10 years old
The forest does not whisper with life as Soul plods through mounds of fallen leaves and wends his way through the trees. A deathly quiet hums in his bones instead, beating in time with the soft tramp of his feet.
In some corner of his mind that isn't preoccupied by the broken wooden thing clutched in his hands, he supposes it is because of the witches' presence at his father's castle. After all, witches were said to be creations against nature and it's been over five hundred years since so many witches were gathered in one place.
From behind, something snaps with a loud pop and Soul whirls around, heart flying to his throat. His eyes dart from side to side, the tension coiling in his body drains away when he spies nothing. Soul listens carefully to the forest before he resumes walking-the thought of running into a witch sends fear fluttering down his veins but somewhere underneath it beats a tiny flicker of curiosity he hasn't been able to shake since the witches arrived seven days ago. Meanwhile, his father hadn't been pleased at all about being chosen as host of the treaty renewal between the witches and the kingdom of Eibon but there hadn't been anything he'd been able to do about it; Lord Evans had plastered on his most serene smile as preparations for the witches' arrival were made but as the first of the witches' assembly arrived, he had pressed a ring of iron into Wes and Soul's palms.
Soul had opened his mouth as his fingers wrapped around the ring, painted a shiny gold, but Wes had nudged him before he could say anything. In a loud voice, their father had said, "Make me proud," before moving to greet the wizened old witch leading the approaching assembly through the courtyard.
At that, Wes had nodded enthusiastically; Soul had nodded too but it had been his older brother their father had been looking at.
The faint gong of the village cathedral's bell reverberates in the distance and shakes him out of his thoughts; panic comes alive in his chest, tangling his feet together. Soul rights himself as he trips forward and and quickens his pace.
He refuses to look down at his hands until he reaches the clearing and settles in his spot beneath the tree standing in its center. Breathing in deeply, Soul closes his eyes and leans back against the tree's trunk. The glade with a single oak tree in its middle was something he had stumbled upon by accident but it had quickly transformed into his refuge when he could no longer stand the veiled comparisons to his brother from his music instructor and the rest of his tutors.
A dull ache in his palms brings him back to the present and he stares at the violin held tightly in his hands, its broken neck hanging limply towards the ground while its strings pathetically curl skyward.
Tiny rapid puffs of breath escape from his lips and stains the crisp, clear winter air as Soul wraps his finger around one of the strings and tries to smooth it flat. The string straightens for an instant before winding itself into an even angrier and uglier twist of curls.
Soul's heart floods icy dread through his body; there were few things he found worse than being forced to repeat a song and enduring his music instructor's criticisms for hours on end but that was before going through a week of being paraded around like a trophy from daybreak to well into the night. Wes had done his best to buffer Soul from the small mob of ambassadors and courtiers that clung to them wherever they went but the buzz of the ever-present crowd had quickly turned into fingernails dragging their way down Soul's eardrums over and over. By some miracle, the week-long treaty conference had gone by without a single incident; it was clearly a sign that was disaster was overdue but instead Soul had thought the opposite.
He moves his gaze to the neck of the violin, only attached to the violin's body by a few splinters, and grits his teeth. All he'd wanted was to practice his piece for the farewell banquet one last time-he hadn't realized Wes had left his violin on the piano seat until he heard the crunch.
Glancing at the sun high in the sky, a slightly nauseous feeling bubbles in his stomach-there wasn't another violin that was suitable enough for Wes to use at the banquet and his performance was something his father had been boasting about for days now. Soul swallows-in a few hours, everyone would know as well as he did about how badly he could make a mess of things.
A snapping sound from above cuts Soul away from the panic erupting in his chest and he looks up to see a pair of green eyes staring back at him.
The girl sitting on the tree branch gazes at Soul for another moment. There is a faintly unearthly glow to her eyes as they trace across his face. "Hello."
Soul continues to stare.
"My name is Maka," she says when Soul doesn't reply. One of her front teeth is missing and her words come out in a slight lisp. "I'm a witch's apprentice."
This does prompt a response from Soul. "All of the witches I've seen are old crones," he says. "And have wrinkles and grey hair."
"Disguises." Maka answers, rolling her eyes. "It's not safe for a witch to be traveling when her powers aren't fully realized."
"I didn't know witches age." Soul forgets the broken violin in his hands. "I thought they were made immortal."
"Humans really don't get much right about witches, do they?" Maka says. She swings her legs forward and jumps down, landing on the ground with more grace than a normal person would. "Witches are born, not made."
Everything his father and tutors had ever told him about witches spins in Soul's head, colliding and clashing with Maka's words. "How?"
"Same as you," Maka answers matter-of-factly as she takes a seat in front of him and crosses her legs. Golden stars dangle from the tassels on the hem of her shirt and splay over her skirt while tiny winged crescent moons hold her hair in two neat pigtails. "My mama is a witch and my papa is a normal human."
Soul glances at the space between them. A voice that sounds like his father prods at him from the back of his mind to leave, but instead he leans forward after a pause. "Did you come with your mother?"
"No." The glow in Maka's eyes dims and her gaze moves to the ground. "She left." There is a beat of silence. "I live with one of the other witches now."
Maka's silence between her words and the slight hunching of her shoulders tells Soul not to question it any further. He eyes the wings capping her shirt at her shoulders. They're fluttering, even though there isn't even the faintest whisper of a breeze. "What do you like most about magic?"
Maka blinks and her gaze shifts back to Soul's face. She winds a lock of hair around her finger as she thinks. "Mastering a new spell is nice," she says. "Mabaa says magic is like taking the energy of the universe and turning it into something else so I like it when my magic is useful."
Soul nods, even though he doesn't understand completely. Magic was something he had been warned away from since he could talk, had only been whispered about in hushed tones, had been called unnatural and evil.
He frowns. Maka doesn't seem unnatural or evil.
"Your brother's violin, for example." Maka doesn't seem to notice that he's wandered off with his thoughts. She points at it. "I could fix it."
"My brother's violin?" he repeats. It takes Soul a moment to register her words. "Wait." He eyes her suspiciously. "How did you know this was my brother's?"
"After spending a week here, it's hard not to know who you or your brother are," she answers. "Should I call you Lord Soul?"
He cringes. "Only if you want me to throw up."
"No, thank you." Maka reaches out a hand. "Do you want me to fix the violin or not?"
Soul hesitates for a fraction of a second before holding out the violin.
Maka's eyebrows furrow as she turns the violin over in her hands. "What were you planning to do with it?" she asks interestedly. "Bury it?"
"I'm not sure," Soul lies. He watches as she continues to twist the violin over and over again. "What are you doing?"
"I'm trying to find the break," she says.
His eyebrows lift in confusion and he points at the neck of the violin. "It's right there, isn't it?"
"Physically, yes," Maka answers, bringing the violin closer to her face. "But sometimes the real break is somewhere else." She pokes at a spot that looks intact to Soul. "Though that's only with people, usually."
She is quiet for another moment before she nods to herself. "Here."
Soul cranes his head to see where she's pointing at. "I don't see anything."
"Just watch." Maka lays the violin flat in her hands and closes her eyes.
Soul waits. And waits.
The violin stays as broken as ever.
Soul waits another minute before clearing his throat. "Um, is something supposed to happen?"
Maka opens her eyes and scowls at him. "Obviously!" An embarrassed blush in her cheeks dims the burn of her glare. "I just need time to concentrate, that's all."
"Should I turn around?"
"No!"
Maka takes a deep breath. Her eyes have a brighter glow to them and her grip on the violin is tight. "Just wait and watch, okay?"
There's a fiercely determined expression on her face that makes it impossible to say no. "All right," he says.
Inhaling sharply, she closes her eyes again. This time, after a few moments, a stillness creeps into the air that sinks into Soul's bones, simultaneously featherlight and heavy as a boulder; it's accompanied by a heavy silence that hovers between unsettling and uncomfortable.
Soul tries not to squirm-it's like the fabric of the universe has unspooled itself a bit and draped itself on his shoulders. Maka's words from earlier make more sense now; he has to fight to keep from jumping to his feet the longer the feeling pushes against his body.
Abruptly, the heaviness disappears and Soul feels a swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach.
"There!"
A bright smile spreads across Maka's face as she extends a newly mended and fully playable violin to Soul.
Taking it, Soul stares at the violin, then up to Maka, and back down again in disbelief. "It's fixed."
"That was the goal." There's a nervous edge to her voice that makes him look up. "And also the first time I showed someone my magic," she adds, not quite meeting Soul's eyes.
Maka fiddles with the tip of one of her pigtails and shifts to sit on her knees. She still wears the small smile from before but an anxiousness dances beneath her expression. "What did you think?"
Soul moves his gaze to the violin and then back to Maka.
"I think it's amazing." He struggles to find something else to say than thank you but his mind proves itself a traitor once again, going completely blank. "Thank you," he says lamely after a minute.
The grin Maka gives him is beaming, however. "I'm glad to have helped."
"What else do you like?" The question leaves Soul's mouth before he can think twice about it.
Maka blinks in surprise but her expression grows thoughtful. "Well, I like fairy tales," she answers. "I love the ones where the princess and the dragon become friends."
Soul lays the violin down carefully in his lap. "I've never read any fairy tales like those."
"They get to be friends all the time in the books I read," Maka says excitedly. She scrambles to her feet and climbs up the tree, retrieving a bag that Soul hadn't noticed before.
Reaching in, she pulls out a book whose covers shines with colors Soul has never seen before. The book seems to whisper as Maka opens up to an illustration of a mermaid floating up and down the page. "Do you want to hear one?"
Soul tears his eyes away from the mermaid, now waving at him. "Huh?"
Maka waves the book impatiently. "Do you want to hear a story?"
Briefly, Soul thinks of the lunch he's supposed to be attending before meeting Maka's eyes and shrugging internally; he's not Wes so his father won't yell at him too much, if at all. "Yes."
He settles back against the trunk of the tree and watches the way Maka's hands come alive as she launches into her story.
Soul's stomach rumbles loudly just as Maka pauses to turn the page in her recounting of the alternate version of Jack and the Giant Beanstalk.
"Oh." She lowers the book, lifted high above her head to show off the tiny talks growing from the letters of the page. A guilty look comes across her face, cheeks reddening slightly. "I'm sorry, I didn't know it was so late."
"It's okay, I'm fine." Soul shakes his head as his stomach gives another impatient growl.
"I think your stomach would disagree." She rises to her feet in one fluid movement, dusting off her skirt. "Mine does too."
"Lunch is over by now." He glances at the sun, which has crawled high overhead, and stands anyways, cradling the violin carefully in his arms. Wes' performance wasn't until late in the afternoon but he needed time to sneak the violin back into the recital hall.
"Maybe we can sneak something from the kitchen." Maka tucks the book under her arm and starts to walk across the clearing, Soul falling in step with her.
He snorts. "They guard the kitchen better than anywhere else in the castle."
"Even us?" Maka asks as they leave the clearing. She peeks at Soul, pushing a branch out of the way. A strange tone enters her voice, as if she remembered something suddenly. "We noticed, you know."
A mixture of guilt and shame stirs to life in Soul's chest. "Noticed what?"
"Don't pretend you don't see it." Something between hurt and anger lines her words. Dead leaves crackle underneath their feet as Maka quickens her step and stays slightly ahead of Soul. "Did you really need a small army to greet us when we arrived?"
The shame burrows itself deeper in Soul's heart. He's quiet as he twists the thin band of iron on his finger, forgotten until now. Had Maka seen it and recognized it for what it was?
He opens his mouth and closes it. There's not much he can say that isn't a blatant lie or too hurtful so he decides on a vague truth. "My father is extremely wary of witches." He tacks on a half-lie. "He doesn't mean to offend you."
His words sound false even to his ears. Maka makes a skeptical noise at the back of her throat and glances back towards Soul, not quite meeting his eyes. "This is why we need a treaty renewal every two years," she says. "Less land and more restrictions every time." She starts walking fast enough to break into a slow jog. "And it's why witches have to live away from humans."
The guilt from before pricks at Soul's throat-his father had always treated the treaty as a formality and he had assumed it was nothing more but saying so won't help. "I'm sorry."
There's a small "hmph" from Maka and nothing else.
"It would be nice if you lived closer. If we could see each other more often." Once again, the words leave Soul's lips before he can think about them. "I would like it."
Maka pauses abruptly and Soul nearly crashes into her. She turns her head to look at him and the sharpness of the glow in her eyes dims. "Well," she says finally, a ghost of her smile appearing on her lips, "That makes this morning good news."
He blinks. "What do you mean?"
"Didn't you hear any part of the treaty announcement at all?" she asks, frowning. "About the changes in the treaty?"
"Ah." Soul scratches the back of his head, mind filled with flashbacks of dozing against the pillar he'd been standing next to and being nudged awake by Wes too many times to count. He clears his throat. "I may have been sleeping."
The eye roll Maka gives him is reminiscent of his brother. "There were lots of changes," she says. "But what matters is that a pair of witches will join every lord and lady's household." She begins to walk again, scooting over on the path so they can walk side by side. A finger curls around her pigtail. "For your father, it's me and my mentor."
For several moments, there is nothing but the sound of their footsteps and the soft rasp of wind whispering down from the sky.
"So you're going to be living here?" Soul finally asks.
"Looks like it." From the corner of his eye, he can see Maka looking over at him. "The forest will be a good place to practice my magic."
Soul starts to nod before he stops in his tracks. "Wait a second." He points a finger at Maka. "Was us running into each other really an accident?"
A guilty expression flashes across her face and realization hits him in a lightning flash. "You were that sound I heard when I was walking!"
Maka crosses her arms, refusing to look at Soul. "Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"Maybe yes?" Maka answers. Her cheeks have turned red again. "I wanted to see what you were like," she says defensively. "I was curious."
It's Soul's turn to roll his eyes. "You chose the wrong brother." He shakes his head as they start to walk again, the trees slowly thinning out. "Wes is more interesting."
"That's not what I think."
When people have given Soul similar comments, the lie usually hangs heavy in their eyes. It's something he's grown used to, being the second son of a lord who doesn't embody what it means to be nobility.
When he looks at Maka, all he sees is honesty.
The sarcastic reply he has primed for these situations dies on his lips. He moves his gaze back to the trail as the ground starts to slope downhill. "How did you know where I would end up?"
"Perception," Maka replies brightly. "It's a type of magic," she adds at Soul's confused expression. She plays with one of the stars hanging from her shirt. "I could show you how it works tomorrow, if you want."
Soul doesn't answer right away as they exit the forest, castle coming into view. Even though they're far away, he can still spy the guards crawling back and forth like ants on the outside balconies of the castle. The familiar dread at returning he feels every time he visits the forest is absent, however.
"Yes," he says, glancing at Maka. There is a light and an ease in spending time with Maka, even though they had just met. "I would like that."
The smile Maka gives him is dazzling.
Like everything in Soul's life, something goes wrong. In this case, it is spying his brother waiting outside of the recital hall as he and Maka round the corner to the theater's entrance. Wes spots them almost immediately, calling out to Soul as he pulls Maka back and tries to meld into the stone wall. "Ah, there you are, little brother."
Soul hastily shoves the violin behind his back and levels a glare at Wes, though the anxious crack in his voice breaks his facade. "What are you doing here?"
"Is that how you greet your favorite brother?" Wes places a hand on his chest in mock hurt as he approaches the two. "I'm wounded, Soul."
"You're my only brother." Soul shrugs out of the way as Wes reaches out to ruffle his hair. "There's no one else to be favorite."
"Even more reason why you should cherish me." Wes turns his gaze to Maka, who is eyeing him with a nervous curiosity, and gives her a gracious smile. "And who is this?"
"Maka," she answers quickly, stepping forward. "I'm a-"
"She's a friend," Soul cuts in.
"A friend?" Wes lifts his eyebrows, smile spreading wider as he looks at Maka. "That's rare."
"Shut up." Soul glances at Maka-Wes doesn't sneer down on magic like so many of the other nobles do but he is the kind of person to barrel someone down with a million questions when something captures his attention. "And you didn't answer my question, why are you here?"
To his surprise, Wes doesn't push the subject. "Well, as it just so happens, I came here earlier because I wanted to practice by myself for a while," he says, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle from his sleeve. "And just as I was walking around the corner, someone came bursting out of the hall, a rather woefully broken violin in hand." A knowing gleam enters his eyes. "Any idea who that might have been?"
Soul flushes red but stubbornness than blood runs thicker in his veins. "I think you're asking the wrong person."
Wes taps his chin thoughtfully. "You're right, actually." He turns to Maka. "Are you the talented young witch that fixed my violin?"
Soul chokes and Maka lets out a soft gasp. She recovers first, scrutinizing Wes with a bewildered expression. "I was in disguise this morning," she says. "How did you know I'm a witch?"
"It certainly wasn't my little brother who fixed my violin," Wes answers. "Though he does look like he has some warlock blood in him."
"It's called albinism." Soul jabs a finger at Wes before looking at Maka and adding quickly, "Not that there is anything wrong with being a warlock."
Maka shrugs. "Warlocks got killed off a long time ago." She nods towards Soul's arm. "Gave yourself away."
He follows her gaze to where he points accusingly at Wes, violin in hand. "Oh."
"Indeed." Wes pulls out a hunk of bread from his sleeve. "This was all I was able to smuggle out but since I can hear your stomachs from here, I don't think you'll mind."
"Here." Soul shoves the violin in Wes' hand and snatches the bread from the other, ripping it in half and giving the bigger piece to Maka. "Now you can have your practice time unless you want to gloat some more."
"Father is livid," Wes informs Soul, unperturbed. "He'd be looking for you himself if I hadn't told him you were stuck in the privy with the most unfortunate stomachache."
The tips of Soul's ears burn with embarrassment as Maka chokes back a giggle. "Am I supposed to thank you for that?"
"Considering that I risked my own skin to cover for my beloved little brother, yes."
"Well, I'm not."
Wes moves too quickly for Soul to dodge his hair-ruffling this time. "One day you'll properly appreciate me."
Soul bites back a snort and steps back to stand next to Maka, a blush still burning in his face. "Sorry," he mutters to her.
"Don't be," she says in a voice muffled by the bread in her mouth. She swallows. "I'd love to have a sibling."
"You're an only child?" Wes asks interestedly. "Tell me more about yourself, it's not often Soul brings a friend home."
Maka opens her mouth just as a bell rings from somewhere in the castle. She starts and looks up, eyebrows creasing together. "It's later than I thought."
"Do you have to go?" There's a small pang in Soul's chest as he asks, which surprises him since there are few people he feels comfortable with and even fewer that he likes being around.
"I should," Maka answers, beginning to drift away. "Mabaa will start looking for me if I don't re-appear soon." She hesitates, glancing at Wes before asking Soul, "Should we meet tomorrow in the same place as last time?"
Soul nods. "Same time too."
"All right." Maka takes a few steps backwards before she moves close to Soul again, pressing her book in his hands. "Show me which story you like best tomorrow, okay?"
Without waiting for an answer, Maka dashes off, sparing a look back and a wave as she turns around the corner.
Soul feels a prod on his shoulder and looks to see Wes wearing a smirk that never promises anything good. "You like this Maka, don't you?"
"I called her a friend, didn't I?" He scowls and walks away before Wes can tease him about the blush rising in his cheeks.
"Yes, but I've never met someone who could make you smile so quickly after meeting them."
He throws the darkest glare he can muster at Wes. "I was not smiling."
"Your lips were curved upwards and that, little brother, is what a smile is."
Soul doesn't answer but he does ask a question that has been picking at his mind since he and Maka ran into Wes. "Do you think Father will be mad?"
Wes lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "It should only help that the witch's apprentice is your friend but you know how Father is," he says. He nudges Soul with his elbow. "I'll take your side, though."
"Thanks." Soul rolls his eyes but returns the nudge. "And," he says after a moment of silence, "Thank you for today."
He bears Wes' hair-ruffling with more grace this time. "What are older brothers for?"
They've nearly reached the entrance hall when Wes asks, "So now that you have a friend, should I tell her about the time you saw a horse and cried because you thought it was a dragon?"
Soul snorts as he pulls open the door to the entrance hall. "If you do that, your violin breaking won't be an accident next time."
14 years old
"I've never seen you up so early."
Wes' laugh weaves through the air as Soul skids to a halt and chokes back a startled yelp on the last of the castle steps, arms windmilling wildly as he fights to keep his balance.
The rising sun produces a glare so sharp that it turns the one Soul aims at his brother lounging on the grass beside the stairs into a useless squint. He settles for a scowl instead. "And I've never seen you so lazy."
"It's tactical practice for my men." Wes yawns, sliding his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. "I hide and they test their detection skills."
Morning mist clings to Soul's skin as he steps off the stairs and stands over his brother. "Do they know that they're supposed to be looking for you?"
"Now where would be the fun in that?"
Soul snorts, reaching down to tug at a loose lace in his boot. "You might want to find a better hiding spot than out in the open then."
Wes wags a finger at him without opening his eyes. "And yet you will notice I haven't been found."
"Fair enough." Soul glances at the pinkening sky. Maka would be sneaking out too by now. "I'm leaving."
"Wait." Soul nearly trips faceforward as Wes grabs his ankle. "What is that?"
"What is what?" He follows where Wes is pointing and his gaze falls on the necklace in his hand. Soul rapidly curses himself, his bad luck, and Wes' uncanny ability to notice everything. "It's nothing."
"Just like your absences at lunch and dinner are nothing." Wes is completely awake now. He sits up, eyes sparkling with a teasing amusement he reserves solely for Soul, something he is unsure he's grateful for or not. "You remain a terrible liar, little brother."
"And you remain too nosy for your own good," Soul retorts.
It does nothing to keep the embarrassment from rising in his cheeks nor the smug grin that spreads across Wes' face. "Is it for Maka?"
Soul briefly considers burying himself in the earth.
"It is." Wes doesn't wait for Soul's answer or his permission to snatch the necklace out of his hand. The jade green glass catches the light as he twists it back and forth. "What is this supposed to be?"
"You're going to break it." Soul plucks the necklace from Wes. "And Sid said I'm banned from using the kiln anymore."
"Oh, so you made it yourself?" Wes clamps down on this information the same way a dog bites a bone. "How sweet."
"One more word and I'll switch out all the sugar cubes you put in your tea for salt ones."
"All right, all right." Lifting his arms in mock surrender, Wes stands and begins to brush off the strands of grass clinging to his pants. "I'm sure Maka will love having a green moon around her neck."
He looks up when Soul doesn't answer. "What?"
"It's not a moon." He pulls out the necklace from his pocket and stares down at it, shoulders sagging.
Wes' eyes widen for an instant before he claps a hand on Soul's shoulder. "I was always terrible at artistic interpretation and I'm still half asleep." He peers down at the necklace lying in Soul's palm, silent for several moments before finally asking, "So what is it?"
"A soul," answers Soul glumly.
"A soul," Wes repeats.
"Maka can see them." Soul fights the urge to throw the necklace into the bushes, shoving it back in his pocket. "She described them to me once."
"And they're so round and squishy?"
"That's what she told me." He shrugs off Wes' hand; the slippery nervousness that lives underneath his skin made a home in the pit of his stomach after he finished the necklace three days ago and Wes' reaction turns what little confidence he had into dust. "I didn't exactly have much else to work with."
"You accomplished your goal, then," Wes says brightly. "I'm sure Maka will love it."
Soul bats his words away, turning away from Wes to face the forest. "She's going to laugh when she sees it. I'm going to look like a fool."
"We're only willing to look like fools around people we care about." The joking lilt in Wes' voice is absent. "And the people who care back love us because of it."
"Is that why you put up with me?" The question slips out of Soul's mouth in the same way his dreams meld into nightmares.
The immediate reproach that follows his moments of self-deprecation does not come; Soul doesn't dare to look directly at Wes but he does watch how he shifts out of the corner of his eye.
"You don't put up with someone you love," Wes says finally. "At least that's what I think." He doesn't reach out to touch Soul when he remains silent but his tone softens. "It's not how good it looks but that you made it that's important," he says. "And I think that says more than any other gift you could have bought."
Soul feels for the necklace in his pocket as he thinks, turning the cool glass in his hand. "How do I give it to her?"
"In her hand, usually." Wes smiles sunnily at the scowl Soul shoots him before shrugging. "Make up an excuse. Is her birthday soon?"
"That was months ago."
He scratches the back of his neck. "No witch holidays coming up?"
"None that I know of."
"Looks like you're stuck with admitting your feelings then."
The scowl deepens. "Shut up."
Wes blinks innocently at Soul. "I was only talking about friendship feelings, I don't know what you were thinking of."
"Like you don't tease enough about it," Soul grumbles. He shakes his head and faces him. With Wes beginning to spend more and more time training to take over their father's place, it isn't often that he and Soul are alone. Something tightens in his chest and he doesn't quite meet Wes' eyes as he tacks on, "Thanks for the help."
"Anything for my little brother." Wes gives his hair a light ruffle, ignores his frown and sits back down on the grass, stretching out his arms and legs and closing his eyes. "You can pay me back by telling me how it goes."
Soul gives Wes an eye roll he doesn't see. "Have fun with tactical practice."
"You never saw me and I never saw you." Wes gives him a lazy wave and Soul hesitates for another second before he starts to head down to the treeline.
The forest hums with the song of wildlife as Soul treks through the forest, the summer sun beating down mercilessly at his neck, but by the time he enters the clearing, the comfort from Wes' words has evaporated.
"There you are." Maka is sitting underneath the oak tree already. Light dances on her fingertips, shimmering with an incandescence that reminds him of starlight. "I thought you had gotten lost."
"You just want to get even for the time you got lost," Soul answers as he takes a seat next to her.
Maka responds by blowing the light off her fingers. The light transforms into two tiny figures; they swirl and spin around each other in a short-lived waltz before they dance into Soul's face.
"Mature."
"Says the person who called my ankles fat for taking the last of the crumpets."
"I'm a different person now."
"That was three days ago." Maka throws him an amused glare as she waggles her fingers and the last sparks of her light flicks onto Soul; where they fall on his skin blooms a soft and contented warmth that he feels less and less these days.
"People change in less time."
She gives a skeptical hum in reply and Soul leans back against the tree as they lapse into a comfortable silence. It's a calculated move because he is anything but relaxed; the necklace weighs heavy in his pocket, burning a hole in his pants and turning his palms sweaty.
For a moment, he toys with the idea of forgetting about the plan entirely before a voice reminiscent of Wes reproves him from the back of his mind and he sucks in a breath, heart thrumming like a drum in his chest.
Beside him, Maka notices nothing, nose in a book she produced out of nowhere. She turns her page seven times in the time it takes Soul to muster the courage to open his mouth; his mind goes blank the first time, his words stick in his throat the second time, and he accidentally bites his tongue the third time.
Maka snaps shut her book shut the fourth time Soul opens his mouth. "Mabaa is leaving and I'm going with her.."
The carefully prepared words perched on his tongue fly out of his head. "What?"
"Not forever," she clarifies, putting the book to the side. A frown pulls at the corners of her mouth. "Only for a few weeks."
"Why?"
She shrugs. "Your father met with Mabaa a few days ago but she wouldn't let me stay for the meeting and she refused to tell me anything afterwards."
"That didn't stop you from eavesdropping though."
"It's not eavesdropping if I was already in the area." A guilty look creeping into her eyes ruins her scowl.
"And?"
"There wasn't much I could make out," Maka sighs, settling back against the tree trunk. "All I heard was something about the treaty renewal getting delayed. She wants to go back."
"The treaty got delayed last year," Soul points out.
"But that was because one of the witches got sick and couldn't come out to sign it," she counters. "There's no reason for it this year."
Soul moves from looking at the meadow to Maka and the finger she loops and hooks around a lock of her hair. "Something else is wrong."
Maka bites her lip instead of denying it. "I don't know if it is wrong exactly," she says slowly. "It's just...off."
"How?"
"My magic is maturing," she starts. "It means I can do more like sensing the magic of other witches. And because of my perception, I can see it too, like the sky." She gestures upwards and her gaze fixes on something that Soul can't see. "It changes color often but it always returns to blue eventually."
"It's turning grey," she says after a moment. "And it feels heavy."
"But maybe it always fluctuates at this time of year, even the witches who support the treaty hate signing it." The words burst out of her just as Soul begins to speak. Her shoulders sag. "I don't know."
Soul is quiet. The treaty was the result of a fifty year war between humans and witches, one that nearly destroyed the world, and bound the witches' magic to its terms. After he and Maka had met, he finally read the treaty and seen the way the renewals gave less and less to the witches over time so it's little surprise to hear about the treaty's unpopularity among the witches, though he has no idea how it'd affect their magic in the way Maka is describing.
"But Mabaa would be able to sense the same thing, right?" he asks finally. "With the magic."
"I would imagine so."
"And she would have told you if something was wrong?"
"I suppose," Maka says, shrugging. A breeze rustles through her hair as she looks across the meadow. "It wouldn't be something she could hide at least."
"See?" he says with a confidence he doesn't feel. "She would have mentioned it by now." When Maka's expression remains unconvinced, he adds, "The lords at the other castles would have sent word if any of the witches there noticed anything out of the ordinary and my father hasn't mentioned hearing from them recently."
It feels foreign to look on the bright side of things but his words seem to work; the doubt on Maka's face begins to ebb away though the tension in her body remains.
"Do you really think there's nothing to worry about?" she asks.
There is the world's weight in her words and he hesitates to give the reassurance that springs to his lips, in part because he is not well-practiced at offering comfort but mainly because he has no true answer to Maka's question.
"I think you should talk about it with Mabaa," Soul says after a pause, settling on honesty. "There's not much I can say except it's a promising sign that the world hasn't ended yet."
Surprised laughter spills from Maka's lips as she needles Soul in the side. "Is that really the most comforting thing you could come up with?"
"Probably not," he answers, accepting her pokes with as much grace as he can manage. "But it is the truth and that's about as comforting I can get,"
"I'll miss you," he tacks on in a mumbled rush before he can talk himself out of it.
"How touching." She laughs again, drier but still amused; the cloud that had fallen over her eyes has lifted somewhat and she exhales loudly. "I've needed to talk about this for a while."
"Why didn't you?" It's a slightly hypocritical question to ask, considering he keeps a large part of his words and an even bigger majority of his thoughts to himself. However, the self-doubt that acts as the gatekeeper of his thoughts comes to life at the idea that Maka doesn't consider him the exception like he does her.
"I'm the witch, I'm supposed to have answers not questions," Maka says, straightening up and pushing the bangs out of her face. "But I don't." Her lips purse together before she speaks again. "When Mabaa didn't say anything, I told myself it was all right but I couldn't forget about it." There's something else hiding in her voice but before Soul can ask, she blows out a breath and says, "And you were the only one I could talk to about it."
"How do you feel now?" A small, selfish part of him perks up at her last words but he silences it.
"Still worried but the world hasn't ended yet." Maka conjures up a worn basket with a twist of her hand and when she smiles at him, it reaches her eyes. "So that's a good thing."
Soul matches her grin. "Promising, at least."
"Right." The cape of Maka's uniform flutters about her as she rises. She'd been given the uniform when she had turned thirteen, replacing her apprentice shirt and ruffled skirt for a jacket whose tail fell past her knees and a plain skirt. When Soul looked at her now, he didn't have any trouble believing she held magic in her fingertips.
Maka glances down at him. "Do you have to head back?"
"My tutor got sick so I have the day off." He follows suit, brushing the grass from his pants.
"And music?"
"Missing one day won't hurt," he says, shrugging. After his last recital, he's stopped denying the fact that his limits are nowhere close to the expectations he was born into. "And I doubt I'll hear any complaints from my music tutor."
Maka frowns but she doesn't comment on it. "Fine, but you'd better not forget the song you said you'd play for me," she says instead. "You told me it'd be done soon and that was last year."
Visions of half-finished composition sheets stuffed away in his desk flash across Soul's mind and regret of his promise to Maka, rashly made in a moment of rare confidence, sours on his tongue. He grinds his heel into the ground and dodges giving a real answer. "If I ever get it right, you'll be the first to hear it."
"Excellent." She returns her attention to the basket, lined with odd-smelling plants that makes Soul's eyes water. "I need to store up on some herbs since Mabaa and I can leave a store of potions and poultices for the infirmary."
As Soul follows Maka out of the meadow, he feels the necklace move in his pocket, reminding him of the gift he has yet to give. When he opens his mouth, however, he says, "Sounds like a berry fun time."
Maka makes something between a noise of disgust and a giggle. "That's not even funny in the bad kind of way."
"How about you try then?" he rejoins. His hands wrap around the necklace and he swallows as he tries to summon the courage to pull it out, staring at the back of Maka's head. She abandoned her pigtails a while ago, opting to leave it loose, though she had kept the tiny wing pins that used to hold her pigtails in place.
She tosses him a backwards glance. "I don't go out on a limb like that."
Letting go of the necklace, he manages a casual eye roll. "Funny."
Breathing out quietly, Soul stares up at the sky and pushes the necklace to the back of his thoughts. Today, he promises himself. But later.
Dusk dyes the sky a hazy lavender, staining the forest in murky darkness by the time they reach the end of Maka's list. A wind, sharp and cold, whispers through the trees and spreads goosebumps across Soul's skin and he dances in place as he squints down at the ground, little more than shadow in the dying light. Even with the wind, his clothes stick uncomfortably to him-most of the herbs Maka needed had been scattered throughout the forest and the blazing sun and his thick clothes had done well to give him the feeling of being baked alive.
It was still a better day than being at the mercy of his tutors, who slowly consume more and more of his time. Bending down, Soul plucks a couple bundles of what he thinks is false unicorn's tail, brings it to his nose, inhales tentatively and immediately chokes on dandelion fluff.
Maka comes up behind him as he hacks up what feels like his left lung. "You sound like you're dying."
"Only slightly dead," he manages to say between coughs, dropping the dandelions. He sucks in a breath, eyes watering. "How can you see anything?"
"Witches have better senses than humans," Maka replies matter-of-factly, lifting her basket. "Which is why I found the unicorn's tail first."
He rubs at his eyes. "I wasn't aware this was a competition."
"And now you are," Maka answers airily. She twists the hand that holds the basket and it disappears in the same way it first appeared.
Soul scrutinizes the space where the basket had been. "Could you do the same thing with us?"
"Living things use a lot of energy to transport. The energy it would take to move a human would be too much," she says, shaking her head. "Mabaa is the most powerful witch I know and the most I've seen her teleport is a squirrel."
"How about you turn us into squirrels then?"
"Don't be lazy." Maka steps closer, poking Soul playfully in the shoulder. "Let's go."
He makes a face she can't see. "And the dark?"
"That I can take care of." Soul's heart makes a strange flop as Maka presses close to him. "I've been hoping for a chance to show you this, actually."
Before he can ask, she begins to speak in a quiet undertone into her hands. Soul has the sensation of being dunked underwater; even though Maka stands right next to him, her words are muffled, flowing and slipping into air like they were living things. Her hands bunch, as if she was holding something, and then she opens them.
Light, much brighter than the beads of light Maka summoned earlier, springs forward into the air, flying everywhere. The light twists and splits off into a countless tiny fragments, shaping themselves into tiny spheres; for several moments, there is a flurry of movement as the light spheres fly back and forth like tiny comets, filling the forest with a soft light.
Eventually, they come to a stop, hovering in place. Like a moth, Soul is drawn in-he isn't aware he's moving until his fingers pass through one of the lights. At a distance, the lights throw a hazy glow on the world, like fireflies, but up close they twinkle with a near-dazzling white and silver sparkle, fading to a dull gold before pulsing bright again.
"That took more magic than usual." Maka's voice breaks the silence and Soul turns. Curiosity has long replaced the wariness she used to wear whenever she showed Soul her magic but something else he can't identify underlies her expression. "What do you think?"
Recovering, Soul casts another look about him. The forest shines gossamer silver in the glow of the lights; their delicate pulsing reminds him of a heartbeat and the whispers that seem to pass between the lights gives him the feeling of standing in something very alive. It feels almost wrong to speak but he finally clears his throat. "It feels like standing in the middle of a starfall."
Whatever is hidden in Maka's expression deepens before a smile lights briefly across her face. "That's a good description for it," she says, moving to stand next to him. Words hang heavy in the air as Maka cups one of the lights with her hands; she pulls her hands closer to her face and the light follows. Her skin turns vaguely translucent as she peers down at the light. "This is what I see when I see souls."
Soul hides his surprise at her words; other than the time she described a soul for him once, it's rare that Maka talks about her ability to see souls. "Can many witches see souls?" he asks interestedly.
"Soul magic is rare," Maka answers, shaking her head. Her voice turns soft. "It's also considered unlucky."
He frowns. "Why?"
"Not many people like having the truth of what's inside their soul revealed to a complete stranger." She drops her hands to her sides and the light drifts away. "And most witches born seeing souls can't handle seeing the truth of everything and everyone all the time. It's like staring into the sun."
Soul blinks back the surprise that bloomed at her words. "So they went blind?"
"Some of them did go blind," Maka confirms. "Or they chose to. But most of them went insane."
Silence descends; Soul vacillates temporarily. "But you're neither."
A smile flashes on her lips. "That's what I'm told at least."
She goes silent, chewing on unspoken words. Soul waits.
"My mother was born with soul magic but she didn't succumb to it." Maka lifts a hand to call back the light that had floated away. "When she discovered that I could see souls, she tried to teach me how to be like her but surviving and teaching someone how to survive are different things." The light dances around her hand, just out of reach. "I think it got frustrating for her."
A chord strikes hard at a place that Soul has buried inside of him but he pushes it away.
"I tried hard to do everything like she did but I didn't know how to control my magic like her." With her finger, Maka traces a circle around the light. "She stayed until she couldn't stand to be around my papa anymore." Her voice carries the kind of detachedness that comes from a pain that has been felt too deeply and for too long. "That's what I'm told anyways. The day after she left Mabaa came for me. She has soul magic too, I've been with her ever since."
There's a slight hitch in her throat and then nothing, her breathing turning into the quiet and shallow breathing of someone working desperately to keep from crying. Soul wavers before he moves, edging closer till he bumps shoulders with Maka. She freezes and he nearly pulls away before she leans into the contact.
"She sends letters. I got one from her today," Maka says. "I keep them all." Half of her face is illuminated by the lights while the rest is cast in shadow. "But I don't ask when she's coming home anymore."
"Is that wrong?" she asks suddenly, looking at Soul. "That I gave up?"
"I-" He blinks and bites back a breath, weighing his words. "Avoiding disappointment is not the same thing as giving up," he says finally. "Protecting yourself isn't wrong, even if it's from a person you love."
Maka chews on her lip. "I want to make her proud of me."
Old memories swim to the surface of his mind but Soul drowns them again with a practiced ease. "You can want a lot of things from people and still feel the way you do about them."
Her only answer is a pensive hum. Light reflects in her eyes as Maka continues to play with the ball of light grazing her fingertips, masking her thoughts. Moments later, she gives a tiny shake of her head. "It's late." She bumps shoulders with Soul before she moves away. "Thanks for listening."
"That's what friends do." Maka's hands are bunched at her side and there's a fragile glassiness to Maka's eyes but he doesn't mention it, accepting the abrupt closure of the conversation. "Good friends, at least."
A small laugh escapes from her. "Is it now?"
"Generally speaking, yes." The last of the tension in the air dissipates as she sticks her tongue out at him and they begin to follow the trail of lights together.
He feels rather than sees the roll of her eyes; the silence that falls between them is comfortable and warm.
"You know I'm your friend too?"
The question catches Soul off-guard and he almost stumbles. He flips through the entirety of their friendship before answering. "Yes."
It comes out sounding more like a question and he clears his throat. "Why do you ask?"
"You stay stuck in your head sometimes." Maka peeks over at him, pushing her hair back. "I just want you to know I'm here."
Something constricts around Soul's heart and he swallows hard; it's impossible to tell when the seeds of doubt sprouted and spread across his mind but he had thought he'd been doing a good job of hiding it, at least.
He quashes the part of him that tugs on the feelings trapped in his throat. "I know that."
"Good," Maka says lightly. She moves on from the subject in the same way Soul did for her. "I can't wait to show Mabaa the soul-lights. I've been working on this on my own for weeks."
"Is it an advanced spell?" He reaches into his pocket for the necklace-there's no way it will compare to the lights' beauty but the nerves gnawing at him have grown more annoying than paralyzing.
"Somewhere at the intermediate level," Maka says, ducking under a tree branch. "But I-"
The forest turns dark.
Soul crashes into Maka as she grinds to a halt, grabbing her shoulders to keep from sending them both to the ground. His breath catches in his throat as the lights wink out of existence and plunges them into the dark. "What's happening?"
"I don't know." Maka is nothing more than a breathing shadow. She shifts and he catches the twist of her hand as she calls up the lights again; they re-appear momentarily before snuffing out.
Dropping his hands from Maka's shoulders, Soul flicks his gaze across the forest. The darkness is different somehow-dense, taut, and alive. He jumps when Maka takes his hand. Her voice is apologetic. "Sorry, I just can't see anything."
"It's okay." He tightens his hand around hers. "Is this magic?"
"Yes." She tugs on him and they begin to ease forward together, slowly and carefully. "But I can't tell whose it is." There's a frown in her tone. "It's muffled somehow, I can barely sense it at all."
"Could Mabaa be testing you?"
"I doubt it." She navigates them over a tree root. "It's not her style."
"Then who is it?"
"I haven't been around the other witches for four years." Maka's voice is calm but there is a worry undercutting her words. "The auras their magic gives off are unfamiliar." She continues, "Either way, a witch not assigned to a castle isn't allowed to visit without express permission. It's a violation of the tre-"
The sound of soft growling from behind cuts short the rest of her reply. It doesn't sound like any animal Soul has ever heard before, a high-pitched growl that digs under his skin and makes the hair on his arms stand on end.
They listen before the growling disappears and Soul finds his voice again. "What is that?"
Maka answers in a whisper. "I don't know."
For several moments, they stay frozen in place and then a bark cuts through the trees. Maka yanks on Soul's hand as the creature barks again. "Move!"
Stumbling forward, Soul holds tight to Maka's hand as they break into a run. Without light, it's impossible to break into a full sprint; roots tangle between his feet and the sting of branches hitting his face keep him from being able to see where he is going. Whatever is chasing them is huge, booming footfalls sounding through the forest as it stalks them.
He lets out a yelp when Maka trips, nearly pulling his arm out of his socket as she tries and fails to keep her balance, ripping her hand from his grasp.
Soul narrowly avoids tripping over her as he screeches to a halt. He reaches out in the dark for her, crouching down when his fingers brush against the top of her head. "Are you okay?"
Maka's eyes catch the little light in the forest. "I twisted my ankle," she says, panting heavily.
The barks of the creature sound loudly and he swallows. "Can you stand?"
"Maybe." She sucks in a breath and holds out an arm. "But I don't think I can walk."
Soul hooks his arm with hers as he helps Maka up, careful to keep a hand on her shoulder. "Get on my back."
"No," she hisses. "You go, I can defend myself."
He adopts the same stubborn edge in his voice. "I'm not leaving you."
She begins to argue before breaking off with a sigh. "Fine."
Soul totters back slightly as she scrambles on his back, hooking his arms behind her knees as she latches her arms around his neck. It isn't easy as he thought to walk with Maka on his back but the creature's snarls behind them pushes him to move forward.
The creature's footsteps continue to follow them as Soul maneuvers through the forest but strangely, it doesn't move closer than it already has, keeping itself at a distance even though Soul moves at a much slower pace.
"Stop," Maka says suddenly.
"What?" Soul does not stop but quickens his pace instead, craning his head slightly to look at her. "Why?"
"It's not a monster." She twists back and he almost loses his balance. "It's an illusion."
"How do you know that?"
I don't," she answers. "Not for certain. But anything chasing us would have already caught up to us by now and only magic can silence other magic the way it did to mine."
He can't deny the first point but still he doesn't slow. "And if it turns out that it's real?"
"At least, we'll be close enough to fight it."
"Perfect," he snorts. There's a brief pause. "How do we break this illusion then?"
"Belief powers illusion magic." Maka's fingers tap nervously against his collarbone. "We have to face it first and then I can cast a disillusion spell."
He nearly laughs. "That is not happening."
"Then let me down."
"Also not happening."
Soul feels Maka squirm and bites back a sigh. "Fine."
It feels intensely wrong to stop and turn around, every nerve in his body screaming at him to run, but he does. The noises of the creature grow louder as they stand there but even when the growling is so close Soul expects to feel the creature's teeth wrap around his ankle, he spies no moving shadows or flash of fangs catching on the moonlight.
Maka's voice makes him start. "Can you see it?"
"No." He lets out a breath, gaze sweeping carefully across the forest. "It isn't real."
All at once, the growls of the creature double, triple until they're echoing all around them.
He tamps down the urge to run. "What's happening?"
"The illusion breaking." Maka murmurs a few words and the growls die away. "It's easy to say you don't believe in something, harder to prove it."
"Also exponentially more terrifying." The pounding of Soul's heart in his ears starts to fade. "Who was the illusion caster?"
"They're gone." The lights return when Maka waves her hand again, twinkling like they never went out. "I can't feel them anymore."
The quiet that follows is heavy.
"It's not necessarily a bad thing," Soul says to the silence. "There aren't many reasons why a witch would be here but it doesn't mean it's bad."
"Can you think of any good ones?" Maka doesn't sound like she even tries to believe his words and he can't blame her.
"Not at the moment." The lights arc towards the trail that leads in and out of the forest and he begins to follow them. "Give me some time."
She laughs at that but when she speaks, her voice is somber. "I need to tell Mabaa."
"You might want to bandage that first." He looks down at her ankle; it's slightly swollen but it's not bruising at least. "And rest too."
He doesn't need to see Maka's face to hear the frown twisting her lips. "It only hurts when I move it."
"So you're going to fly around everywhere with those boots?" he asks.
"I already told you the wings are decorative."
"Going to have someone carry you around everywhere then?"
She pokes the back of his neck. "And here I was thinking you volunteered."
"That was when I thought our lives were in mortal danger."
Maka hides her laugh in a huff but when she doesn't respond with a quick retort, he knows that her mind has wandered back to their conversation in the clearing.
Soul waits one more minute before glancing back at her. "Maka?"
It takes a beat for her to meet his eyes. "Yes?"
"World still hasn't ended yet?"
Her eyes widen slightly and then he catches sight of the curve of her smile. Maka tightens her hold around his neck. "Not yet."
It's only when Soul wakes up early the next morning, having rolled on his side in the middle of the night, that he feels the lump of the necklace still in his pocket. He yawns as he pulls it out and stuffs underneath his pillow.
He'll give it to Maka soon.
Eventually.
