Chaos 11 & 12
Jun. 11th, 2007 04:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrKitty either forgot to do the corrections, or send them to me. In revenge, I post unedited. I apologize to my readers. When I get home tonight, I will post the edited versions.
In other news, I just realized my new layout lacks the long list of tags I liked :( Ah, well. Guess this means I should update my memories >_>;;;;
So fsking tired =_= Losing two hours of sleep to pain and misery does a good Monday make. And we're going to be severely shorted handed at work the next three days >_o
Cause I am hopped up on pain meds that aren't working and would like to die plskthx, you peeps get to listen to a bit more rambling. Keep wanting to try something like lulu, but I know the shipping on that site is a bitch. Still, if I were to break from actual writing to touch up stuffs to put there, would anyone care? I was thinking to start with fairytales, dwtd...uh, there were two more >_> what were they?
Oh, well.
Enough torture. Chaos it is ^__^ I go to rip out my insides now.
Eleven
Sasha forced himself to move after several long minutes had passed, glaringly aware they were wasting time and needed to get moving. It wouldn’t be long before the priests tracked down the only redhead in all of Schatten to this tiny inn. He ran his fingers along Stefan’s spine and kissed him softly. "Come on, sweet. We need to get out of here. I don’t fancy getting caught, or causing a ruckus to avoid capture. My energy is better saved for Sents."
Cheeks flushed, probably at the casual display of affection in front of Fritz, Stefan slid from his lap and stood up, settling his clothes before moving to pack their things.
Fritz chuckled but said nothing, merely helped them to get everything together. In mere minutes they were ready to go. Sasha pulled his hood up over his hair and made certain it would not easily slip down. "Fritz, lead us out of town. We’re headed north, to the next gate."
"We’ll go through the market then," Fritz said. "That’ll take us to the north end, and the old traders’ entrance. We’ll have to cut through an old forest path no one uses anymore. Dangerous, for it’s full of Sents, but it’s quick and no one will follow us."
Sasha nodded. "That’s fine." He checked his weapons and after a moment pulled out his flintlocks, sliding them into the loops at the back of his belt. Fritz and Stefan both looked at him curiously, but he didn’t answer the unspoken questions. "Come," he said, and started for the door.
A sudden knock upon it drew him up short.
Fritz motioned him back and went to the door. Sasha saw him frown. "Can I help you, lad?"
"I’m looking for my friend," a voice replied. "The maid said he was here."
That voice. Sasha knew that voice. He saw Stefan’s eyes go wide, then the young man bolted for the door, threw it open. Killian.
"Stefan!" Killian lunged at his friend, punching him. "You left without me!"
Snarling, Stefan shoved Killian hard.
Fritz shut the door and caught Killian by the back of his shirt, holding the furious boy back.
Glowering, Sasha stalked forward and wrapped his hand lightly around Stefan’s upper arm. He looked coolly at Killian. "What are you doing here, boy?"
"I knew you’d come here. Stefan’s predictable. I knew he’d take you to Unheilvol. All I did was tell Maja I was going out to check traps and I came here. Sooner or later I knew people would notice a stupid foreigner around."
Stefan snarled. "Sasha isn’t stupid. You shouldn’t be here."
"Like you should!" Killian bellowed.
"Enough," Fritz said, voice quiet but cutting through the room like a knife. "We have to leave. You two can bicker later."
Sasha spared a second to shoot Killian a warning look. "You will do as you’re told or so help me, boy, I will truss you up and leave you for the authorities to find."
Killian opened his mouth to retort, but Sasha walked away before he could voice it. Fritz was close behind him, and after a moment Stefan caught up, a sullen Killian trailing along just behind him.
Fire and ash, what was that brat doing here? Sasha resisted the urge to do something violent. What the blazes had the child done to Maja that he’d slipped through her hold? He sensed even a problem child like Killian did not defy Maja lightly. Certainly he would not have, and he could give all of them lessons on being a difficult boy.
Stifling further curses, Sasha led the way to the stables. "Fire and ash!" he swore softly. He spun around sharply and glowered at Killian. "We have only three horses. You are not slowing us down by riding double with anyone."
"I have a horse," Killian said defiantly.
Next to him Sasha’s expression became one of horror. He was staring past Stefan’s shoulder. "Killian…you stole Reimund’s horse?" He glared furiously at his friend, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him hard. "How could you?"
Killian shoved him back. "You shouldn’t have left me."
"We don’t have time for this," Sasha said curtly. "Follow us. Do not fall behind." He looked at Stefan, who flushed and looked guiltily away.
"Sasha—"
"Later," Sasha said tersely, wanting desperately to reassure Stefan none of this was his fault but if they didn’t leave soon they would not be leaving at all.
Outside, Fritz immediately took the lead—
And a whole slew of priests and men who were clearly law keepers of some sort were clustered around the stable.
The High Priest stepped forward. "I knew you had a hand in this," he sneered.
Fritz said nothing.
"Fire and Ash," Sasha swore softly. "Everyone – hold tight to your horses. Get ready to bolt. Killian, keep up or we will leave you behind. Stefan…" Sasha looked at him, willing Stefan to understand what he was about to do. He was the only one who would understand it at all…
That thought was surprisingly warming, enough that Sasha’s breath caught. He’d never had anyone to lean on, not really. No one had ever completely understood… He shook the thought away, focusing.
Around them full night had fallen, the moon nothing but a sliver in the sky, most of the stars shrouded by thick clouds. Torches and lanterns were all that broke the darkness. "Fritz," Sasha said softly. "I hope you know your way in the dark."
"I do," Fritz said with a grunt.
"Stefan," Sasha said again, even as the High Priest and three soldiers drew close.
"Yes, Sasha," Stefan replied softly.
Sasha held his hand out, the chaos ring on it eerily bright in the darkness, palm up with his fingers spread. He closed them into a fist as he spoke. "I invoke the name and power of the god of fire. Razrusheniye." Around them all the lanterns and torches abruptly went out. Nothing but the sliver of moonlight broke the sudden darkness. "Go," Sasha hissed.
Fritz was moving even as he spoke, as men scrambled in a panic to get away from the horses they could no longer really see. Sasha waited until Stefan and Killian had followed, then dismounted and planted his hand on the ground. "I invoke the name and power of the gods of stone. Cortez. Culebra." He mounted his horse again even the ground began to shake, turning it about to chase after the other three.
Through the city they raced, Fritz unerringly turning here or there, flawlessly wending his way through the city and eventually to an old archway, the battered wooden gate there wide open, the neglect it suffered obvious even in the dark. Fritz charged right through it, the others close behind.
They didn’t slow until they were out of sight of the city, breaths misting in the cold air as they stopped to catch their breath.
Fritz turned to look wide-eyed at Sasha. "What in the name of Lost Licht did you do? What…what was that?"
"Magic," Sasha said calmly. "It is no different than your ability to tell fortunes."
"Drache agrees – for once – that what you did was a far cry from telling fortunes."
Sasha shrugged. "I do what I must, and have been given what I need to see that mission carried through. Now come, the longer we hold still the more danger we put ourselves in." He did not give anyone a chance to argue, merely urged his horse forward, out of the clearing and back into the forest.
"Wait," Fritz said sharply.
Immediately Sasha halted. "What is it?"
"Sents," Fritz said, lifting his hand and pointed to four different spots. "There," he said softly. "Only one adolescent, the rest are children. I think. It is sometimes hard to tell with the younger ones."
Sasha hissed. "You can sense Sents that clearly?"
Fritz nodded. "It is something to do with Drache, I think. He has never admitted it, but…" he shrugged, and Sasha knew he meant it was one of those things of which Drache could not speak.
"I am not up to fighting that many," Sasha said, already feeling the exhaustion that came with calling directly upon the gods for help. He supposed he could be angry that no one else was able to help him, but he knew how devastating the crippling fear inspired by the Sents could be. He still did not know how Stefan had overcome it more than once…
"It’s a pity there is no fog," Fritz said, voice thick with frustration. "That always throws off their senses. Too cold, I suppose. Weather is never what you most need it to be."
"Fog?" Sasha repeated softly. "I hope you know your way through the forest, Fritz, for it is you we shall have to trust to lead us when no one can see."
Fritz laughed sadly. "I am used to seeing and hearing things no one else can. Keep me and one another in sight."
Sasha nodded and ordered Stefan and Killian to form a line behind Fritz, taking up the rear himself. He spread his arms wide and closed his eyes, summoning in his mind what he needed. "I invoke the name and power of the god of wind and rain. Kindan."
Ever so faintly he could hear the rumble of thunder, though only for a brief moment. He doubted anyone else had heard it at all. At first it was only tendrils of mist creeping along the ground, barely noticeable. It rapidly became more, until the fog was thick enough that Sasha could only just see the backend of Stefan’s horse in front of him. "Fritz!" he called out, and just barely heard a reply.
He stayed as close as he dared, drawing his sword, on edge as they traveled with agonizing slowness through the forest, alone in the darkness and fog. Just as he did not think he could endure another second of the tension, the silence, the fog abruptly ceased, as though it had hit some invisible wall as they left the black forest behind.
Sasha slowly released a pent up breath and sheathed his sword. "Fritz?" He looked at the priest, who looked every bit as exhausted and tense as Sasha felt.
"We are safe, or as safe as anyone in our position can be," Fritz answered tiredly. "Mercy of the Light, I never want to do that again. Do be quiet, Drache."
Killian frowned. "Who is Drache? You sound like a crazy man, speaking to people who are not here."
Sasha snarled and turned sharply to face Killian, drawing close and backhanding him hard, ignoring Stefan’s dismayed cry. "You will watch your mouth," he said coldly.
"You can’t hit me!" Killian said furiously, holding a hand to his red cheek.
"I just did," Sasha replied. "You were not invited on this trip, and your arrival has not helped. Not to mention how despicable it is that you stole a horse from those who trusted you. If you insist upon compounding your sins by insulting those who are gracious enough to endure your uninvited presence, you will accept punishment." He turned sharply away, moving toward Stefan. "You would fare better to go home, Killian."
Killian glared hatefully at him. "I’m not going home! I’m staying with Stefan. If he can go with you, so can I."
"Stefan is an adult," Sasha replied. "He was given permission to journey, and gifted with his horse. He has proven himself to be useful in dangerous situations, and capable of handling responsibility. You are a bratty thief with no manners."
"Stop it," Stefan said quietly, voice nevertheless cutting through the bickering. "Killian…Sasha…" His shoulders drooped. "Killian. I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. I did not get the chance. Maja said she would speak with you." He looked up, meeting Sasha’s gaze. "I’m sorry, Sasha."
His anger died as Sasha looked into that miserable face, and he dismounted his horse to go to Stefan, who slid off his own horse and into Sasha’s arms. "There is no reason for you to be sorry, sweet. You have done nothing wrong. I am sorry to have been so harsh." Tilting Stefan’s face up, he kissed him softly, slowly, stopping only when Stefan was relaxed and pliant in his arms.
Of course, now all Sasha felt was his own exhaustion. The spells he’d used tonight were nothing like those he’d used to save Stefan’s village, but they were draining all the same – especially combined with all the tension of fleeing the city, his anger with Killian.
"You turned Stefan into y-y-your whore!" Killian bellowed in outrage.
Sasha snarled, seeing nothing but red as Stefan stiffened and recoiled in shame. His hand moved before he could think to stop it, whip uncoiling with a flick of his wrist, cracking the air, slicing Killian’s cheek with an accuracy it had taken him years to obtain. "If I ever hear such foul words from your mouth again, Killian, you will regret it. Stefan is your friend, or so you claim, and a man does not speak so of his friends. He is not my whore, he is not a whore in any conceivable way, and that you would say such a cruel thing of him shows just how much of a boy you are. Do not speak before you I give you leave."
Killian opened his mouth to speak, but closed it without saying a word, subsiding into a sullen silence.
Nodding, Sasha flicked his wrist, coiling the whip, and reattached it to his belt before gently tugging Stefan back into his arms. "I am sorry, sweet."
Stefan did not protest the embrace, but neither did he relax. Sasha sighed softly and kissed the top of his head, then released him. Turning back to his horse, he mounted and pulled out his map to consult. "We should travel a bit further on, while we’re awake and still have the energy to move. The further we are from Raven’s Knoll, the happier I will be."
He didn’t wait for a reply, beyond a nod from Fritz, before urging his horse forward, leading the way through the dark, grateful for what little light the moon provided. By day, the sky was always cloudy, miserably overcast, but at night it often cleared and he was grateful tonight was one of those occasions.
It was Fritz who finally a halt a few hours later with a groan, the sound shockingly loud in the silence surrounding them. "Mercy of the Light, Sasha, it is time to stop. You are a regular beast at this sort of thing, or perhaps all fire children are that way. We of the shadow are not quite so stubborn, I suppose. Hopefully that means no one will be following us"
Sasha smiled faintly, the simple jest easing his dark mood a bit. "Now that you mention it, stopping does sound like a fine idea."
"Quite so," Fritz said, and promptly dismounted his horse, wincing at the stiffness and soreness of riding for so long when he probably hadn’t been on a horse for a long time. "That little copse of trees will do nicely, the snow is barely upon the ground beneath them." So saying he led his horse to the trees and tied the reins to a low hanging branch, then swiftly set out his bedroll and set to making a fire.
Following suit, Sasha began to pull out food and tea, setting Stefan with motions to scooping up snow to melt down for tea. Though he’d rather just fall right over and go to sleep, they’d be better off with food in their stomachs.
Killian sat in a sullen silence, making no move to help though Sasha knew the boy was quite capable of putting together a campsite. Instead, the boy just sat there touching the cut Sasha’s whip had left on his cheek, picking away the dried blood. It would probably leave a small scar, and Sasha supposed he should feel bad about it.
He didn’t, however. No one should speak so of their friends. Did Killian not see how badly his words had hurt?
Sasha looked at Stefan, who was glumly making tea, obviously doing it by rote rather than truly paying attention. Stifling a sigh, shunting away his exhaustion, Sasha moved around the fire to sit next to him, covering Stefan’s hands with his own. "We’re talking," he said firmly, and with a barely-repressed groan hauled them both up, then led Stefan well away from the copse of trees, far enough away that their voices wouldn’t carry back to the campsite.
"You should not take Killian’s words so much to heart," Sasha said quietly. "He doesn’t mean them." As much as he was really starting to hate the little brat, Sasha knew a jealous youth when he saw one. Boys at that age had control over nothing, least of all what came out of their mouths.
Stefan nodded. "I know." He didn’t look convinced.
Sasha reached out to stroke Stefan’s cheek, brush back a strand of hair, hating the unhappiness clouding his face. "Would you prefer to end matters, then?" he asked with a sigh. "I would not have you thinking that is what you are to me, Stefan."
Eyes widened with dismay. "You want to stop? No! Sasha—I’m sorry I acted like a kid back in the inn. I shouldn’t have gotten that mad at him, Killian’s just always been so good at—at being a brat."
"He’s quite skilled at picking out weak points," Sasha said. "I have told you there is nothing for which you must apologize. My only concern is that you have withdrawn since Killian spoke so cruelly. I do not want to put a stop to anything, Stefan, but I won’t have you believing that Killian’s words are true."
"Killian’s a brat," Stefan replied, shaking his head vehemently back and forth. He looked at Sasha, lavender eyes intent, then looked away, cheeks flushing. "I like it better when you call me…" He drifted off, unable to finish his sentence.
Smiling, Sasha cupped his chin and tilted Stefan’s head back up, forcing the young man to look at him, ducking his own head to brush a soft kiss across those tempting lips. "Killian has his reasons, sweet, and I advise you to keep those reasons in mind when dealing with him."
Stefan smiled. "I like that better." Then he frowned. "Killian’s just mad I left without him."
"No, sweet," Sasha said softly, running his thumb over Stefan’s lips, wishing he were not wearing his gloves, but not uninterested in how the black leather looked against Stefan’s skin. "Killian is jealous. I do believe he has something of a boyhood crush on you, and ignoring that will only hurt both of you in the end. Trust me." His mouth twisted as bitter, unhappy memories rose, but Sasha ignored them.
"Killian?" Stefan gawked at him. "That’s absurd."
"No," Sasha said sharply. "It is not. You would do well to respect his feelings, instead of calling them absurd. It most likely is a simple boyhood crush, Stefan, but it could be something much more serious and you will hurt him deeply by saying that such a thing is absurd. Is that what you want? To do to him what he’s done to you by calling you unkind names? How would you feel if I had called you absurd?"
A faint smile flickered across Stefan’s face. "You told me I didn’t know what I wanted."
"True enough," Sasha said. "I did not call you absurd, though."
Stefan looked at him, eyes intently focused. He hesitated. "Did someone call you…" He stopped, and shook his head. "I’m sorry, Sasha. I didn’t mean to be…a brat. It’s just odd to think of Killian that way. He’s more like a brother to me. No wonder he’s so mad." His shoulders drooped.
It took Sasha a moment to collect his thoughts, startled as he was by Stefan’s astuteness. "No harm done, sweet. You’re no boy, but you are young. What matters is that now you’re aware." Sasha dipped his head to press another kiss to Stefan’s sweet, so very addictive mouth.
He wondered if Stefan knew just how much of a hold he had over Sasha. It was dizzying to think about how quickly Stefan had taken him over – and depressing, for Sasha knew he would not live to enjoy being so thoroughly consumed, to watch Stefan come fully into his own.
Perhaps Killian would take his place? Sasha fought down the emotions that rose up with that thought, instead taking the kiss deeper, desperate to leave some mark that said no matter what – Stefan had been his first.
Stefan made a sound like a whimper, then slowly – still so shy – reached up to wrap his arms around Sasha’s neck, standing on his toes to be as close as he possibly could. Sasha growled low and wrapped his own arms around Stefan’s waist, pulling them flush, devouring the mouth so sweetly and eagerly offered to him.
He should probably feel guilty, as Killian was probably watching – but his claim was fair, and Stefan had made his own feelings clear, and Killian clearly needed to learn that not everything in life went his way.
If he truly wanted Stefan, then someday not too far away he would have his chance. Until then, Stefan belonged to Sasha.
"Mm, sweet, you are temptation," Sasha said at last. "I hope you realize I never thought so crassly of you."
Stefan nodded, and cuddled close against his chest. "I’m still trying to figure out why you want me at all, Sasha."
"Only the greatest of fools would not want you, sweet, I promise." Sasha gave him one last kiss, then led the way back to the campsite.
He accepted the tea Fritz handed him, then went to his own bedroll to sit down – and immediately regretted it. Now that they were safely away, Killian was silenced for the time being, and Stefan’s problems resolved, Sasha was hit hard by the fact that they’d been traveling all night and he’d cast three spells.
Swearing softly, Sasha fought to stay awake, but he could feel the exhaustion winning, coming down like a shroud. He thought he managed to call Stefan’s name, but he remembered only that he dropped his tea before everything went black, hazily thinking that he hated passing out.
Twelve
Fritz opened his eyes and promptly closed them again. He sighed.
"You are such a baby."
Opening his eyes again, Fritz stared balefully at the man before him, their surroundings.
They were in a room he’d seen a thousand times, though never when he was awake.
It was a beautiful room, the floors and walls made of gold marble, warm beneath his feet from the sunlight spilling in through the open archways. Silk tapestries hung upon the walls, depicting fanciful scenes of gods he knew to be long dead. Hated by Teufel. Silk drapes hung between the archways, to cover the openings when the air cooled with night.
Now, though, it was high noon. Always it was high noon. The sunlight was bright and warm, soothing some deep ache Fritz always forgot was there until he saw the phantom sunlight again.
The chamber was not terribly large, but neither was it small. There was a single door on the far wall, behind the man so patiently watching him. The open archways overlooked the city, the fields and mountains beyond.
This was the private chamber of the High Priest of Day and Night, situated at the very top of the Holy Citadel in the middle of the shining city of Sonnenstrahl. Not that anyone knew that was the city's name anymore; now it was called Verlorengehen.
Before him stood all that remained of that High Priest of Day and Night.
"You never look happy to see me, lost half of my tortured soul." Drache moved toward him, and Fritz tried to be angry, to hate him – but he could feel to his very center how very true Drache’s words were. Everything was better when he could see Drache, feel him…even if it was only a dream.
Looking at and touching Drache was certainly no chore. Fritz knew he was nothing to look at himself…but Drache was in every way fine.
He had a build much like Fritz’s, that of a peasant, a body meant for and made by hard labor. Strong shoulders and a broad chest, height that ensured he would frequently dominate the room. His features were less broad, more finely wrought, more like a delicately-carved sculpture to Fritz’s less well-shaped features. Fritz would not describe him as handsome exactly…more like he was too intense, too much. Quite fine to look upon, but overwhelming if you stared too long.
The oddest thing about Drache was his hair – it was the very color of honey, woven into a thick braid and falling over one shoulder, the color even richer against the pale violet robe Drache wore. The first time he’d seen Drache in his dreams, he’d wondered why his hair was gold rather than black or deep brown. Once it had been as common as dark hair…another thing Teufel had taken away, because it reminded him of Licht.
His eyes finally abandoned the fine hair to look at the robe Drache barely wore. Priestly robes were little more than a great cloak with deep, wide sleeves, pulled on and the sides pulled closed, fastened with some form of belt or cord. Drache’s fit much better, the fabric nearly clinging, the dark silver silk cord holding it closed only loosely tied, showing a hint of the broad, muscled chest beneath.
In these dreams, Fritz was always dressed similarly, though his robe was dark violet and as much as he admired Drache’s hair, he much preferred to have a shaved head himself.
He finally responded to Drache’s words. "Why should I look happy to see you? All you ever cause me is trouble."
Drache merely smiled and closed the space between them. They were exactly the same height, Drache’s pale violet eyes meeting his own dark ones. "Do you love me, other half?"
"No," Fritz replied.
"Liar," Drache said softly, then leaned in and kissed him.
Hot. Drache was always so hot. His mouth, his skin, even his hair seemed to burn when Fritz reached out to grasp the thick braid, tug loose the pale ribbon holding it together. He tasted bright, a thought that seemed as absurd as it did fitting to Fritz. He wondered, sometimes, if Drache tasted like sunlight. "Bastard," he said softly when the kiss finally ended.
Drache merely laughed and reached up to run his hand over Fritz’s bare head, down his neck, slipping his fingers just beneath the collar of his robe, making Fritz shiver. "But your bastard, my other half, and that is all that matters, hmm?"
"You’re so obnoxious," Fritz complained, but his hands betrayed him by combing out Drache’s long, long hair, slipping beneath his robe to map the too-hot skin of that fine chest.
Chuckling again, Drache leaned in to kiss him again. Deeply. Hungrily. As if trying to absorb or be absorbed, a thought that left Fritz aching with misery.
Always the mystery haunted him. Lost half of my tortured soul.
So, once he and Drache had been one soul. Torn asunder for some cruel reason Fritz did not know and Drache could not explain.
Never was Drache able to explain the mystery surrounding his existence, his plaguing of Fritz’ mind. So many things he knew but could not speak of. Never did he appear except in these dreams of a lost city, a lost temple, where phantom sunlight warmed them and made Drache’s dark gold skin glow.
Fritz moaned into the fierce kiss, abandoning Drache’s hair to hold him, drag him close.
Always these dreams felt like stolen moments, and he feared constantly that this poor refuge from loneliness and confusion would someday be taken from him. For all that he’d often gotten drunk to drown out the voice in his head…
Drache broke the kiss, panting for air. "Do you love me, other half?"
"No," Fritz said desperately, almost angrily, and dragged Drache back in for another kiss, making it hard, bruising, pouring all his confusion and misery and anger into it. Drache met him full measure, matching and contrasting exactly as necessary.
So perfectly it ached, made Fritz kiss him even harder, wanting something that he knew he’d never have.
Close, so very close, but even when Drache was buried inside him, shuddering in his arms, calling out his name…it was never close enough. Because someone had torn them apart and ensured that never again would they be together.
Nearly sobbing, Fritz allowed Drache to push him down to the bedding that awaited them, fine linen and satin over down, a wealth of pillows, sheer silk to shade them from the world beyond the archways, from the fact that this was only a dream.
"Drache," Fritz whispered as hands pushed his robes aside, eagerly explored his skin, gasping at the mouth that found his throat, marked him, wishing desperately the mark would be there when he woke.
"Stop thinking, my other half," Drache said, voice like a low growl, pressing sharp, nipping kisses to his face, his throat, down his chest. "You always think too much. For now, only feel."
Fritz nodded, and when Drache sent his thoughts scattering with another devouring kiss, he did not attempt to recollect them, merely gave himself over to his phantom lover.
Fritz wished miserably that he was not awake. Nothing depressed him more than waking after one of his dreams of Drache.
They didn’t happen often, as Drache was not always able to create them, but so far as Fritz concerned ‘seldom’ was still too often.
Liar. You like them. Do you want me to explain each and every thing you particularly like about them?
"Only if you want me to go find the nearest tavern in revenge," Fritz replied irritably, firmly turning his mind to somber thoughts, away from heated memories.
A soft chuckle caught his attention, and Fritz turned slowly and sat up, smiling in greeting. "Good morning. You are looking better than you did last night."
Sasha made a face. "The price of the magic I use is a tendency to collapse dramatically rather frequently."
Fritz laughed. "That would explain why Stefan handled it so calmly. He did make a jest about you remaining dressed this time."
"Yes, a nice change," Sasha said, smiling in a way that made him look years younger. Fritz thought it suited him, that it was a pity he did not smile so more often.
I do believe I am starting to get jealous. You never compliment my smiles.
"That’s because all you do is leer," Fritz muttered.
"Drache is starting up early this morning, I see," Sasha said, stoking the fire and setting to work fixing tea.
"You assume he ever stops," Fritz replied. "Where are Stefan and Killian?"
"Hunting," Sasha said. "We had rations enough for three, not four, and Killian did not get a chance to replenish his own." His face clouded.
Fritz scooted closer to the fire to assist, pouring the tea into cups once it was finished steeping, handing one to Sasha. "Who is the lad, precisely? There was not much chance for questions and introductions last night…"
Sasha snorted. "Killian and Stefan are friends. They were both orphaned at a young age, and raised by the same woman in the village from which they hail. Stefan left home to accompany me, it would seem Killian came after him." He stared into the fire, face void of expression, holding eerily still in that manner of his.
Like one who does not want to be seen, though I cannot tell if he is the deer being hunted or the cat about to spring.
Fritz rolled his eyes. "Scorch off, Drache."
"Should I teach you some more Pozharian curses, as you enjoy using them on Drache so much?" Sasha asked, looking at him in amusement. "Though they don’t seem terribly effective."
"Sadly, alcohol is about the only thing which shuts Drache up."
Oh, I don’t know, it’s rather difficult to talk when my mouth is on you.
Fritz choked on a swallow of tea, nearly dropping his cup and dissolving into a coughing fit as he fought to regain control of his breathing. "Drache! Enough!"
Sasha laughed. "I do believe that round went to Drache, though I’m not certain I want to know what he said."
"No," Fritz muttered, "you don’t. Bastard voice." The very last thing he felt like discussing was the nature of the dreams with which Drache tormented him.
I may be inclined to torment you, my other half, but that is only because you take so very well to it. Hmm?
"You’re in a fine mood this morning," Fritz said in disgust. "If I ever encounter you in reality, Drache, I am going to wring your neck."
Gladly will I let you try, but I think you might find doing so more difficult than you anticipate.
Not bothering to ask what that meant, Fritz poured himself more tea and motioned vaguely. "Shall we have a look at that book you worked so hard to obtain, while there is peace and quiet?"
Sasha chuckled and nodded, setting his cup down to go fetch his saddlebags, pulling the book free as he sat down again. He handed it to Fritz.
Pouring more tea for Sasha, Fritz then turned his attention to the book, opening it and flipping carefully through the old, delicate pages. They were thin, the light of the fire passing easily through, the ink a rich, deep blue-black.
"The wall," Fritz muttered to himself. "I do not think anyone knows much about the wall."
Erected to keep everyone from sacred Sonnenstrahl. Everyone likes to say it appeared in a day, but it actually took Teufel a month to create it, though most of that was the spell work. It took another month to create the Great Sentinels, and bind the opening of the wall to them. I would tell you more if I was able.
"I am surprised you could say that much," Fritz replied. "Though I don’t see what a book could tell us. Lord Teufel would never let slip the secrets to gaining entrance to the lost city." Even as he spoke, though, Fritz knew Sasha wasn’t looking for an explicit answer. Nor was he, really. Anything about the wall was what they were after. The slightest little bit of information might provide some great clue. "Is there anything in particular for which you are looking?"
Sasha shook his head, frowning slightly as his loose hair fell in his face, tucking it back behind his ears, pulling his saddlebags closer and rifling through them. "I would like to hear more about the Sents and how they relate to the walls. All I know is that twelve guard them and one wandered."
Fritz lifted his brows at the past tense of that. "Did you really kill five of them already? I find that incredible to believe…but your magic…" He shook his head in amazement.
"Five. Four of the stationary and the Wanderer," Sasha replied. "As well as I don’t know how many adults and adolescents. But speaking of Sents, I am impressed you can sense them as well as you do. You say it is because of Drache?"
The ringing silence in his head said more clearly than words that Drache was indeed responsible for the strange ability. For as long as he could remember hearing Drache – that is, his whole life – Fritz had been able to sense when Sents were nearby, and often the age of them.
For years he’d been angry that the ability went to waste, as very rarely did Sents venture so close to the cities. Even in villages, the older Sents preferred to stay away unless otherwise compelled – and he’d never heard of it happening.
Not until Sasha, anyway.
"As near as I can tell, and that Drache never says one way or the other is answer enough. I do not know why, unfortunately, nor why such an ability would come to a priest."
It makes more sense than you might think.
Fritz snorted. "If you’re only going to speak obscurely, Drache, then scorch off."
It’s not my fault I’m bound.
Though Drache was nearly always flippant, playful, Fritz knew it hurt him that he was nothing more than a voice – and despite his protestations, he knew that Drache was far more, or at least had been more at one point. He could hear the slight hurt in Drache’s tone, and was immediately contrite. "I know, Drache."
I do still exist…
"Then why have I never seen you?" Fritz asked softly. "Always I have been in Raven’s Knoll, and most of that spent in Unheilvol. You could come to see me."
Where I am, it is impossible to leave. Black thorns and—
The words were abruptly cut off, and Fritz cried out as pain lanced through him, dropping the book and his tea, doubling over, gasping for breath. "Drache?" he asked when he could speak again, only vaguely aware of the steadying hand on his shoulder.
He felt panic rising up when there was no reply, just a stark emptiness in his head. "Drache?" he asked, voice louder, filling with panic.
Nothing.
Fritz clutched at his head, eyes stinging with panicked tears. No! He’d always said, but never meant—
"Drache!"
Nothing but silence.
"Fritz?" Sasha said softly, the hand on his shoulder pressing more firmly, shaking him gently. "What is wrong? What has happened to Drache?"
Fritz moaned, hating how silent everything suddenly was. How dead it all seemed. Where was his voice? His…other half? "Gone. He was trying to say something, and abruptly stopped. It felt as though he was torn away from me."
Sasha gripped both his shoulders now, and the touch was somehow calming, reassuring – he was not entirely alone, though without Drache he may as well be dead. "Drache…"
Fritz.
"Drache?" Fritz asked unsteadily.
Yes. I am most sorry, my other half – I did not expect that to happen.
Sasha’s grip eased, an uncertain frown on his face. "Drache is back?" he asked slowly.
"Yes," Fritz said shakily. He caught one of Sasha’s hands as they slid from his shoulders. "Thank you," he said. "I might have lost myself entirely without you to steady me. From the start, you have been much like a friend though you would have been fully in your rights to dismiss me as the drunkard I was."
The uncertainty that flared in Sasha’s eyes was startling. Fritz could scarcely believe it was there, and almost didn’t, so quickly did it vanish. "I…you seemed to be a kindred spirit." Sasha moved back, resuming his seat and that way he had of holding absolutely still. "I am glad Drache is returned. What happened?"
I pushed too far, tried to say too much. Reckless. I thought the fire child’s presence had weakened things more than it actually had. I will not be so foolish again, my other half. Beloved Fritz. Forgive me. I wanted only to help…
"Forgiven and forgotten, Drache," Fritz replied softly. "Only do not do that again. I…" He swallowed against a lump in his throat. "Do not do that again."
Be assured I will not.
"Good," Fritz said, feeling dizzy with relief now that he knew Drache was not gone.
"Do enlighten those of us who cannot hear voices," Sasha said, a thread of amusement in his voice. "You looked very much as though you’d lost a lover. I guess it must be nearly as intimate, to have a voice in your head."
Fritz nearly dropped the cup he’d just picked up, horrified to realize his face was hot. "Uh—yes. Quite."
The fire child is rather clever.
"Indeed," Fritz muttered.
Sasha lifted one thin, red brow, but did not press the matter. "So what happened?"
Fritz frowned as he spoke, reluctant to dwell on what had ripped Drache from his mind. It had only been a few minutes, but it had felt like an eternity.
You missed me.
"Shut up," Fritz said automatically. He stared at his tea, collecting his thoughts, then finally looked up at Sasha. "He was trying to tell me why I would never meet him. I said he could have come to see me easily enough, and he said he could not leave where he was. He said something about ‘black thorns’ and then was suddenly cut off, as if knocked out. My head…" He shuddered at the memory. "It was silent. Empty. I thought he was truly gone." Something for which he’d wished a thousand times…yet he’d never meant it. Never again would he jest about it.
Maybe for a day you will let off, but by tomorrow you will resume threats.
Fritz shook his head, but did not trust himself to reply.
"Black thorns," Sasha muttered. "I wonder what that means. I have traveled through much of Schatten and neither seen nor heard of black thorns…" He shook his head. "We will solve that riddle later. What does the book say of the Great Sentinels and Wall?"
"Not much," Fritz said, taking a sip of his tea and opening the book to the page he’d been reading before he’d briefly lost Drache. "Twelve Great Sentinels guard the twelve gates of the Great Wall. To enter any one of those gates, it is said one must get past all thirteen Great Sentinels, the last being one which travels in a wide circle around the Great Wall, constantly patrolling Schatten.
"It is impossible to go over or under the gate. All indications seem to say that only by way of the Great Sentinels may anyone pass through the Great Wall and into Verlorengehen." Fritz stopped reading and looked up. "These books were written well before Teufel forbade them. It must be that once he did not feel it was wrong for us to know. Perhaps someone took too many liberties with his generosity, for the land behind the Great Wall is none of our business."
Schatten belongs to the children of Licht.
Fritz frowned. "You are pushing again, Drache. Do not. You promised."
I know. I am being cautious.
Far from convinced, Fritz nevertheless let the matter drop. "I do not see that anything special is required. ‘Get past the Great Sentinels’ is rather vague. As I can’t imagine walking up to one and having a conversation, killing them would work well enough, I’d imagine."
Sasha made a face. "Yet I doubt after they are all dead the gates will simply open. No, if I were an angry shadow of a mad god, I would make certain no one was ever able to enter my stronghold."
Fritz tended to agree.
No child of Schatten can enter. Binding threads of fate. But…
Realization rippled through Fritz. "You are not a child of Schatten. You should not have been able to come to Schatten. Lord Teufel is a creature of fate. He would not be able to see one who is immune…"
"Yes," Sasha said. "I see what you mean. He made all the precautions he could, within in his realm…I have considered such things before. I was hoping to confirm that theory, and I guess we more or less have." He raked back his hair and tied it with the thong he’d finally found in his saddlebag. "Though I sincerely hope that when I’ve finally killed them all that we won’t find out I did it completely wrong. I really do not feel like waiting a few hundred years for new Great Sentinels to appear that I might nicely ask their permission."
Fritz through his head back and laughed. "I would like to see that! I do not think anyone could ask a Sentinel for anything and actually get it, no matter how nicely they might do the asking."
You can certainly say ‘please’ prettily enough when you want to.
"Be quiet," Fritz said. "That is not even the same thing, and you are a voice, not a Sentinel."
Ah, but if a Sentinel could see how beautifully you can beg…
"Scorch off!" Fritz snapped.
Sasha chuckled. "I do not know whether I am sorry or grateful I cannot hear his half of the conversation."
"Oh, be grateful. I think he takes far too much advantage of the fact no one but I can hear him. When I meet him, I intend to strangle him and cut his tongue out."
Here I thought you like my tongue. Certainly it was one of the things to make you beg last night.
"Enough!" Fritz roared, hot with mortification. "I cannot believe I missed you! Behave or I shall manage to locate some form of alcohol, even if we are in the middle of nowhere."
Sasha laughed. "Oh, I do believe I am disappointed rather than grateful. Drache sounds amusing." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "I wonder – if he is where he cannot leave, is Drache somehow beyond the wall? Is that possible?"
Fritz drew a sharp breath at the sudden ringing silence in his head. "Why did I never think of that?" he whispered, shock pouring through him, making him feel hot and cold all at once. "Of course. It makes so much sense. But why?"
"Cursed," Sasha said softly. "A soul torn in half. If I were so angry that I tore a soul asunder…then why not separate the halves for all time? One inside in the Great Wall, one outside…"
"Yes," Fritz said, his hand trembling as he lifted his cup to his mouth, barely noticing that his tea had grown cold. "The only question…why?"
Why is anyone punished?
Fritz frowned. "Why is anyone punished? For doing things wrong."
"For disobeying…" Sasha said thoughtfully. "For…defiance."
In his mind, Drache was silent.
"Defiance," Fritz repeated quietly.
Sasha smiled. "Ah, defiance. I knew I was in good company. If there is one thing with which I am familiar, it is defying gods."
In other news, I just realized my new layout lacks the long list of tags I liked :( Ah, well. Guess this means I should update my memories >_>;;;;
So fsking tired =_= Losing two hours of sleep to pain and misery does a good Monday make. And we're going to be severely shorted handed at work the next three days >_o
Cause I am hopped up on pain meds that aren't working and would like to die plskthx, you peeps get to listen to a bit more rambling. Keep wanting to try something like lulu, but I know the shipping on that site is a bitch. Still, if I were to break from actual writing to touch up stuffs to put there, would anyone care? I was thinking to start with fairytales, dwtd...uh, there were two more >_> what were they?
Oh, well.
Enough torture. Chaos it is ^__^ I go to rip out my insides now.
Eleven
Sasha forced himself to move after several long minutes had passed, glaringly aware they were wasting time and needed to get moving. It wouldn’t be long before the priests tracked down the only redhead in all of Schatten to this tiny inn. He ran his fingers along Stefan’s spine and kissed him softly. "Come on, sweet. We need to get out of here. I don’t fancy getting caught, or causing a ruckus to avoid capture. My energy is better saved for Sents."
Cheeks flushed, probably at the casual display of affection in front of Fritz, Stefan slid from his lap and stood up, settling his clothes before moving to pack their things.
Fritz chuckled but said nothing, merely helped them to get everything together. In mere minutes they were ready to go. Sasha pulled his hood up over his hair and made certain it would not easily slip down. "Fritz, lead us out of town. We’re headed north, to the next gate."
"We’ll go through the market then," Fritz said. "That’ll take us to the north end, and the old traders’ entrance. We’ll have to cut through an old forest path no one uses anymore. Dangerous, for it’s full of Sents, but it’s quick and no one will follow us."
Sasha nodded. "That’s fine." He checked his weapons and after a moment pulled out his flintlocks, sliding them into the loops at the back of his belt. Fritz and Stefan both looked at him curiously, but he didn’t answer the unspoken questions. "Come," he said, and started for the door.
A sudden knock upon it drew him up short.
Fritz motioned him back and went to the door. Sasha saw him frown. "Can I help you, lad?"
"I’m looking for my friend," a voice replied. "The maid said he was here."
That voice. Sasha knew that voice. He saw Stefan’s eyes go wide, then the young man bolted for the door, threw it open. Killian.
"Stefan!" Killian lunged at his friend, punching him. "You left without me!"
Snarling, Stefan shoved Killian hard.
Fritz shut the door and caught Killian by the back of his shirt, holding the furious boy back.
Glowering, Sasha stalked forward and wrapped his hand lightly around Stefan’s upper arm. He looked coolly at Killian. "What are you doing here, boy?"
"I knew you’d come here. Stefan’s predictable. I knew he’d take you to Unheilvol. All I did was tell Maja I was going out to check traps and I came here. Sooner or later I knew people would notice a stupid foreigner around."
Stefan snarled. "Sasha isn’t stupid. You shouldn’t be here."
"Like you should!" Killian bellowed.
"Enough," Fritz said, voice quiet but cutting through the room like a knife. "We have to leave. You two can bicker later."
Sasha spared a second to shoot Killian a warning look. "You will do as you’re told or so help me, boy, I will truss you up and leave you for the authorities to find."
Killian opened his mouth to retort, but Sasha walked away before he could voice it. Fritz was close behind him, and after a moment Stefan caught up, a sullen Killian trailing along just behind him.
Fire and ash, what was that brat doing here? Sasha resisted the urge to do something violent. What the blazes had the child done to Maja that he’d slipped through her hold? He sensed even a problem child like Killian did not defy Maja lightly. Certainly he would not have, and he could give all of them lessons on being a difficult boy.
Stifling further curses, Sasha led the way to the stables. "Fire and ash!" he swore softly. He spun around sharply and glowered at Killian. "We have only three horses. You are not slowing us down by riding double with anyone."
"I have a horse," Killian said defiantly.
Next to him Sasha’s expression became one of horror. He was staring past Stefan’s shoulder. "Killian…you stole Reimund’s horse?" He glared furiously at his friend, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him hard. "How could you?"
Killian shoved him back. "You shouldn’t have left me."
"We don’t have time for this," Sasha said curtly. "Follow us. Do not fall behind." He looked at Stefan, who flushed and looked guiltily away.
"Sasha—"
"Later," Sasha said tersely, wanting desperately to reassure Stefan none of this was his fault but if they didn’t leave soon they would not be leaving at all.
Outside, Fritz immediately took the lead—
And a whole slew of priests and men who were clearly law keepers of some sort were clustered around the stable.
The High Priest stepped forward. "I knew you had a hand in this," he sneered.
Fritz said nothing.
"Fire and Ash," Sasha swore softly. "Everyone – hold tight to your horses. Get ready to bolt. Killian, keep up or we will leave you behind. Stefan…" Sasha looked at him, willing Stefan to understand what he was about to do. He was the only one who would understand it at all…
That thought was surprisingly warming, enough that Sasha’s breath caught. He’d never had anyone to lean on, not really. No one had ever completely understood… He shook the thought away, focusing.
Around them full night had fallen, the moon nothing but a sliver in the sky, most of the stars shrouded by thick clouds. Torches and lanterns were all that broke the darkness. "Fritz," Sasha said softly. "I hope you know your way in the dark."
"I do," Fritz said with a grunt.
"Stefan," Sasha said again, even as the High Priest and three soldiers drew close.
"Yes, Sasha," Stefan replied softly.
Sasha held his hand out, the chaos ring on it eerily bright in the darkness, palm up with his fingers spread. He closed them into a fist as he spoke. "I invoke the name and power of the god of fire. Razrusheniye." Around them all the lanterns and torches abruptly went out. Nothing but the sliver of moonlight broke the sudden darkness. "Go," Sasha hissed.
Fritz was moving even as he spoke, as men scrambled in a panic to get away from the horses they could no longer really see. Sasha waited until Stefan and Killian had followed, then dismounted and planted his hand on the ground. "I invoke the name and power of the gods of stone. Cortez. Culebra." He mounted his horse again even the ground began to shake, turning it about to chase after the other three.
Through the city they raced, Fritz unerringly turning here or there, flawlessly wending his way through the city and eventually to an old archway, the battered wooden gate there wide open, the neglect it suffered obvious even in the dark. Fritz charged right through it, the others close behind.
They didn’t slow until they were out of sight of the city, breaths misting in the cold air as they stopped to catch their breath.
Fritz turned to look wide-eyed at Sasha. "What in the name of Lost Licht did you do? What…what was that?"
"Magic," Sasha said calmly. "It is no different than your ability to tell fortunes."
"Drache agrees – for once – that what you did was a far cry from telling fortunes."
Sasha shrugged. "I do what I must, and have been given what I need to see that mission carried through. Now come, the longer we hold still the more danger we put ourselves in." He did not give anyone a chance to argue, merely urged his horse forward, out of the clearing and back into the forest.
"Wait," Fritz said sharply.
Immediately Sasha halted. "What is it?"
"Sents," Fritz said, lifting his hand and pointed to four different spots. "There," he said softly. "Only one adolescent, the rest are children. I think. It is sometimes hard to tell with the younger ones."
Sasha hissed. "You can sense Sents that clearly?"
Fritz nodded. "It is something to do with Drache, I think. He has never admitted it, but…" he shrugged, and Sasha knew he meant it was one of those things of which Drache could not speak.
"I am not up to fighting that many," Sasha said, already feeling the exhaustion that came with calling directly upon the gods for help. He supposed he could be angry that no one else was able to help him, but he knew how devastating the crippling fear inspired by the Sents could be. He still did not know how Stefan had overcome it more than once…
"It’s a pity there is no fog," Fritz said, voice thick with frustration. "That always throws off their senses. Too cold, I suppose. Weather is never what you most need it to be."
"Fog?" Sasha repeated softly. "I hope you know your way through the forest, Fritz, for it is you we shall have to trust to lead us when no one can see."
Fritz laughed sadly. "I am used to seeing and hearing things no one else can. Keep me and one another in sight."
Sasha nodded and ordered Stefan and Killian to form a line behind Fritz, taking up the rear himself. He spread his arms wide and closed his eyes, summoning in his mind what he needed. "I invoke the name and power of the god of wind and rain. Kindan."
Ever so faintly he could hear the rumble of thunder, though only for a brief moment. He doubted anyone else had heard it at all. At first it was only tendrils of mist creeping along the ground, barely noticeable. It rapidly became more, until the fog was thick enough that Sasha could only just see the backend of Stefan’s horse in front of him. "Fritz!" he called out, and just barely heard a reply.
He stayed as close as he dared, drawing his sword, on edge as they traveled with agonizing slowness through the forest, alone in the darkness and fog. Just as he did not think he could endure another second of the tension, the silence, the fog abruptly ceased, as though it had hit some invisible wall as they left the black forest behind.
Sasha slowly released a pent up breath and sheathed his sword. "Fritz?" He looked at the priest, who looked every bit as exhausted and tense as Sasha felt.
"We are safe, or as safe as anyone in our position can be," Fritz answered tiredly. "Mercy of the Light, I never want to do that again. Do be quiet, Drache."
Killian frowned. "Who is Drache? You sound like a crazy man, speaking to people who are not here."
Sasha snarled and turned sharply to face Killian, drawing close and backhanding him hard, ignoring Stefan’s dismayed cry. "You will watch your mouth," he said coldly.
"You can’t hit me!" Killian said furiously, holding a hand to his red cheek.
"I just did," Sasha replied. "You were not invited on this trip, and your arrival has not helped. Not to mention how despicable it is that you stole a horse from those who trusted you. If you insist upon compounding your sins by insulting those who are gracious enough to endure your uninvited presence, you will accept punishment." He turned sharply away, moving toward Stefan. "You would fare better to go home, Killian."
Killian glared hatefully at him. "I’m not going home! I’m staying with Stefan. If he can go with you, so can I."
"Stefan is an adult," Sasha replied. "He was given permission to journey, and gifted with his horse. He has proven himself to be useful in dangerous situations, and capable of handling responsibility. You are a bratty thief with no manners."
"Stop it," Stefan said quietly, voice nevertheless cutting through the bickering. "Killian…Sasha…" His shoulders drooped. "Killian. I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. I did not get the chance. Maja said she would speak with you." He looked up, meeting Sasha’s gaze. "I’m sorry, Sasha."
His anger died as Sasha looked into that miserable face, and he dismounted his horse to go to Stefan, who slid off his own horse and into Sasha’s arms. "There is no reason for you to be sorry, sweet. You have done nothing wrong. I am sorry to have been so harsh." Tilting Stefan’s face up, he kissed him softly, slowly, stopping only when Stefan was relaxed and pliant in his arms.
Of course, now all Sasha felt was his own exhaustion. The spells he’d used tonight were nothing like those he’d used to save Stefan’s village, but they were draining all the same – especially combined with all the tension of fleeing the city, his anger with Killian.
"You turned Stefan into y-y-your whore!" Killian bellowed in outrage.
Sasha snarled, seeing nothing but red as Stefan stiffened and recoiled in shame. His hand moved before he could think to stop it, whip uncoiling with a flick of his wrist, cracking the air, slicing Killian’s cheek with an accuracy it had taken him years to obtain. "If I ever hear such foul words from your mouth again, Killian, you will regret it. Stefan is your friend, or so you claim, and a man does not speak so of his friends. He is not my whore, he is not a whore in any conceivable way, and that you would say such a cruel thing of him shows just how much of a boy you are. Do not speak before you I give you leave."
Killian opened his mouth to speak, but closed it without saying a word, subsiding into a sullen silence.
Nodding, Sasha flicked his wrist, coiling the whip, and reattached it to his belt before gently tugging Stefan back into his arms. "I am sorry, sweet."
Stefan did not protest the embrace, but neither did he relax. Sasha sighed softly and kissed the top of his head, then released him. Turning back to his horse, he mounted and pulled out his map to consult. "We should travel a bit further on, while we’re awake and still have the energy to move. The further we are from Raven’s Knoll, the happier I will be."
He didn’t wait for a reply, beyond a nod from Fritz, before urging his horse forward, leading the way through the dark, grateful for what little light the moon provided. By day, the sky was always cloudy, miserably overcast, but at night it often cleared and he was grateful tonight was one of those occasions.
It was Fritz who finally a halt a few hours later with a groan, the sound shockingly loud in the silence surrounding them. "Mercy of the Light, Sasha, it is time to stop. You are a regular beast at this sort of thing, or perhaps all fire children are that way. We of the shadow are not quite so stubborn, I suppose. Hopefully that means no one will be following us"
Sasha smiled faintly, the simple jest easing his dark mood a bit. "Now that you mention it, stopping does sound like a fine idea."
"Quite so," Fritz said, and promptly dismounted his horse, wincing at the stiffness and soreness of riding for so long when he probably hadn’t been on a horse for a long time. "That little copse of trees will do nicely, the snow is barely upon the ground beneath them." So saying he led his horse to the trees and tied the reins to a low hanging branch, then swiftly set out his bedroll and set to making a fire.
Following suit, Sasha began to pull out food and tea, setting Stefan with motions to scooping up snow to melt down for tea. Though he’d rather just fall right over and go to sleep, they’d be better off with food in their stomachs.
Killian sat in a sullen silence, making no move to help though Sasha knew the boy was quite capable of putting together a campsite. Instead, the boy just sat there touching the cut Sasha’s whip had left on his cheek, picking away the dried blood. It would probably leave a small scar, and Sasha supposed he should feel bad about it.
He didn’t, however. No one should speak so of their friends. Did Killian not see how badly his words had hurt?
Sasha looked at Stefan, who was glumly making tea, obviously doing it by rote rather than truly paying attention. Stifling a sigh, shunting away his exhaustion, Sasha moved around the fire to sit next to him, covering Stefan’s hands with his own. "We’re talking," he said firmly, and with a barely-repressed groan hauled them both up, then led Stefan well away from the copse of trees, far enough away that their voices wouldn’t carry back to the campsite.
"You should not take Killian’s words so much to heart," Sasha said quietly. "He doesn’t mean them." As much as he was really starting to hate the little brat, Sasha knew a jealous youth when he saw one. Boys at that age had control over nothing, least of all what came out of their mouths.
Stefan nodded. "I know." He didn’t look convinced.
Sasha reached out to stroke Stefan’s cheek, brush back a strand of hair, hating the unhappiness clouding his face. "Would you prefer to end matters, then?" he asked with a sigh. "I would not have you thinking that is what you are to me, Stefan."
Eyes widened with dismay. "You want to stop? No! Sasha—I’m sorry I acted like a kid back in the inn. I shouldn’t have gotten that mad at him, Killian’s just always been so good at—at being a brat."
"He’s quite skilled at picking out weak points," Sasha said. "I have told you there is nothing for which you must apologize. My only concern is that you have withdrawn since Killian spoke so cruelly. I do not want to put a stop to anything, Stefan, but I won’t have you believing that Killian’s words are true."
"Killian’s a brat," Stefan replied, shaking his head vehemently back and forth. He looked at Sasha, lavender eyes intent, then looked away, cheeks flushing. "I like it better when you call me…" He drifted off, unable to finish his sentence.
Smiling, Sasha cupped his chin and tilted Stefan’s head back up, forcing the young man to look at him, ducking his own head to brush a soft kiss across those tempting lips. "Killian has his reasons, sweet, and I advise you to keep those reasons in mind when dealing with him."
Stefan smiled. "I like that better." Then he frowned. "Killian’s just mad I left without him."
"No, sweet," Sasha said softly, running his thumb over Stefan’s lips, wishing he were not wearing his gloves, but not uninterested in how the black leather looked against Stefan’s skin. "Killian is jealous. I do believe he has something of a boyhood crush on you, and ignoring that will only hurt both of you in the end. Trust me." His mouth twisted as bitter, unhappy memories rose, but Sasha ignored them.
"Killian?" Stefan gawked at him. "That’s absurd."
"No," Sasha said sharply. "It is not. You would do well to respect his feelings, instead of calling them absurd. It most likely is a simple boyhood crush, Stefan, but it could be something much more serious and you will hurt him deeply by saying that such a thing is absurd. Is that what you want? To do to him what he’s done to you by calling you unkind names? How would you feel if I had called you absurd?"
A faint smile flickered across Stefan’s face. "You told me I didn’t know what I wanted."
"True enough," Sasha said. "I did not call you absurd, though."
Stefan looked at him, eyes intently focused. He hesitated. "Did someone call you…" He stopped, and shook his head. "I’m sorry, Sasha. I didn’t mean to be…a brat. It’s just odd to think of Killian that way. He’s more like a brother to me. No wonder he’s so mad." His shoulders drooped.
It took Sasha a moment to collect his thoughts, startled as he was by Stefan’s astuteness. "No harm done, sweet. You’re no boy, but you are young. What matters is that now you’re aware." Sasha dipped his head to press another kiss to Stefan’s sweet, so very addictive mouth.
He wondered if Stefan knew just how much of a hold he had over Sasha. It was dizzying to think about how quickly Stefan had taken him over – and depressing, for Sasha knew he would not live to enjoy being so thoroughly consumed, to watch Stefan come fully into his own.
Perhaps Killian would take his place? Sasha fought down the emotions that rose up with that thought, instead taking the kiss deeper, desperate to leave some mark that said no matter what – Stefan had been his first.
Stefan made a sound like a whimper, then slowly – still so shy – reached up to wrap his arms around Sasha’s neck, standing on his toes to be as close as he possibly could. Sasha growled low and wrapped his own arms around Stefan’s waist, pulling them flush, devouring the mouth so sweetly and eagerly offered to him.
He should probably feel guilty, as Killian was probably watching – but his claim was fair, and Stefan had made his own feelings clear, and Killian clearly needed to learn that not everything in life went his way.
If he truly wanted Stefan, then someday not too far away he would have his chance. Until then, Stefan belonged to Sasha.
"Mm, sweet, you are temptation," Sasha said at last. "I hope you realize I never thought so crassly of you."
Stefan nodded, and cuddled close against his chest. "I’m still trying to figure out why you want me at all, Sasha."
"Only the greatest of fools would not want you, sweet, I promise." Sasha gave him one last kiss, then led the way back to the campsite.
He accepted the tea Fritz handed him, then went to his own bedroll to sit down – and immediately regretted it. Now that they were safely away, Killian was silenced for the time being, and Stefan’s problems resolved, Sasha was hit hard by the fact that they’d been traveling all night and he’d cast three spells.
Swearing softly, Sasha fought to stay awake, but he could feel the exhaustion winning, coming down like a shroud. He thought he managed to call Stefan’s name, but he remembered only that he dropped his tea before everything went black, hazily thinking that he hated passing out.
Twelve
Fritz opened his eyes and promptly closed them again. He sighed.
"You are such a baby."
Opening his eyes again, Fritz stared balefully at the man before him, their surroundings.
They were in a room he’d seen a thousand times, though never when he was awake.
It was a beautiful room, the floors and walls made of gold marble, warm beneath his feet from the sunlight spilling in through the open archways. Silk tapestries hung upon the walls, depicting fanciful scenes of gods he knew to be long dead. Hated by Teufel. Silk drapes hung between the archways, to cover the openings when the air cooled with night.
Now, though, it was high noon. Always it was high noon. The sunlight was bright and warm, soothing some deep ache Fritz always forgot was there until he saw the phantom sunlight again.
The chamber was not terribly large, but neither was it small. There was a single door on the far wall, behind the man so patiently watching him. The open archways overlooked the city, the fields and mountains beyond.
This was the private chamber of the High Priest of Day and Night, situated at the very top of the Holy Citadel in the middle of the shining city of Sonnenstrahl. Not that anyone knew that was the city's name anymore; now it was called Verlorengehen.
Before him stood all that remained of that High Priest of Day and Night.
"You never look happy to see me, lost half of my tortured soul." Drache moved toward him, and Fritz tried to be angry, to hate him – but he could feel to his very center how very true Drache’s words were. Everything was better when he could see Drache, feel him…even if it was only a dream.
Looking at and touching Drache was certainly no chore. Fritz knew he was nothing to look at himself…but Drache was in every way fine.
He had a build much like Fritz’s, that of a peasant, a body meant for and made by hard labor. Strong shoulders and a broad chest, height that ensured he would frequently dominate the room. His features were less broad, more finely wrought, more like a delicately-carved sculpture to Fritz’s less well-shaped features. Fritz would not describe him as handsome exactly…more like he was too intense, too much. Quite fine to look upon, but overwhelming if you stared too long.
The oddest thing about Drache was his hair – it was the very color of honey, woven into a thick braid and falling over one shoulder, the color even richer against the pale violet robe Drache wore. The first time he’d seen Drache in his dreams, he’d wondered why his hair was gold rather than black or deep brown. Once it had been as common as dark hair…another thing Teufel had taken away, because it reminded him of Licht.
His eyes finally abandoned the fine hair to look at the robe Drache barely wore. Priestly robes were little more than a great cloak with deep, wide sleeves, pulled on and the sides pulled closed, fastened with some form of belt or cord. Drache’s fit much better, the fabric nearly clinging, the dark silver silk cord holding it closed only loosely tied, showing a hint of the broad, muscled chest beneath.
In these dreams, Fritz was always dressed similarly, though his robe was dark violet and as much as he admired Drache’s hair, he much preferred to have a shaved head himself.
He finally responded to Drache’s words. "Why should I look happy to see you? All you ever cause me is trouble."
Drache merely smiled and closed the space between them. They were exactly the same height, Drache’s pale violet eyes meeting his own dark ones. "Do you love me, other half?"
"No," Fritz replied.
"Liar," Drache said softly, then leaned in and kissed him.
Hot. Drache was always so hot. His mouth, his skin, even his hair seemed to burn when Fritz reached out to grasp the thick braid, tug loose the pale ribbon holding it together. He tasted bright, a thought that seemed as absurd as it did fitting to Fritz. He wondered, sometimes, if Drache tasted like sunlight. "Bastard," he said softly when the kiss finally ended.
Drache merely laughed and reached up to run his hand over Fritz’s bare head, down his neck, slipping his fingers just beneath the collar of his robe, making Fritz shiver. "But your bastard, my other half, and that is all that matters, hmm?"
"You’re so obnoxious," Fritz complained, but his hands betrayed him by combing out Drache’s long, long hair, slipping beneath his robe to map the too-hot skin of that fine chest.
Chuckling again, Drache leaned in to kiss him again. Deeply. Hungrily. As if trying to absorb or be absorbed, a thought that left Fritz aching with misery.
Always the mystery haunted him. Lost half of my tortured soul.
So, once he and Drache had been one soul. Torn asunder for some cruel reason Fritz did not know and Drache could not explain.
Never was Drache able to explain the mystery surrounding his existence, his plaguing of Fritz’ mind. So many things he knew but could not speak of. Never did he appear except in these dreams of a lost city, a lost temple, where phantom sunlight warmed them and made Drache’s dark gold skin glow.
Fritz moaned into the fierce kiss, abandoning Drache’s hair to hold him, drag him close.
Always these dreams felt like stolen moments, and he feared constantly that this poor refuge from loneliness and confusion would someday be taken from him. For all that he’d often gotten drunk to drown out the voice in his head…
Drache broke the kiss, panting for air. "Do you love me, other half?"
"No," Fritz said desperately, almost angrily, and dragged Drache back in for another kiss, making it hard, bruising, pouring all his confusion and misery and anger into it. Drache met him full measure, matching and contrasting exactly as necessary.
So perfectly it ached, made Fritz kiss him even harder, wanting something that he knew he’d never have.
Close, so very close, but even when Drache was buried inside him, shuddering in his arms, calling out his name…it was never close enough. Because someone had torn them apart and ensured that never again would they be together.
Nearly sobbing, Fritz allowed Drache to push him down to the bedding that awaited them, fine linen and satin over down, a wealth of pillows, sheer silk to shade them from the world beyond the archways, from the fact that this was only a dream.
"Drache," Fritz whispered as hands pushed his robes aside, eagerly explored his skin, gasping at the mouth that found his throat, marked him, wishing desperately the mark would be there when he woke.
"Stop thinking, my other half," Drache said, voice like a low growl, pressing sharp, nipping kisses to his face, his throat, down his chest. "You always think too much. For now, only feel."
Fritz nodded, and when Drache sent his thoughts scattering with another devouring kiss, he did not attempt to recollect them, merely gave himself over to his phantom lover.
Fritz wished miserably that he was not awake. Nothing depressed him more than waking after one of his dreams of Drache.
They didn’t happen often, as Drache was not always able to create them, but so far as Fritz concerned ‘seldom’ was still too often.
Liar. You like them. Do you want me to explain each and every thing you particularly like about them?
"Only if you want me to go find the nearest tavern in revenge," Fritz replied irritably, firmly turning his mind to somber thoughts, away from heated memories.
A soft chuckle caught his attention, and Fritz turned slowly and sat up, smiling in greeting. "Good morning. You are looking better than you did last night."
Sasha made a face. "The price of the magic I use is a tendency to collapse dramatically rather frequently."
Fritz laughed. "That would explain why Stefan handled it so calmly. He did make a jest about you remaining dressed this time."
"Yes, a nice change," Sasha said, smiling in a way that made him look years younger. Fritz thought it suited him, that it was a pity he did not smile so more often.
I do believe I am starting to get jealous. You never compliment my smiles.
"That’s because all you do is leer," Fritz muttered.
"Drache is starting up early this morning, I see," Sasha said, stoking the fire and setting to work fixing tea.
"You assume he ever stops," Fritz replied. "Where are Stefan and Killian?"
"Hunting," Sasha said. "We had rations enough for three, not four, and Killian did not get a chance to replenish his own." His face clouded.
Fritz scooted closer to the fire to assist, pouring the tea into cups once it was finished steeping, handing one to Sasha. "Who is the lad, precisely? There was not much chance for questions and introductions last night…"
Sasha snorted. "Killian and Stefan are friends. They were both orphaned at a young age, and raised by the same woman in the village from which they hail. Stefan left home to accompany me, it would seem Killian came after him." He stared into the fire, face void of expression, holding eerily still in that manner of his.
Like one who does not want to be seen, though I cannot tell if he is the deer being hunted or the cat about to spring.
Fritz rolled his eyes. "Scorch off, Drache."
"Should I teach you some more Pozharian curses, as you enjoy using them on Drache so much?" Sasha asked, looking at him in amusement. "Though they don’t seem terribly effective."
"Sadly, alcohol is about the only thing which shuts Drache up."
Oh, I don’t know, it’s rather difficult to talk when my mouth is on you.
Fritz choked on a swallow of tea, nearly dropping his cup and dissolving into a coughing fit as he fought to regain control of his breathing. "Drache! Enough!"
Sasha laughed. "I do believe that round went to Drache, though I’m not certain I want to know what he said."
"No," Fritz muttered, "you don’t. Bastard voice." The very last thing he felt like discussing was the nature of the dreams with which Drache tormented him.
I may be inclined to torment you, my other half, but that is only because you take so very well to it. Hmm?
"You’re in a fine mood this morning," Fritz said in disgust. "If I ever encounter you in reality, Drache, I am going to wring your neck."
Gladly will I let you try, but I think you might find doing so more difficult than you anticipate.
Not bothering to ask what that meant, Fritz poured himself more tea and motioned vaguely. "Shall we have a look at that book you worked so hard to obtain, while there is peace and quiet?"
Sasha chuckled and nodded, setting his cup down to go fetch his saddlebags, pulling the book free as he sat down again. He handed it to Fritz.
Pouring more tea for Sasha, Fritz then turned his attention to the book, opening it and flipping carefully through the old, delicate pages. They were thin, the light of the fire passing easily through, the ink a rich, deep blue-black.
"The wall," Fritz muttered to himself. "I do not think anyone knows much about the wall."
Erected to keep everyone from sacred Sonnenstrahl. Everyone likes to say it appeared in a day, but it actually took Teufel a month to create it, though most of that was the spell work. It took another month to create the Great Sentinels, and bind the opening of the wall to them. I would tell you more if I was able.
"I am surprised you could say that much," Fritz replied. "Though I don’t see what a book could tell us. Lord Teufel would never let slip the secrets to gaining entrance to the lost city." Even as he spoke, though, Fritz knew Sasha wasn’t looking for an explicit answer. Nor was he, really. Anything about the wall was what they were after. The slightest little bit of information might provide some great clue. "Is there anything in particular for which you are looking?"
Sasha shook his head, frowning slightly as his loose hair fell in his face, tucking it back behind his ears, pulling his saddlebags closer and rifling through them. "I would like to hear more about the Sents and how they relate to the walls. All I know is that twelve guard them and one wandered."
Fritz lifted his brows at the past tense of that. "Did you really kill five of them already? I find that incredible to believe…but your magic…" He shook his head in amazement.
"Five. Four of the stationary and the Wanderer," Sasha replied. "As well as I don’t know how many adults and adolescents. But speaking of Sents, I am impressed you can sense them as well as you do. You say it is because of Drache?"
The ringing silence in his head said more clearly than words that Drache was indeed responsible for the strange ability. For as long as he could remember hearing Drache – that is, his whole life – Fritz had been able to sense when Sents were nearby, and often the age of them.
For years he’d been angry that the ability went to waste, as very rarely did Sents venture so close to the cities. Even in villages, the older Sents preferred to stay away unless otherwise compelled – and he’d never heard of it happening.
Not until Sasha, anyway.
"As near as I can tell, and that Drache never says one way or the other is answer enough. I do not know why, unfortunately, nor why such an ability would come to a priest."
It makes more sense than you might think.
Fritz snorted. "If you’re only going to speak obscurely, Drache, then scorch off."
It’s not my fault I’m bound.
Though Drache was nearly always flippant, playful, Fritz knew it hurt him that he was nothing more than a voice – and despite his protestations, he knew that Drache was far more, or at least had been more at one point. He could hear the slight hurt in Drache’s tone, and was immediately contrite. "I know, Drache."
I do still exist…
"Then why have I never seen you?" Fritz asked softly. "Always I have been in Raven’s Knoll, and most of that spent in Unheilvol. You could come to see me."
Where I am, it is impossible to leave. Black thorns and—
The words were abruptly cut off, and Fritz cried out as pain lanced through him, dropping the book and his tea, doubling over, gasping for breath. "Drache?" he asked when he could speak again, only vaguely aware of the steadying hand on his shoulder.
He felt panic rising up when there was no reply, just a stark emptiness in his head. "Drache?" he asked, voice louder, filling with panic.
Nothing.
Fritz clutched at his head, eyes stinging with panicked tears. No! He’d always said, but never meant—
"Drache!"
Nothing but silence.
"Fritz?" Sasha said softly, the hand on his shoulder pressing more firmly, shaking him gently. "What is wrong? What has happened to Drache?"
Fritz moaned, hating how silent everything suddenly was. How dead it all seemed. Where was his voice? His…other half? "Gone. He was trying to say something, and abruptly stopped. It felt as though he was torn away from me."
Sasha gripped both his shoulders now, and the touch was somehow calming, reassuring – he was not entirely alone, though without Drache he may as well be dead. "Drache…"
Fritz.
"Drache?" Fritz asked unsteadily.
Yes. I am most sorry, my other half – I did not expect that to happen.
Sasha’s grip eased, an uncertain frown on his face. "Drache is back?" he asked slowly.
"Yes," Fritz said shakily. He caught one of Sasha’s hands as they slid from his shoulders. "Thank you," he said. "I might have lost myself entirely without you to steady me. From the start, you have been much like a friend though you would have been fully in your rights to dismiss me as the drunkard I was."
The uncertainty that flared in Sasha’s eyes was startling. Fritz could scarcely believe it was there, and almost didn’t, so quickly did it vanish. "I…you seemed to be a kindred spirit." Sasha moved back, resuming his seat and that way he had of holding absolutely still. "I am glad Drache is returned. What happened?"
I pushed too far, tried to say too much. Reckless. I thought the fire child’s presence had weakened things more than it actually had. I will not be so foolish again, my other half. Beloved Fritz. Forgive me. I wanted only to help…
"Forgiven and forgotten, Drache," Fritz replied softly. "Only do not do that again. I…" He swallowed against a lump in his throat. "Do not do that again."
Be assured I will not.
"Good," Fritz said, feeling dizzy with relief now that he knew Drache was not gone.
"Do enlighten those of us who cannot hear voices," Sasha said, a thread of amusement in his voice. "You looked very much as though you’d lost a lover. I guess it must be nearly as intimate, to have a voice in your head."
Fritz nearly dropped the cup he’d just picked up, horrified to realize his face was hot. "Uh—yes. Quite."
The fire child is rather clever.
"Indeed," Fritz muttered.
Sasha lifted one thin, red brow, but did not press the matter. "So what happened?"
Fritz frowned as he spoke, reluctant to dwell on what had ripped Drache from his mind. It had only been a few minutes, but it had felt like an eternity.
You missed me.
"Shut up," Fritz said automatically. He stared at his tea, collecting his thoughts, then finally looked up at Sasha. "He was trying to tell me why I would never meet him. I said he could have come to see me easily enough, and he said he could not leave where he was. He said something about ‘black thorns’ and then was suddenly cut off, as if knocked out. My head…" He shuddered at the memory. "It was silent. Empty. I thought he was truly gone." Something for which he’d wished a thousand times…yet he’d never meant it. Never again would he jest about it.
Maybe for a day you will let off, but by tomorrow you will resume threats.
Fritz shook his head, but did not trust himself to reply.
"Black thorns," Sasha muttered. "I wonder what that means. I have traveled through much of Schatten and neither seen nor heard of black thorns…" He shook his head. "We will solve that riddle later. What does the book say of the Great Sentinels and Wall?"
"Not much," Fritz said, taking a sip of his tea and opening the book to the page he’d been reading before he’d briefly lost Drache. "Twelve Great Sentinels guard the twelve gates of the Great Wall. To enter any one of those gates, it is said one must get past all thirteen Great Sentinels, the last being one which travels in a wide circle around the Great Wall, constantly patrolling Schatten.
"It is impossible to go over or under the gate. All indications seem to say that only by way of the Great Sentinels may anyone pass through the Great Wall and into Verlorengehen." Fritz stopped reading and looked up. "These books were written well before Teufel forbade them. It must be that once he did not feel it was wrong for us to know. Perhaps someone took too many liberties with his generosity, for the land behind the Great Wall is none of our business."
Schatten belongs to the children of Licht.
Fritz frowned. "You are pushing again, Drache. Do not. You promised."
I know. I am being cautious.
Far from convinced, Fritz nevertheless let the matter drop. "I do not see that anything special is required. ‘Get past the Great Sentinels’ is rather vague. As I can’t imagine walking up to one and having a conversation, killing them would work well enough, I’d imagine."
Sasha made a face. "Yet I doubt after they are all dead the gates will simply open. No, if I were an angry shadow of a mad god, I would make certain no one was ever able to enter my stronghold."
Fritz tended to agree.
No child of Schatten can enter. Binding threads of fate. But…
Realization rippled through Fritz. "You are not a child of Schatten. You should not have been able to come to Schatten. Lord Teufel is a creature of fate. He would not be able to see one who is immune…"
"Yes," Sasha said. "I see what you mean. He made all the precautions he could, within in his realm…I have considered such things before. I was hoping to confirm that theory, and I guess we more or less have." He raked back his hair and tied it with the thong he’d finally found in his saddlebag. "Though I sincerely hope that when I’ve finally killed them all that we won’t find out I did it completely wrong. I really do not feel like waiting a few hundred years for new Great Sentinels to appear that I might nicely ask their permission."
Fritz through his head back and laughed. "I would like to see that! I do not think anyone could ask a Sentinel for anything and actually get it, no matter how nicely they might do the asking."
You can certainly say ‘please’ prettily enough when you want to.
"Be quiet," Fritz said. "That is not even the same thing, and you are a voice, not a Sentinel."
Ah, but if a Sentinel could see how beautifully you can beg…
"Scorch off!" Fritz snapped.
Sasha chuckled. "I do not know whether I am sorry or grateful I cannot hear his half of the conversation."
"Oh, be grateful. I think he takes far too much advantage of the fact no one but I can hear him. When I meet him, I intend to strangle him and cut his tongue out."
Here I thought you like my tongue. Certainly it was one of the things to make you beg last night.
"Enough!" Fritz roared, hot with mortification. "I cannot believe I missed you! Behave or I shall manage to locate some form of alcohol, even if we are in the middle of nowhere."
Sasha laughed. "Oh, I do believe I am disappointed rather than grateful. Drache sounds amusing." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "I wonder – if he is where he cannot leave, is Drache somehow beyond the wall? Is that possible?"
Fritz drew a sharp breath at the sudden ringing silence in his head. "Why did I never think of that?" he whispered, shock pouring through him, making him feel hot and cold all at once. "Of course. It makes so much sense. But why?"
"Cursed," Sasha said softly. "A soul torn in half. If I were so angry that I tore a soul asunder…then why not separate the halves for all time? One inside in the Great Wall, one outside…"
"Yes," Fritz said, his hand trembling as he lifted his cup to his mouth, barely noticing that his tea had grown cold. "The only question…why?"
Why is anyone punished?
Fritz frowned. "Why is anyone punished? For doing things wrong."
"For disobeying…" Sasha said thoughtfully. "For…defiance."
In his mind, Drache was silent.
"Defiance," Fritz repeated quietly.
Sasha smiled. "Ah, defiance. I knew I was in good company. If there is one thing with which I am familiar, it is defying gods."
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Date: 2007-06-11 09:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-11 10:15 am (UTC)My head is buzzing with speculations, right now XD
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Date: 2007-06-11 10:56 am (UTC)he who is obsessedKillanno subject
Date: 2007-06-11 10:58 am (UTC)Some of the publish on demand presses are orderable through amazon.com now. That helps a little with shipping costs...
Get well!
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Date: 2007-06-11 11:15 am (UTC)Defying deities is fun. Everyone should try it. Gives you a whole new lookout on life and everything.
Wuv!!!!!!!!!!!!
Date: 2007-06-11 12:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-11 02:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-11 02:57 pm (UTC)Drache is lovely! I'm so glad Fritz has him. Wonder if they'll ever be joined. Maybe physical proximity would be enough. I can't seem to imagine their personalities combined when/if their souls merge again. Wonder why Drache is still alive too, if he defied Teufel. Maybe Teufel still has a heart. Or not. Dividing the souls would probably be the cruelest he could think of. Kept imagining Dache chained by black thorns to the wall.
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Date: 2007-06-11 03:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-11 03:28 pm (UTC)Waaah! I just want to cuddle Sasha so badly. Sasha deserve to be happy. He needs happy!
I feel bad for Killian and for Stefan, but they are such brats!
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Date: 2007-06-11 04:29 pm (UTC)you are thinking you are very smart, aren't you? Nein. Incorrect you el stuppido of the worst kind. You are like the extra cavity with one's root canal and the source of all pain and misery. You are chemistry. An annoyance, the wrinkles in a 700 dollar dress, the bends in the spine of a book, the cramps that come with monthly visitor of doom. And I HATES YOU.
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Date: 2007-06-11 04:46 pm (UTC)2. I still love what Sasha tells Stefan about crushes and not taking them lightly. I just really love that he tells Stefan not to ignore it and to respect that Killian has those feelings. *hearts*
3. Drache is the yum. *________* God, how I love him and Fritz. *tackle hearts*
Self Publish! I'd definitely be up for buying your books, and if it helps, I'll pimp like a mad thing when you get it put together. (Hell, I imagine your whole flist can help with the pimping thing. XD *hearts you*) I'm sure if you ask nicely too, you could probably get some fanart for the covers.
there were two more >_> what were they?
Lost Gods! *_*
ignore meYou know, if you're going to touch up stuffs, you could take Kidnapped and rewrite it like you've mentioned you wanted to (I mean, I haven't seen you mention that in forever, and I loved it the way it was, but you know...). It would be incentive
like we'd need it, but stillfor people to spend the money. (I keep thinking if you rewrite it, the differences will be along the same lines as the differences between your old Treasure and the new chapters of Treasure, because while the story is essentially the same, the way you tell it is wildly different. And maybe that's me assuming too much? I mean, I did love Kidnapped as it was, but I loved Treasure as it was too. (And I LOVE the way that the new Treasure chapters were coming out too...Hmm, I may not be the best judge on these things. ^_^;;))*tackle glomps* To sum up: go for it! What have you got to lose?
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Date: 2007-06-11 05:11 pm (UTC)I like Drache, and Fritz. Are they going to be stuck together again eventually, then? That will be interesting to see, methinks. ^__^
Get well soon!
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Date: 2007-06-11 07:21 pm (UTC)Stefan is such a cute uke. And I hate using that term. But I agree with Sasha in that when he gets more comfortable with it all... ohhhh boy. No more shy uke!
I love Fritz. I love Drache too. And them together? Gah! There are a lot of pairings that I like, and a lot of things that I've read, but this is probably my favorite one. I can't even begin to figure out why either which is incredibly odd.
And I KNEW Drache was probably on the other side of the Wall as soon as he said that he was far away and surrounded by black thorns. I have so many effin speculations now it makes me giddy and impatient for next monday. XD
Guh. I love this story. <3
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Date: 2007-06-11 07:34 pm (UTC)And Killian. The idiot. He's going to turn out like Guy from Ai no Kusabi. I just KNOW IT.
And I really hope you feel better. Sucks that you feel miserable just as your workplace is short of people.
~sketch
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Date: 2007-06-11 07:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-11 08:12 pm (UTC)Killan is going to be in soooo much trouble when he returns. I can't wait--he seems like such a brat, crush or not.
Drache's hair is lovely--makes me wish for my color pencils even more. T^T
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Date: 2007-06-11 08:18 pm (UTC)I worry that Killian will - perhaps inadvertantly - betray them, and cause great calm to their cause. After all, he's not going to be happy, no matter how gently Stefan lets him down.
Poor cute Stefan, being shoved in the middle. I hope he handles it well. And I'm wondering whether his abortive curiousity over Sasha's knowledge of the situation means we're going to hear more about that ill-fated early love of his.
It was good to see more of Drache and Fritz! I like them very much. One soul torn asunder... It makes me think of what I had envisaged for the juxtaposition of Licht and Teufel, but I may very well be barking up the wrong tree there. Particularly as this was a punishment - who would be able to punish Licht in such a way? Ah, I'm clearly mad.
In any case! It looks as if the next chapters will have them going over the wall. I'm looking forward to that; you've woven such a complicated plot, with so many mysteries, that I'm very keen to see the answers that will tie it all together.
You have no idea how grateful I was to find these chapters. After a long and very wearying day with two long and irritating exams, this was just what I needed. Much love!
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Date: 2007-06-11 08:21 pm (UTC)and i'm in total awe of the drache/fritz complication and i want to know NOW how you're going to end it. i mean, are they together? even having kinky wild monkey sex they're not really happy! so do they get into one body? is that the happy ending? who's licht? who's...everybody? who's killan going to have sex with? will it make him less snarky? is he hold enough to have real sex yet? I STILL DON'T KNOW SASHA'S REAL NAME!!
*collapses in a fit of pique*
...i need next monday ASAP.
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Date: 2007-06-11 08:22 pm (UTC)only a bit longer-winded.
'let's go defy some more gods!'
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Date: 2007-06-12 01:50 am (UTC)But egads. So intricate already. But I reeeeeeeeeally wanna know more in depth about what exactly a child of chaos *is*. Particularly since he was born of Pozhar, the land of the prophecies and cathedrals. Which is funny, since Schatten seems to be the land of fate... although it's bound to itself so it can't see the whole picture while Pozhar's priests and cathedrals seem to be the counterparts to Schatten's scrying priests....
I wish it were next Monday. >.>
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Date: 2007-06-12 03:02 am (UTC)Maderr, you rock. Totally. You have made Mondays bearable, even enjoyable and that is no mean feat. I thanks you. And I hope that the bad cramps go away soon.
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Date: 2007-06-12 03:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-12 10:33 am (UTC)Dare I ask if Drache is the Holy Sentinel, now? *wants to know where the smexy Dragon is hiding*
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Date: 2007-06-12 04:36 pm (UTC)The pure, unrelenting dark of a moonless night. A night when no work can be done…but when people might rest without feeling remorse over time wasted. Where secrets are whispered and forbidden meetings are held. Hard to see, but also hard to be seen. Anything might happen beneath a moonless sky. All favor the light, but there is a time in everyone’s life when the dark is preferred.
lead me to this conclusion, Sasha must be the havoc breaker and Stephan hide it all… am I even remotely right?
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Date: 2007-06-12 04:41 pm (UTC)I know I'd certainly like to buy your stories, in print or ebook format. eBook format would avoid the shipping costs, which for a Canadian buying off Lulu doubles the price. But on the other hand, having a print copy of your stories would be worth it! :)
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Date: 2007-06-13 06:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-14 03:55 pm (UTC)Stefan and Sasha: asdhfkajsdh; cute!
Drache and Fritz: so wonderful, omg.
The whole subplot with Drache and Fritz is quickly becoming my favourite part of the entire story. And of course Killian shows up again. Now the question becomes what's he going to do. Can't wait for more!
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Date: 2007-06-17 12:17 pm (UTC)I'd vote for an ebook option on the self-publishing - a lot of them don't offer trans-Atlantic shipping and I'd hate to miss out! And yes, we would miss your writing while you sorted it all out but we would try to understand and not whine too much!
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Date: 2007-06-18 02:30 am (UTC)Killian followed!! Well, he had to, but... this will be interesting. And at 15 I don't imagine he'll end up as someone's true love, which makes me very suspicious about his role in the story... *nibbles fingers*
I just love Fritz and Drache. I love how distressed Fritz was when Drache disappeared. Poor little poppet.
And Stefan and Sasha! I love how they just ...came together. Almost like they always have been. So sweet. Sasha has really grown up, knowing to give Stefan reassurance and telling him to be careful with Killian's feelings.
Can't wait for more! I hope I have time to read tomorrow...
Oh! And before I forget, YES to the self-publishing! Can't wait!! If I can help at all, let me know. Otherwise I'll just eagerly save my pennies. ^____^