"Transylvania"
Though his steps were light, they echoed in
the hollow darkness of the church- darkness which was only pierced by the
light of many, many candles. Though their flames shone bright and tried
to drive away the blackness, it remained... Endless, endless black, reaching
high up to the ceiling. He did not know why he was there. He did not know
why he was there... There, in that place off worship, where one such as
himself had no right to be. Guilty... Endlessly guilty.
He continued walking, slowly, as he had been
before. Searching... searching for what, he did not know. Searching for
who, he did not know. He merely continued, walking with his head down,
not wishing to glance up and see it.. see it all... until he saw it, there,
when he chanced the slightest of glances upward. There, for all to see...
a large statue of Christ, hanging upon the cross. Quickly he averted his
eyes- he wished to see nothing of this. Yet, he did not turn his gaze away
quickly enough to avoid seeing....
...What was it? Something, something odd.
Something which shouldn't be there- something out of place. His emerald
eyes chanced another glance at the statue- a glance which turned into more
as he stopped and stared, stared long and hard, bewildered and confused.
What in the world...?
Anyone would have a right to be confused by
what he saw, for there upon the cross hung not Christ but someone... someone
else, dangling upside-down from where he had been tied, arms held out to
the side as if they, too, were suspended. No rope was to be seen tied around
his legs, but still he hung there, silent. Dressed not in robes but modern
clothes, clothes which were blacker than night and caused his pale face
to look as if it were not truly attached, he hung there, eyes closed. Angelic,
he seemed, or perhaps demonic- one could not tell, for though his face
was soft, framed by crimson hair pinned and clipped and woven by tiny stars...
it looked as if, perhaps, that gentle smile upon his face was merely there
in play. It was out of place... Just as he was.
Unsure of how long he had been standing there
staring at this stranger, this out-of-place stranger, the Guilty One took
a step forward, as if to see him better. He studied that pale face, those
soft-looking lips, wondering why such a person was here.... Wondering,
as well, if he was alive. It was in that moment that his silent question
was answered.....
Those lips he had been eyeing twisted into
a cruel smile, and a laugh escaped that pouting, perfect mouth. Catlike,
he leapt from the cross and landed lightly upon his feet before the Guilty
One, head bowed and face obscured by his long locks of hair. Then, slowly,
he lifted his head and murmured, eyes opening to the thinnest of crescents
to reveal the cold, silver colour they contained, "Good evening. And what
brings you here, Schuldich?" His voice was sweet but cruel, gentle-toned
yet full of contempt. As his smile- or rather, smirk- was chilling....
Slowly, Schuldich found himself stepping backward,
away from this stranger. A hot lump rose in his throat as fear washed over
him and he found himself unable to speak, unable to make a single sound
other than a strangled sob. His mind told him to turn and flee, and yet
he felt as if his feet were somehow nailed to the floor. He was frozen,
frozen by this bizarre stranger's icy glare.... The glare of the stranger,
who somehow knew him.
A laugh escaped this stranger's lips as he
watched the flame-haired telepath struggle to get away, to find himself
and flee through the doors. He laughed so coldly, so cruelly that it only
served to root Schuldich to the spot more securely, making his fear more
intense- something that would never happen in any normal situation.
"What is wrong, sweet little one?" the stranger
whispered, smirking cruelly as he brushed a strand of blood-coloured hair
from his eyes. "Have I frightened you, child? Have I scared you, stolen
your wits from you? What?"
"Wh... who are you?" Schuldich breathed, feeling
as if he were the child that this stranger referred to him as. It was as
if he was defenceless once more, trapped once more, tearful and being driven
insane by his mind once more, though at the moment it was silent. He heard
no thought from this stranger's mind... Not even when he tried. Now, as
he chanced a long look at him, stared into those cold silver eyes, it was
as if he was familiar... As if he had seen him once. As if... As if....
"Who do you think I am, pretty one? Who do
you think I am, who do you think I could be?" Soft though his voice was,
it remained cold and sing-song, as if he were some sort of bizarre cat
playing with a trembling, frightened mouse.
He blurted out the first thing that came to
his mind. It was the only title that fit, the only thing that seemed right....
After all, who else could it be? Who else? And though such a person would
have no place in such a building as this.... "Satan!" he breathed, spitting
out the word as if it were foul-tasting in his mouth. "That's who you are...!"
The stranger, or apparition, or whatever it
was laughed. His laugh echoed in the silence in the darkness, and Schuldich
thought he could see tears in those silver eyes. Then, when the laughter
had died down and the echoes were quieted, the redhead purred, "Satan?
Aah... You mean the red demon with horns upon his head who carries a pitchfork
and stabs people with it, yes?" Chuckling, he pranced about, grabbing one
of the pillars which held up the ceiling and swinging about it as if he
was dancing and sung, voice low and cold, "Yes, Satan, oh! He organized,
yes he organized his own religion, yes... When he knew he should, how nice
it was- delicious... He put it in a vat and fed it to his son, who he gave
away...." He paused and hung off the pillar, tossed his head back and laughed
as if he were insane. Then, he sung, in a wheedling, nasal tone, "Ah! Here's
to my sweet Satan, the one whose little path will make me sad, whose power
is fake! He'll give you six-six-six, in the little toolshed where he made
us suffer, sad Satan!"
Schuldich could do nothing but stare at this
insane stranger, this person who seemed as if he truly -was- the devil
himself. He felt his blood run cold as, bored with his little game, the
stranger walked over to him, and stared at him. "What do you want with
me?" he found himself whispering, emerald eyes filled with fear.
"Nothing," the stranger whispered, his smirk
ever-present. "Nothing, at the moment. But, I do want to tell you...."
He leaned over and murmured in Schuldich's ear, "I am not Satan boy. I
am not Lucifer, I am not the devil. I am not death, or any of that other
foolish nonsense. I am not who you think I am."
Schuldich shivered at these cold words, trembling
as they left the lips of the red-haired stranger. "Then, who are you? Tell
me your name...."
"I am Kaimin," the stranger murmured, twirling
a bit of Schuldich's carnelian-coloured hair around his pale finger. "I
am Kaimin, god of sleep, god of darkness, god of the stars at night. I
am Kaimin, god of fear, god of the screams one hears in their mind. I am
Kaimin. Yes... That is who I am."
"Why are you here?" The words whispered in
the dark were, though soft, heard by the god. Kaimin had left him for the
moment, amusing himself by walking upon the keys of a nearby piano, stepping
upon them and listening to their sound, as if he were some sort of bizarre
kitten. The music was eerie, demonic in nature, chilling....
"Perhaps the question should be, why are -you-
here?" Kaimin sneered, looking up to wink at the mortal. "Why have you
come?" When Schuldich could not answer the question, the god leapt from
the piano and landed beside him, taking his hand. "Come with me," he purred,
pulling him toward the large doors of the church. "Come with me..."
The telepath had no choice but to follow-
and follow he did, reluctantly, through the doors and out into the night.
The wind was cold and biting, and it howled dreadfully in his ears, nipping
at his flesh and screaming at him light a tortured soul. Snowflakes danced
about, carried by this savage zephyr, attacking him like millions of tiny,
evil faeries and he struggled against the god's grip. "Let me go!" he cried,
whimpering softly. "Let me go back inside...."
Kaimin glared at him, gripping his wrist tightly,
fingernails digging into his flesh. "No," he murmured coldly. "You will
come. You will see." Though Schuldich protested, the god pulled him along
, as if he were a small, irritable child. It was only when they reached
the cemetery behind the church that Kaimin let go of his wrist and turned
to look at him closely, eyes holding a bit of an amused look to them. "Such
a pretty little thing," Kaimin purred as Schuldich winced under his gaze.
"Pretty, yet deadly. Like a sweet creature of the night...." Snickering,
he turned from him, prancing and dancing about the gravestones.
Slitting his eyes, Schuldich watched him with
a grim smile upon his face. He wished not to be here.... Though the church
had made him feel rather uncomfortable, it had been warm there, warm and
dark. Here, out in the cold with only a bizarre, insane god for company
and the moon shining down, he felt so alone... So much more alone than
he had been before, though there was one with him.
The god's chatter never ceased, never. He
sang as he danced among the graves, blood-coloured hair flying about him
in the wind, snowflakes swirling about. Somewhere in the night, loud enough
to be heard over the sound of the god's voice, a bell tolled. Upon the
sound of it, Kaimin stopped and fell quiet, gesturing to Schuldich to come
to him. Reluctantly, he did so- even he would not disobey his wishes.
"Look here!" Kaimin murmured, taking the telepath's
hand and pointing at the rows of graves. "See here the future, see here
the past, see what lives inside your cold, black soul!" Then, as Schuldich
looked at the graves, reading the names which were carved upon them, all
colour drained from his face.... And Kaimin cackled, his shrill laugh drowning
out even the screams of the wind.
Names. The names of those he knew so well...
The names of those he cared about, though at times he pretended he didn't.
The names of those he loved, though at times he pretended he didn't give
half a damn. They were written there, carved upon the graves... Plain as
day, visible to anyone...
"Brad," he whispered as he read the names
upon the stones. "Nagi..." He swallowed, reading off the others, all the
others, until he came to the last two. He swallowed, cringing, and whispered,
"...Ran....and... Schuldich...."
The god, Kaimin, had been leaning against
the trunk of an old, withered tree, smoking a cigarette and watching the
mortal as he was filled with shock and horror. "This is the future, boy,"
he murmured, taking a drag on the cancer-stick. "This is the future for
you, all of you. Every single one of you, you and your loved ones...."
He snickered and closed his eyes, murmuring, "Always."
"...-When- will this happen?" Schuldich murmured,
turning to stare at him, expression filled with question. Despite what
he had seen, he felt oddly calm...
Kaimin chuckled. "Who knows?" he said softly,
blowing a smoke ring at him. "Who -can- know? Certainly not your Oracle,
that's for sure." He pointed to Crawford's grave, a smirk dancing upon
his lips. "Sure, he can have an idea, but what's the future? Nothing. It's
all just ideas and thoughts, some which come true for some worlds... And
others which come true for others." He paused a moment, looking at Schuldich,
an odd look in his eye. "Some things are, and some things can be. And some,
though their time has passed, can still be...."
"What do you mean?" Schuldich muttered. "You're
not making much sense...."
The god flicked the cigarette away, and moved
to stand before Schuldich. He glanced at the row of graves, then at the
telepath, eyes strangely warm. "I can delay their deaths, child," he whispered.
"I can change things, through you. I can make you happy, by letting you
have their lives." He paused a moment, closing his eyes halfway. "You rejected
me, once. Once, when you were quiet young.... You rejected me. I asked
you to believe in me, I asked you to follow me, and you refused." As he
looked into Schuldich's deep green eyes, he thought he saw a flicker of
the child he remembered, the child who had pushed him away so many years
ago. "Will you give yourself to me now?" he murmured, touching the telepath's
cheek with chilled fingers. "Will you give yourself to me? In return, I
shall delay your friend's deaths. I shall steer your life in the... convenient
direction. You shall always be with them...."
For a moment, Schuldich was silent. He glanced
once more at the grave stones, then back at the pale face of the god...
And made his decision. "Yes," he whispered. "I'll give myself to you. Tell
me what I have to do...."
A smirk flickered across the god's lips. "Simple,"
he murmured as he turned away from Schuldich and walked among the rows.
"So simply..." And he said, as if it were a spell, voice soft and sing-song,
"Breathe for me and live forever. Dream of me, and live forever. Think
of me, and live forever. Drink from me, and live forever..." Kaimin chuckled,
slitting his eyes as he turned to gaze at the telepath. "You are mine,
now. Plain and simple. And that is all... There is nothing more."
Schuldich shuddered, and for a moment, it
felt as if he had gone back in time... The cold, the darkness... and Kaimin,
looking at him expectantly. He swallowed... and moved to join the god that
he now belonged to.
Schuldich woke from the dream, wide-eyed and drenched
in sweat. He stared out at the darkness, breathing heavily, as he realized...
It hadn't been real. No, it couldn't have been real. It....
"Silly boy," whispered a soft voice- the voice of
a god, a voice he didn't want to hear. "You never will learn... You never
will learn that when you give yourself to me... it is forever."