for a moment as though struck by a brilliant light. Forged by artisans long dead, tended and used by creatures that lived for thousands of years, made to kill beasts that dwelt in places only one race could reach. The scabbard itself was simply black leather – the one the sword had come with he had rejected in disgust. Impractical for his purposes. Instead he’d made this one, simple and functional, specially treated to survive in cold weather.

Sheathing the sword, he gave the belt a once over then set that too aside. "My horse is all right?" he asked as he went through his pack to make certain his food stuffs, bandages, and other supplies had survived his collapse.

"Yes, she’s perfectly fine. I’m sorry we borrowed her without permission, but taking care of you…"

Sasha waved the words away. "I’m not concerned. I appreciate your help. Most people, when they see me…" Looked terrified. This was the first time someone had spoken to him without stuttering in fear or looking as though they’d bolt any second. Obtaining food and supplies was ever a chore.

"You’re so different," Stefan said, blurting the words out – immediately flushing again as he dropped his head in embarrassment.

Honestly, if he were inclined to use the word cute… "I’m sure I am," Sasha replied calmly. "I’ve seen precious few other redheads about."

"How can your hair be red?" Stefan asked, clearly still embarrassed but just as clearly unable to resist asking. His hand twitched, as though he had started to lift it and reach across the fire.

Sasha chuckled. "The same way yours can be black, I’d imagine. Where I come from, it’s not so strange a color. More strange to me are your eyes – such a color I have never seen before."

"My eyes are boring," Stefan said matter-of-factly. "Everyone has eyes like mine. Yours though – they’re like gold."

The ghost of a smile flitted across Sasha’s face. "I assure you they’re equally boring."

"So where do you come from? Why are you here?"

Sasha shrugged. "I have nowhere else to be."

"Oh…" Stefan frowned, but obviously took the hint that such questions weren’t welcome. "Umm…are you hungry? We’ve been here long enough I had time to make a stew. It’s not much, really…"

For the first time Sasha realized just how hungry he was, and he nodded. "Any food, especially of the hot and filling sort, would be most welcome."

Stefan smiled, genuine and bright, and Sasha blinked before tearing his eyes away to focus on his supplies again. He was far too old to be drawn to the smile of a boy barely old enough for such things – if he was even old enough. Thinking of his own youth, all his visits to illicit places, his behavior…no, eighteen or so was definitely too young.

Bitterness and sadness tried again to surge up in him, but Sasha ruthlessly fought it back. He’d lived too long with it; he wouldn’t wallow now when he was trying so hard to finally let it all go.

A small clay bowl was pressed into his hands, and the scent of simple broth, bits of what smelled like venison. Stefan handed over a section of the flat bread that was common to travelers and Sasha dug in gratefully. He hadn’t had food like this in a long time. The fine meals he’d once eaten every day were nothing but a fond and distant memory.

He leaned over the bowl as he chewed on the hard bread, and barely pulled it away before the ends of his overlong hair fell into the broth as it spilled over his shoulder. Stupid hair. He needed to cut it, but couldn’t bring himself to simply hack it off. A shave would also make him quite happy; he’d never been fond of facial hair even if right now it helped with the cold a bit.

The first decent town he managed to rent a room in, he was cleaning himself up. It wouldn’t last long, but for the few days it did last he would be much happier. Sasha dipped a piece of bread in the broth and then popped it in his mouth. He glanced up to say thanks – and barely kept from laughing at the way Stefan hastily ducked his own head.

Of all the people to rescue him, Sasha would be rescued by a boy who obviously had a slight case of lust-touched hero-worship. When was the last time anyone had looked at him with either? Lust? Not for longer than Sasha liked to think about. Hero-worship? The sheer absurdity made him want to laugh and laugh.

"This is good," Sasha finally said, burying his mirth so the boy wasn’t embarrassed further. "Thank you again."

"You’re the one who killed an adult Sent and a Great Sent," Stefan replied, looking up, eyes bright as he recalled the fights. "We definitely owe you more than poor camp food. That was the Wanderer, wasn’t it? He’s like hundreds of years old, or so the elders say. All of the Great Sents are. How did you do it? I just don’t see…it’s like something from a story…"

In actuality, the Wanderer made exactly four Great Sentinels dead. Nine to go. Sasha feared Stefan would pass out if he mentioned that, though.

"They were talking about you in the village," Stefan continued, bowl forgotten in his hands. "They said you killed two other adult Sents near Swallowtail and that in Black Hill you showed up drenched in blood asking for supplies. That you had, um, fiery hair."

Sasha chuckled. "Hardly fiery. You’re welcome to touch it and see – I assure you it is quite ordinary and boring." He threw his head back and laughed, unable to help it with the wide eyed look Stefan gave him at the offer.

He could not remember laughing so in more years than he could bear to think about. Laughter wasn’t something that factored into his world. He had not thought it would have entered his world here.

"Sorry," Stefan mumbled. "I must sound stupid."

Oh, he hadn’t meant to do that. Idiot. "Hardly. No doubt in my homeland people would be vying for a look at your eyes. That is why I laugh – to me it is quite boring, and often a great nuisance. You are certainly welcome to touch it, though I fear you will be disappointed."

Stefan wrestled with his curiosity for maybe half a minute, then set his bowl down with a clink on the stone floor and circled around the fire, cheeks hot but eyes bright with wonder as he reached out with shy but eager fingers to touch and then run his fingers through Sasha’s hair.

"It looks as though it should be hot," he said softly in wonder, "but it’s not."

Up close, Stefan smelled of sweat and snow, sort of earthy, and Sasha was startled at how forcefully the mingled scents struck him – like a punch to the gut. Ridiculous. Obviously he’d endured his own company for far too long, if he was being stirred by a mere boy. He was more than twice Stefan’s age; he should not be struck by this hard and sudden lust.

Taking a deep, slow breath, he forced himself to turn to thoughts of his looming fights and ignore the fingers that ran so soft and gentle through his too-long hair. It didn’t work as well as he would have liked, but it did keep him from embarrassing himself.

Definitely too much time alone in this gods-forsaken country.

Stefan finally withdrew his fingers. "Sorry. It’s just…so different."

"I would not have made the offer if it bothered me; there is no reason to apologize. It would surprise me more if you took my hair in stride – I’m well aware I look every bit the stranger I am in this country."

"Where…" Stefan shook his head, wavy hair brushing against his cheeks, making him look younger – doing much to emphasize just how wrong the direction of Sasha’s thoughts had been. "What will you do next? What are you doing?"

"Killing Sents," Sasha replied.

"Why?"

Sasha knew he didn’t really want to know the answer to that, even if Stefan thought he did. "Isn’t that reason enough? Would you prefer I leave them alive?"

"I guess not," Stefan said. He frowned. "The Will of Teufel is that the Sentinels guard the Land of Shadows, protecting it from all threats – both those from without and those within."

"Well, the great and mighty Teufel is welcome to send all the Sentinels he wants after this threat." He’d prefer Teufel just come himself; that would save him months of hassle tracking down and killing all the Great Sents – and then figuring out how to get beyond the wall. Scaling it didn’t work; old magic prevented such measures as that. Even the myriad blessings Sasha carried couldn’t fight the ancient spells laid upon the Great Wall.

Stefan drew a sharp breath at his words, staring wide-eyed at him. "You—how can you say such reckless things?"

"I’m quite good at saying things that get me in trouble," Sasha said. He finished drinking his broth and handed the bowl back. "Thank you again for the food – and for rescuing me. Once your friend returns with my horse, I shall le—be out of your way." His tongue almost slipped, on the last there. So hard not to use his native phrases, which would only confuse the people here and he was already confusing enough.

Thankfully this was the first real, extended time he’d spent with any Schatten. Obtaining fresh supplies from people who were terrified of him required very few words. "You said Deer Run was only a day away on foot?" Sasha asked. "In what direction is it? Where is the Great Wall from here? If you do not mind telling me…the one map I have is woefully inadequate, and by now I have lost my bearings."

Stefan settled down beside him, rather than return to his side of the fire. "We’re only about a quarter mile from where you fought the Great Sent, actually. Deer Run is northeast, that way," he pointed toward a corner of the room, then motioned in the opposite direction. "My home, Oak Hill, is southwest. At the foot of the Haunted Mountains. The Great Wall…that’s a bit of a journey. From here, about ten days on foot. I guess with a horse that’d be a lot less…why would you want to go there?"

"You seem to know the area well."

"My parents were scouts," Stefan said. "It was their job to track Sents, see where they nested, so we knew where to avoid making journeys to places like Deer Run and all. An adult Sent killed them when I was about five or six…they left behind a lot of maps, and I keep hoping to be a scout myself someday, though the Chief says I’d make a better farmer."

Sasha looked at him speculatively, then reached into his bag and pulled out a worn, much abused map – one of the only remaining maps of Schatten in the world. He spread it out on the floor and started to ask Stefan to point a few things out to him – when the boy burst into laughter.

Stefan clapped a hand over his mouth, which didn’t do much really to stifle his almost boyish laughter. "I apologize. It’s just – this map is horribly out of date, at least in the areas I know."

"I have learned that the hard way, trust me," Sasha said tolerantly. "I am hoping you might be able to make at least a few corrections for me. No one else has spoken to me long enough to hear the request."

Eagerly Stefan nodded. "I could make a few changes – oh! But you should come speak with Hartmann! He used to be a peddler, back before he broke his leg and it became too hard to travel the long distances. He knows all of Schatten like the back of his hand. If anyone could fix your map, it would be him."

Sasha hesitated as he pulled out his pencil case. It was tempting…his job would be much easier if he could trust what the map said, and too often he’d planned to go through a valley only to find it was like a lake, or to stop at a village only to find empty forest… "Would he be willing to help me?" he said finally.

"Yes! Definitely," Stefan said. "Just wait until I tell them you killed the Wanderer – by yourself! With just a sword and a—a whip. They’ll want to hear all about it, and of course everyone would be willing to help. Oak Hill is a wonderful village. They all took care of me when my parents died – and Killian, he’s an orphan who stumbled in one day. Not even he remembers what happened to his parents. Everyone immediately took him in though. Of course Hartmann and all the rest would help you."

He sincerely doubted that, but any chance at fixing his confounded map – and perhaps another solid meal or two, surely he’d get that much – was worth taking. He still had more of Schatten left to trek through than he liked, and nine more Great Sentinels. After that he apparently had a ‘Holy Sentinel’ and Teufel himself to kill.

If he cared about anything anymore, just thinking about all he had left to do would depress him. He didn’t though. Kill the Sentinels, defeat Teufel. If he worried about anything, it was that he’d die before accomplishing his mission.

Which reminded him – the ring couldn’t take care of everything. It helped, that was all.

Opening his bag again, Sasha immediately found and pulled out a small silver flask. Unlatching the top, he tilted it back and swallowed the acrid, burning medicine inside. A deep warmth blossomed in his chest, easing a tension he seldom noticed except when the medicine briefly relaxed it.

Getting that effect was harder and harder – only the ring kept the strain of combat and magic-use from outright killing him. Eventually, it would. There was no way around that. From the time he was thirteen, Sasha had known his heart was weak. From the time he was sixteen he fully understood it would eventually kill him years before his time.

Closing the flask, he returned it to his bag. Pointedly ignoring the curiosity on Stefan’s face, he rolled his map back up and stowed it. "If you do not think your fellows will mind my presence overmuch, I would very much like to speak with this Hartmann."

Stefan beamed at him, another of those smiles that made Sasha’s breath catch for a moment – and deeply annoyed him. Yes, definitely too much time alone if he was looking at a boy who could easily have been his son in a different life. Especially when he had more important things to do. Perhaps he should indulge in more than a nice room whenever he managed to get to a large town… Sasha snorted softly at himself. Here he was attempting to save the world and his mind was filled with the crassest of thoughts.

"When is your friend due back?"

"He only set off a couple of hours ago…we were horribly uncertain about taking your horse, but finally it just seemed more important to get the tonic, even if we risked angering you. He won’t be back before evening – and possibly not tomorrow, if he can’t get out of town well before dark." Stefan shrugged.

Sasha nodded. "So what is this, exactly?" He motioned to the building around them.

"One of the old Temples of Light…some of the older folk in town say it was once called the Temple of Sunrise." Stefan’s face took on that eager light Sasha already recognized as he talked about the temple. "It’s actually three stories high, but all the doors are completely sealed. I’ve always tried to get them open, on our journeys to Deer Run, but I’m always told to leave well enough alone." He looked wistfully at the nearest door. "The Will of Teufel keeps them closed, for we no longer have use for the Lost Licht."

The Will of Teufel. Sasha wanted to voice his opinion on that, but bit the urge back. It would do no good, and probably serve only to terrify away the closest he’d come to an ally in this sad, wretched place. He stood up and stretched, groaning as he worked the kinks out of his back and neck, then stood, considering a moment. At last he shrugged and gave into the strange impulse overtaking him, and stalked over to the door at which Stefan had been staring.

Magic thrummed gently – old, but faint and weak. The Seal upon the door had been placed with minimal effort. Pressing his hands flat upon it, Sasha murmured softly for the door to open.

On his left hand, the shining, shimmering ring flashed bright for a single moment. The magic thrumming beneath his hands vanished. Fumbling for a moment, Sasha at last determined how to open the door, gripping the deep grooves on one side and shoving it slowly, gritting his teeth, to the side. The door slid with groaning, grating complaint into the wall.

Behind him Stefan exclaimed in shock. "You—you—how—"

Sasha smirked as he stalked back to the fire. He lifted up his sword belt and wound it twice around his waist before buckling it, then settled the sword into place. At his right hip he hung his coiled whip. After a moment of hesitation, he decided to leave his flintlock where it was in his bag. He shouldn’t need it in a temple that had been Sealed to all and sundry for more than a thousand years.

"Shall we?" he asked. "Best put out the fire first."

Still wide-eyed with disbelief, Stefan quickly scrambled to obey, dousing the fire and then retrieving his own sword – which Sasha was relieved to see he seemed comfortable with. Then he waited eagerly, all but bouncing in place.

Lips twitching, Sasha motioned. "Let’s go take a look, shall we?" He didn’t know why he bothered – but who knew what you’d find in places like this. Turning sharply on his heel, making sure his sword was loose in its sheath and ready to be drawn, Sasha led the way through the open door and up the stairs beyond it.



Four

Stefan hoped his mouth wasn’t hanging open as he followed Sasha – and what sort of name was that? It sounded so different, full and smooth when he said it, from anything he’d ever heard.

His hair…Stefan had always thought Maja had soft, pretty hair. It was long, she always kept it braided, and at night he helped her brush it out and redo the braid. He loved doing it, the softest fabrics did not compare to Maja's hair…but it was nothing like Sasha’s. Stefan had never wanted to stop touching it, stroking it. How could anyone think Sasha’s hair was boring? Even if he had said it was common where he’d come from.

Oh, how Stefan wished he knew where Sasha came from. His accent was so different – like nothing he’d ever heard, even from the peddlers and their accents were always funny. No…Sasha had an almost…lilting sort of accent. He made words sound like songs, even when he was frowning.

He grimaced at himself. Even in his own head he sounded like a starry girl gushing over one of the hunters. Pathetic. He was just fascinated by the way Sasha had so easily killed a Great Sent – and who knew how many adults! On top of that, he made it sound as though it should be easy. Stefan still didn’t think it was. He knew too many people who had gone out one day and never returned – occasionally bones were found, but not often.

"How did you open it?" he finally asked, unable to keep silent even though he felt he should for some strange reason. "Was it mag—" he ran into Sasha’s side as he suddenly stopped at the top of the stairs.

Oh, what was that smell? Stefan felt a shiver run down his neck and spine that was nothing like the chills that ran through him when a Sent was close. This was…it made him feel hot and cold all at once. Sasha…they’d cleaned him up, but the bitter tang of Sent blood still clung to him. Beneath that though…he smelled like leather and smoke, a hint of something rich and spicy that Stefan couldn’t put a name to. It made another hot-cold shiver run down his spine, and he hastily stepped away, confused and flustered.

"Magic?" Sasha finished for him. "Yes. I’m surprised you know anything about magic."

Stefan shrugged. "It’s in the stories, a few of the old books the Chief still has though a lot of the words are worn away. They say the Great Wall was built with magic."

"It was," Sasha replied absently, finally moving forward again but with his sword drawn. "Watch your step. It doesn’t as look as though the temple has aged…but one never knows…" He walked forward and Stefan followed after, heart beating out of his chest – both from his earlier discomfiture and the sheer awe of actually being in the sealed off room of the temple. He’d never thought it would actually be possible, so many had tried to open the doors and it had taken Sasha only a moment and a few muttered words…

Ach, he was fawning again. What was his problem? He was too old to be fawning over anyone.

His thoughts broke off as he finally took in the room they were in. "Oohhh…what…what is all this?" He moved in a daze to the far wall, fingers reaching out, stopping just short of actually touching the beautiful painting. It took up the entire wall, top to bottom, end to end… "Who? What?"

Sasha came up beside him, footsteps soft even on the hard stone floor. He reached out and touched the nearest portion of the massive painting. "Do you know nothing of the gods in this country?"

"The gods slew Licht, who went mad from grief and anger. Furious at the betrayal, at losing Licht, Lord Teufel sealed Schatten from the world." Stefan licked his lips. "He created the Sentinels to punish and watch over the children of Licht, that they never again stray from the path and cause the grief which first drove Licht into madness."

"That…" Sasha shook his head. "The gods are idiots, every last one of them, but that is not quite how it happened."

Stefan frowned. "How would you know? Lord Teufel’s knowledge and Will are absolute. It was we children of Schatten who first caused Licht to be Lost."

"No," Sasha said softly. "That was entirely Licht’s fault."

"You can’t say that!" Stefan protested. "It—Lord Teufel forbids such things! It is to prevent such words that he created the Sentinels."

Sasha snorted contemptuously. "Yes, I’ve seen his Sentinels. They are being dealt with. If ‘Lord’ Teufel has a problem with me killing his monsters, he is welcome to come and speak with me about it. That would be easier than hunting him down."

He could only stare and sputter, the blasphemous words shaking him to his core. A chill overtook him and Stefan hugged himself. "No one says such things."

"Maybe someone should," Sasha replied, letting his hand slide away from the painting.

As anxious as the words made him, Stefan burned with curiosity. "Who—who are they?" he asked, voice low. Hesitantly he reached out to touch the image Sasha had.

Sasha reached out again, touching the image, fingers just barely brushing Stefan’s own. "This is Zhar Ptitka, the Sacred Firebird of Pozhar, Land of Fire."

The image depicted a bird with feathers made from fire, its beak opened in a cry that in Stefan’s imagination seemed loud and piercing. It was beautiful. He tore his eyes away to look at the rest of the wall, turning to look at the water that came next – forgetting that Sasha stood next to him and once again bumping into him. His nostrils flared as he took in the strange, spicy scent again, so rich it far surpassed the smell of dust and time that filled the strange room.

He backed hastily away, hating the confusion, the way his cheeks heated – the faintly amused look that flitted across Sasha’s face. "Who-who are they?"

Sasha followed the direction of his finger. "The Sacred Storm Bringers of Kundou, Land of Storms."

"They…they look like…like Sentinels but…different too."

"They’re dragons," Sasha said. "Not serpents. Somewhat similar in appearance, perhaps, but the Sacred Storm Bringers can travel to the depths of the sea and the heights of the sky. They control wind, water, lightning and thunder, snow and ice. No mere serpent, not even a Sentinel, could ever equal a dragon."

Stefan frowned and pointed to another image, this of a great coiled serpent with dark pools for eyes. It was the color of stone, and the scales seemed almost to shine.

"Again, greater than a mere serpent…that is the Basilisk of Piedre, Land of Stone. The god who was charged with overseeing death; his great eyes can kill with a single glance."

"That…why would anyone want to control death?"

Sasha lifted one brow. "Life, even for gods, is not about wanting. They made this world; they must care for it – life, death, creation, destruction…chaos and order."

Stefan nodded, not really understanding and sort of scared to though he’d never admit it – it sounded too much like more blasphemy, even while he burned to know more. "Who are they?" he asked to distract himself.

The last image was of a beautiful woman with wings that looked as though they were made from a rainbow. On her left stood a beautiful silvery horse with feathered wings. On her right stood a pure-white horse with a mane of gold, and a horn that shone like a beam of sunlight peeking through the clouds.

"Those are the gods of Verde, the Highlands – the Faerie Queen and Guardians…" Sasha’s voice softened as he spoke, something like pensive sadness flitting across it as he moved to gently touch the cheek of the one he’d called the Faerie Queen. On his hand, the strange, beautiful ring he wore flashed in the dim light. "They are gods of life."

"Who’s the last one?" he asked, pointing to one who seemed not to fit at all – instead of a great, strange beast it was simply a man with light brown hair and brilliant gold eyes. Just looking at him made Stefan feel happy and sad all at once. It was like looking at the things that had belonged to his parents and feeling an ache.

Sasha looked at him as though he were mad. "Surely of all the gods, you would recognize this one? This is Licht, the God of Light, father of Schatten."

"Lost Licht?" Stefan asked on a whisper, drawing close to the image and hesitantly laying his hand upon it, heart beating so fast he feared it would come right through his chest. "This is Lost Licht?" He curled his other hand against his chest, willing his heart to slow.

"Yes," Sasha said just as quietly.

"He doesn’t look mad."

"He wasn’t always." Sasha turned away to explore the rest of the room, and after a few minutes Stefan followed him, though it was hard to tear his eyes away from the image of the handsome, somber Licht.

Though the view before him now was equally intriguing, if not more so. As beautiful as Licht’s light hair was…Stefan still liked Sasha’s more. Sasha was…so different he couldn’t put a name to all of the things he felt.

He was tall, at least a few inches taller Stefan. That red hair, the softness of it his fingers would never forget. Yellow-orange eyes like some flicker of fire. Most unique of all the man was so skinny. When they’d undressed him, Stefan had been astonished to see how clearly some of Sasha’s bones were defined – at his wrists, his elbows, ankles, even his hips. His face burned as he remembered how closely he’d examined Sasha, completely fascinated by the pale, slender body. As slender as it was though, Sasha was clearly strong – no weakling could kill a Great Sentinel. The biggest men in the village were scared of Sentinels…who was Sasha, that he seemed afraid of nothing?

So fierce looking, with his sharp face, those blazing eyes that made Stefan want to freeze in his tracks.

There he went being stupid again. He really was a kid, to be so childishly fascinated by something new and different. The men in the village wouldn’t act this way – they’d be completely calm and unruffled. Sternly Stefan told himself to be the same, that he was representing Oak Hill.

"What is the rest of this?"

"Hmm?" Sasha asked as he looked up from a small table made of the same gold-flecked stone as the one downstairs. "This is a meditation chamber, I would hazard to say. Places for candles and incense, representations of the gods to ponder…people probably came here to see the sunrise, to meditate on the wisdom Licht bestowed, to ask his advice and help." He gave one his faint smiles, something that Stefan thought was probably rare. "Things of that nature. There are rooms like these back home."

Stefan bit back the urge to ask where that was, knowing it was futile. Instead, he turned back to the painting and tried to guess. The…Firebird? With his red hair…perhaps that was too obvious. Was one of those lands home to great warriors? Why was he here? Had he been telling the truth when he’d said it was just to kill Sentinels? Who would come all this way to do something so dangerous?

It wouldn’t do any good – eventually Lord Teufel would just make more. His Will was that the Sentinels forever watch over Schatten and its people.

What if…

He cut the thought off before it could go anywhere, going cold at the direction his own thoughts had tried to take. What if Lord Teufel heard them? What if…Stefan shook his head, desperate to clear it. He was a faithful child of Schatten, he was.

A clatter and shout from below broke into his thoughts, and with relief Stefan bolted for the door and clambered down the stairs, crashing into Killian as he appeared in the open door way. "You’re back!" he exclaimed. "I didn’t think you’d be back for hours."

Killian glared. "What are you doing? Why are you up here? How did you get it open?"

Stefan frowned. "What’s wrong, Killian? We’re just exploring. Did you get the shade tonic?"

"Yeah, I got it. What do you mean ‘we’? He was a mess of bruises, never mind those nasty scars on his back…those wounds must still be healing, the scars don’t look that old."

Laughing, Stefan shoved Killian out of the way and back into the main room. "Who are you? The village healer? He’s fine, Sasha’s fine. He used magic, Killian. Magic! Like in all the stories! Just whispered and the door opened, it was almost as incredible as watching him kill the Sentinels and—"

A soft chuckle broke in, and Stefan abruptly cut off, feeling his face burn.

Killian sniggered quietly and pointed at him, making fun of Stefan’s red face. Then he stepped aside and looked up – and up – at Sasha. "You’re feeling better?"

Sasha quirked one brow at him. "Much. Thank you for your assistance. Your name is…Killian, yes?"

"That’s me. I didn’t recognize what he called you, but I guess it’s obvious you’re not from Schatten."

"No, I’m not. Where I come from kids are taught manners. My name is Sasha."

Killian glared. "I’m not a kid and pardon me if I’m suspicious about a man who shouldn’t be here. No one from outside comes to Schatten – not unless they want to be eaten by Sentinels."

"They keep trying," Sasha said. "So far, I’ve been winning."

"Yes, that’s why we had to completely upset our entire journey to help you."

"Killian!" Stefan snapped, snatching his friend by the scruff of his shirt and shaking him. "What is wrong with you? What would Maja do if she saw you acting this way?"

"At least I’m not acting starry," Killian retorted.

"I am not acting starry," Stefan hissed furiously, shaking him hard before finally letting him go. "Stop acting like a Sent and learn some manners. You borrowed his horse after all."

Killian glared, but then with a grimace subsided.

"Finished?" Sasha asked coolly.

"Yes," Stefan muttered, unable to look at him now that Killian had shouted how ‘starry’ he was. He was not! Shoulders hunched, he stalked over the fire and began slowly to bring it back to life. "So you got the tonic? Run into any problems?"

"No," Killian muttered, obviously still in a foul mood – Stefan wondered what had caused it. "Plenty of it, enough for us and Swallowtail. So what did you do while I was gone, besides use magic and go through forbidden temples?"

Stefan glared at him and did not reply, poking furiously at the fire.

"It was magic, and if the temple is forbidden then Teufel should have sealed it off better," Sasha said as he sat down next to Stefan, setting his sword beside him.

"Lord Teufel created the Sentinels to tend to such matters."

"I see. I guess he was so busy doing that he failed to teach the children of Licht manners. You are rude without cause."

"I’m rude because you don’t belong and Stefan is acting all strange," Killian retorted, glaring furiously at Sasha. "What kind of name is Sasha anyway?"

Stefan slammed his hand down, wanting badly to reach over the fire that flared up and strangle his friend. "That’s enough, Killian! Stop acting like a petulant child! You’re fifteen – old enough to be taken to the Peak once the snow melts. Stop acting like you still belong in the nursery. I can take care of myself."

Killian pinched his lips together, obviously wanting to retort, but finally nodded stiffly and subsided.

How depressing. His best friend was mad at him and now Sasha probably thought he was a complete and utter child. It was all so unfair. Now what was he supposed to do? Caught chattering away like a girl, then his best friend called him starry right in front of Sasha, and now they were bickering like children. Stefan poked morosely at the fire and wondered if throwing himself into it would do any good. Too small, he had to concede. Better off throwing himself in the water outside the temple. Which he was about to do.

A soft laugh broke into the tense silence, and Stefan barely kept himself from visibly cringing. Now Sasha was laughing at them. "My name, more or less, means ‘defending men’. My mother was stern, but a romantic at heart. She planned to give all her children such noble names."

"Planned?" Stefan asked before he could stop himself.

Sasha nodded, and quietly added more small pieces of wood to the fire that Stefan had suddenly forgotten. "She grew ill, and it destroyed her ability to bear children."

"Oh…" Stefan said, hanging his head. "I am sorry. The elders say my tendency to ask questions is nearly always rude."

"If I had not been prepared to answer the questions, I would not have made the statement I did," Sasha replied quietly. He smiled faintly. "Curiosity is not necessarily a bad thing, and learning to ask questions tactfully only comes with age. There is no harm in the young being direct. That is what youth is for."

Stefan made a face. "I’m not a kid."

"You are still quite young," Sasha said with a chuckle.

"And you’re so old?" Stefan challenged "You don’t look it."

Sasha surprised him by throwing his head back and laughing. The sound of it was…Stefan had a hard time holding on to his thoughts. "Thank you," Sasha finally said, still chuckling. "That is most flattering. I assure you, however, that I am well on my way to old. I am forty three as of…oh, two months or so ago, I suppose. It is hard to keep track, and I never cared to anyway."

Forty three…that was…twenty five years older than he. Stefan hoped he wasn’t gawking. "You’re not that old."

Shaking his head in amusement, Sasha continued to stoke the fire Stefan was neglecting in favor of staring. "I assure you, I am that old."

Stefan flushed. "I didn’t mean you’re old, I just mean…" he gave up with a frustrated huff, feeling every bit the kid he tried so hard not to be. He was eighteen – old enough to hunt, to be trusted to make trips, to scout once he passed the tests come summer…why did he still feel like he was fifteen?

Thinking of fifteen reminded him of Killian, and he shot his friend another nasty glare.

Killian ignored him.

Fine. He could be that way. Stupid him for thinking he could be friends with a fifteen year old. Argh, what was wrong with him? Why was Killian in such a snit? If he wanted to be a total child, then fine. Let him. Stefan could make his life a whole lot worse. "Sasha is coming home with us."

"What!" Killian said, jerking in surprise. "He is not!"

"Yes, he is," Stefan said. "He has a map, but it’s completely outdated. I told him Hartmann would be able to fix it for him – and he did kill a Great Sentinel. He deserves more than just stupid broth and us bickering."

Killian snorted. "He’s going to bring the wrath of Lord Teufel upon us all."

"He is not," Stefan protested.

"What," Sasha interrupted, "is the wrath of Teufel?"

"Lord Teufel once sent a Great Sentinel to destroy an entire village because they blasphemed and attempted to fight his Will."

Sasha shrugged. "Then I will not visit your village. I am quite interested in defying this so called Will of Teufel, but I will not drag innocents into it. You are welcome to crawl back to your village and follow his heartless Will if you please."

"Teufel isn’t heartless," Killian hissed.

"That is your belief, and I have mine," Sasha replied implacably.

"Stefan!" Killian demanded him. "Tell him—he’s being blasphemous."

"What?" Stefan asked, starting, looking up from the fire. "Ah—he’s not from here, Killian…" Stefan faltered, the fury on his friend’s face making him unwilling to admit he sort of agreed with Sasha, as scary as it was to think that.

"Starry," Killian said in disgust. "I’m going to get the food I bought in Deer Run." Standing, he stomped off back outside.

Stefan flushed and dropped his head. "I’m sorry," he said, forcing the words out, utterly humiliated he had to. "Killian is usually so friendly…I don’t know what’s gotten into him."

Sasha chuckled. "Oh, I can think of one or two things that might have stung him. He’ll cool down, boys always do."

"Still…he shouldn’t have been rude to you."

"I am used to people being far ruder…including myself," Sasha replied, and something like bitterness flickered briefly across his face, gone so quickly Stefan half thought he’d imagined it.

Silence fell until Killian came stomping back inside carrying his pack, fat and full. "I brought new jerky, real biscuits, and some smoked sausages…I even cadged a few apples." He flicked an impatient glance at Sasha. "Enough for three."

"You’re too kind," Sasha said, as though oblivious to the simmering resentment. "I have offerings of my own, if you do not mind strong tea. There is still plenty of fruitcake, and maybe even some lemon drops…" He stood up and retrieved his bag from beside Killian, rifling through it a moment before coming up with a small sack, something wrapped in cloth, and a small metal tin. "There," he said, indicating the sack. "I do have some lemon drops left."

Stefan laughed, trying to stifle it, smothering the sound with his fingers, but it slipped out anyway – how could he resist? The fierce slayer of a Great Sentinel was smiling over candy and his best friend looked ready to kill. "It—" he bent over laughing. "It seems as though we’ve got quite the feast before us, then. I say we eat. Killian, hand over those sausages. You always burn them."

Grumbling, Killian obeyed, then pulled out the biscuits as Sasha unwrapped his fruitcake which looked and smelled absolutely wonderful. He accepted the chunk Sasha handed to him, humming in pleasure at the taste of the fruit, the soft texture of the cake…crunch of the nuts…and a warm burn. "What’s in this?"

"Brandy," Sasha answered. "Very warming when you have to sleep in the snow, I promise."

Several minutes later the sausages were finished and suitably cooled. Stefan divided them out and dug into his own with relish, licking the juice and grease from his fingers as he finished, wishing mournfully that there were more. He stole a look at Sasha, then looked hastily away, that hot-cold feeling coming over him again. Hastily he bit into his biscuit, and when that was gone he finished off his bit of fruitcake, making the warm, bright treat last as long as he was able.

He stared into the fire when he was done eating.

"Here," Sasha said, breaking into his thoughts, holding out the little sack.

Stefan blinked at him, then obediently held out his hand as Sasha tipped the sack – a small, pale round candy spilled into his hand. Stefan popped it into his mouth, and immediately smiled as the flavor of lemon and honey burst on his tongue. He beamed at Sasha. "Thank you."

"Certainly," Sasha said. "Now I suggest we bed down, so that we might rise early and be on our way that much sooner. You have tonic to get to this Maja of yours, and there are Sentinels to be killed."

"Just because you killed one Great Sentinel doesn’t mean you can kill the rest."

Sasha merely smirked, then stood and fetched his bedroll. He laid it out near where he’d been sitting. Hesitating a moment, Stefan fetched his own and laid it out near Sasha’s, ignoring the way Killian rolled his eyes and then turned his back. Making a face at him, Stefan then threw a few more sticks on the fire before wrapping up in his cloak. "Goodnight," he said softly.

Killian said nothing, and Sasha murmured a soft ‘good night’ before everything fell silent.

Though he tried to sleep, Stefan could not. He finally opened his eyes again and stared up at the ceiling, then turned on his side to stare at the man just over an arm’s length away.

Sasha was still, and in the light of the flickering flames his skin seemed paler than ever. His hair fell across one cheek, along his neck, just touching the floor. Against the flames, his hair really did look as though it were made from fire itself.

Watching him, somehow unable to tear his eyes away from the still, handsome face, Stefan eventually drifted off.


And the picture, drawn by tygati ^____^ Sasha!