A/N: It's been a while since I last tried writing a multi-chapter fic. Hopefully, I manage to see this through this time...
The story is set in the ending!universe so think deserts and turbans and maybe even camels.
[9]
"Haruka, come over here."
The command cuts through the boisterous cheering of the blood-spattered men. Haruka looks up at Leader for a split-second before lowering his gaze submissively. The bruises on his arms have yet to heal.
The rough steel manacles around his ankles chafe against his grimy skin. The chain dangling between the iron bands drags on the dirt floor, clanking as he makes his way towards Leader. The dagger hanging at his side is little comfort; he is too small, too young, still too weak to defend himself against someone as brutal as Leader. For now, he must bow his head if he is to survive.
He stops in front of Leader, eyes trained on his sandaled feet. He tries to gauge Leader's mood; he seems to be in high spirits. Maybe he'd be less likely to hit Haruka this time.
Leader's meaty fist shoves something forward. It falls to the floor in front of Haruka in a tumble of rags crusty with dried blood. It takes a few seconds and a pitiful whimper from the crumpled heap for Haruka to register the trembling form cowering before him.
Oh, it's a person.
"Listen, Haruka," Leader's voice takes on a mockingly father-like tone. "See this kid here?"
He nudges the boy with his right foot, eliciting another round of muffled sobs as the boy curls into himself. He seems to be around Haruka's age, if his size and the softness of his features is any indication.
"He's our new meal ticket, you see? He'll make me the richest man in the whole of Hanifa!"
Disgust roils in Haruka's stomach as he takes in Leader's wide, cruel smile and his loud, ringing laughter. He takes care to mask it though, because it's never good to make Leader mad. He's had seven long years to get that drilled into his head. Still, using people for money is something Haruka can never get used to. His mind whispers a snide hypocrite before he silences it with cold rationality; he does what he does to survive, unlike Leader who kills and maims and tortures for his sick, perverse drive for wealth and power.
Just how greedy are you, old man?
"Boy, get up," Leader barks at the still-whimpering boy. He shakes his head and hugs himself tighter.
That is his first mistake.
All traces of good humor gone, Leader grabs the boy's dirty, brown hair and lifts him up.
"Think you can ignore me?!" he snarls. The boy flinches, and Haruka notices his unseeing green eyes for the first time. A fresh wave of pity rushes through him. Being blind is bad enough; being a blind slave is torture beyond even what Haruka—who has seen more than his fair share of cruelty despite his age—can imagine.
"Leader," he finds himself speaking up. His heart thuds against his chest, his mind screaming at him what are you doing, this is a mistake, he'll kill you.
Yet he stands his ground; he may not be able to do much, but for some reason, he wants to protect this little blind boy. Perhaps it's the way his eyes, despite their blindness, seem to look right into him. Or perhaps he remembers once being just like that boy and hoping that someone would come and save him. No one did, and he learned to protect himself, but this time, maybe even the powerless him that he despises can make a difference.
"What is it you require of me?" Questioning Leader is a risk Haruka would not have taken under any other circumstances—Leader never likes hearing even the slightest insinuation that he is ignorant or worse, wrong—but it's the only way he can think of to turn Leader's attention away from the boy.
Luckily, Leader just utters an irritated 'tch' and drops the boy carelessly. Haruka almost takes a step towards him, but holds back. Showing concern for the boy might backfire horribly on the both of them; Leader has an infamous cruel streak, striking not at those who cross him, but at the people they care about.
"Get him cleaned up then put him in the blue room." Leader takes a huge gulp from the metal tankard beside him, waving at a passing slave for more ale.
Haruka nods, head still bowed, and gathers the shaking boy into his arms as gently as he dares. The boy's small hands grip him tightly.
"Come on," he whispers softly. Haruka struggles to keep his stoic expression in place when he feels hot tears soaking the front of his frayed tunic; not for the first time, he curses the weakness in his limbs that prevents him from just taking his dagger and slashing the throats of every single man who has ever hurt another purely for his own enjoyment.
I'd start with you, Leader.
To hide the rebellion in his eyes, he turns and leads the boy away. It's difficult with the boy clinging so tightly to him, but Haruka doesn't have the heart to push him away.
"And Haruka," Leader calls out to him. "Make sure he doesn't go anywhere."
The or else hangs, thick and menacing, in the air.
Haruka kneels before the boy, a damp cloth in his hand. He would have prepared a proper bath, a full tub that he can soak in, but the water delivery has been delayed for another week so there is hardly any water to spare.
He starts with the boy's dust-covered feet, running the cloth gently across the soles. He looks up at the boy sitting on the bed and finds green eyes staring through him, almost as if their owner can see him. Haruka shakes his head.
He's blind. Of course he can't see me.
Haru continues, moving from the exposed skin of the boy's legs to his arms, deciding that the clothes can come off later when the boy has calmed down somewhat.
A muffled sniffle draws his attention from his task. The boy buries his face in his hands, heart-wrenching sobs of Mama, Papa bursting from dry, chapped lips.
Haruka doesn't know the first thing about comforting and it's not normal for him to care so much for someone other than himself, but he stands and wraps his arms around the boy, mimicking the way Cook used to hug him after Leader's beatings. At least, before Leader had her beheaded for making the wrong soup three years ago.
"My name is Haruka," he says when the boy's tears dwindle to the occasional hitching sob. He doesn't expect an answer, really; he introduced himself just because it seems like the normal thing to do and he figures a bit of normalcy might help.
"Makoto," the boy replies against his chest. "My name's Makoto."
Makoto.
Haruka turns the word over and over in his head. It sounds right, rolls off his tongue perfectly as if he's always been meant to say it.
"Okay then, Makoto," Haruka pats Makoto's head awkwardly then carefully pries him off so he could resume his task. It wouldn't do to keep Leader waiting.
It takes a fair bit of cajoling and a few more pieces of damp cloth, but Haruka manages to get most of the dirt and dried blood off. Taking off Makoto's tunic reveals a smattering of dark purple bruises on otherwise unblemished skin. He lacks the characteristic markings of one born in servitude.
He wasn't originally a slave then.
Haruka thinks of the scars on his back, his legs, his arms, and feels torn between gratitude at the reminder that there is still good in the world and envy at the fact that he will probably never experience what Makoto had before Leader snatched him up for whatever reason.
As Makoto lies shivering on the bed with the blankets wrapped securely around his naked body, Haruka bends down to pick up the discarded clothes.
"Wait!"
Haruka cocks his head in inquiry.
"Can I keep those?" he asks meekly.
"But they're dirty. You can't wear them anymore." Haruka frowns.
"Please?"
"Okay," Haruka relents. "I'll have them washed and returned to you."
He turns to leave.
"Thank you."
Haruka almost jumps in surprise. No one has ever thanked him before. It's always hurry up, boy or simple grunts whenever he finishes an errand quickly.
The warmth spreading in his chest tells him he wouldn't mind being thanked again.
When Haruka reports back to Leader and is told he'll be sleeping in the blue room to keep an eye on Makoto, he realises just what Leader is asking him to do.
He intends to cage Makoto, keep him away even from the other slaves. The reason eludes him—why bother isolating someone who can't even see?—but Leader's word is the law here in this tiny little outpost in the middle of the desert. Haruka's heart sinks.
He wants to use me to keep Makoto from escaping.
Makoto—poor, blind Makoto—may be used to being in the dark, but he doesn't seem strong enough to thrive in the darkness like Haruka can. Haruka is used to being alone, used to the other slaves shying away from him; it comes with being Leader's 'little spy' after all. But Makoto deserves none of that, and Haruka is afraid that the one person he thought he could be friends with would come to hate him.
But the days pass, and it seems that Makoto is content in having only Haruka for company. They have their meals together, and when Makoto has difficulties brought about by his handicap, Haruka quickly offers to help just so he can hear the quiet gratitude in his voice.
Those first few days of Makoto's captivity are a welcome reprieve from his usual routine of training his body to exhaustion every single day. He spends the daylight hours listening to Makoto talk of his life before; it pains the boy, Haruka can tell, but his stories are a beacon amidst the bleakness of Haruka's own experiences so he doesn't make any effort to stop Makoto. Besides, Haru believes that it's Makoto's way of dealing with the nightmarish turn his life has taken—by focusing on the positive things, he likely hopes to drown the shadows.
And it seems reliving his happy memories is a cathartic experience because once he runs out of words, he reaches for Haruka and lets his fingers glide over Haruka's face for the first time.
Haruka stiffens at the touch, but lets him continue until Makoto memorises the contours of his nose, his chin, his mouth. He's let his guard down, he knows. He also knows this way leads to nothing but pain and heartbreak, but even Haruka can't completely stamp out the natural human desire for companionship.
"I'm glad Haru is here with me."
Makoto's affection is something new to Haruka, and he wonders if being with the blind boy will always be like this, all softness and light, a sharp contrast to the dark nights he spends crouching, waiting in the darkness with his dagger clutched in his short fingers, waiting and waiting for that window of opportunity to slink in and grab whatever it is Leader wants for himself. A spy, a thief in the night.
Aside from his gentle attention, everything else about Makoto—the defeated slump of his shoulders, the despair in his dull, green eyes—screams his resignment to his fate. Haruka wants to shake him, to tell him to not give up ever, but Haruka knows that not everyone has the resilience to keep fighting, especially against insurmountable odds.
It is then, as he sits by Makoto's bed, hands stroking dark brown hair as Makoto sleeps fitfully, that Haruka decides to become strong enough for the both of them.
Nothing lasts forever. Indeed, the fragile peace between Haru and Makoto is shattered when Leader kicks the door open just as Haru is spooning some watery broth into Makoto's mouth.
"Time for you to earn your keep, boy," he chuckles.
Makoto gropes for Haru's hand, and once he finds it, he grips it tightly in fear. Haru squeezes back, unwilling to let go despite common sense telling him to pull back, to not show Leader the soft spot he has developed for Makoto, the chink in the armor he has cultivated to protect himself.
Leader's sharp gaze homes in on their clasped hands, and Haru can practically see the gears turning in his head. The satisfied glint in his cold slate-blue eyes sends uneasiness skittering up his spine. It's too late to pretend he doesn't care a whit for Makoto, so Haru pulls the smaller boy closer, trying to quell Makoto's trembling. He braces himself for pain when Leader swaggers up to them.
"You, boy," Leader addresses Makoto. "I have a question for you."
Makoto's dull green gaze stares straight ahead, terror freezing his thin limbs. Worried, Haru nudges him in an attempt to bring him back to himself. He manages a quiet 'Haru?' before Leader grabs the collar of Makoto's shirt and hauls him to his feet. The bowl crashes onto the ground, spilling hot broth on the sandy floor.
"It seems someone has been stealing food from me," Leader's deceptively conversational tone is like silk-wrapped steel. "Who is it?"
Makoto shakes his head wildly. "I don't know!"
"It wasn't him, I've been with him this whole time," Haru hurries to defend Makoto.
"I know it wasn't him, you fucking idiot!" Leader spits in Haru's direction. "I'm asking him who did."
"Please," Makoto whimpers. Haru isn't sure if he's pleading for Leader to stop or for Haru to make him stop.
Leader's patience runs out. He backhands Makoto and starts shaking him violently. His queries grow increasingly loud and agitated while Makoto's sobs echo throughout the blue-walled room.
Haru can hear the blood pounding in his ears, his mind stubbornly focusing on the pulsing of Leader's throat.
A quick slash would do the trick.
Except it's not physically possible for him to get close enough. Leader has every advantage over him—speed, reach, agility. It would be an exercise in futility to try to take him on now.
But he can't just stand there and watch Leader slowly kill Makoto. Tears of helplessness gather in the corners of his eyes.
"Just tell him whatever you know, Makoto," Haru pleads, hating the way his voice trembles in fear. He doubts Makoto knows anything substantial, and he has no idea why Leader assumes he does, but Leader won't stop until he gets what he wants.
Makoto's thrashing stills. He slumps forward, brown locks hiding his blind eyes. For one terrifying moment, Haru thinks he's dead.
Then he speaks.
"A boy with yellow hair. He works in the stables. He has pink eyes and a scar on his chest shaped like a star." Makoto's voice is a broken whisper.
Nagisa?
Nagisa is one of the slaves that Haru had met before he started his spy training. He remembers playing with a little blond boy by the well near the kitchen back-door. He had gotten that star-shaped scar when one of the Leader's men decided a moving target would be perfect for improving his aim.
But how did Makoto know about him?
He's never even met Nagisa, and Makoto's description—blond hair and pink eyes—is not something a blind person can come up with. Haru's mind whirls wildly, looking for an explanation, but nothing he can come up with makes any sense.
Leader's mouth splits into a triumphant grin. Without a word, he sets Makoto down and pats his head. Makoto flinches, but stays silent.
"Good boy."
Leader leaves the room, and Makoto takes that as his cue to fall to his knees, tears rolling down his smudged cheeks.
"They're going to kill him." Makoto wraps his arms around himself. "They're going to kill him and it's all my fault."
Haru crouches beside him, unsure where to start. How does one go about asking how a blind boy can describe the color of the eyes of someone he's never met?
"How—?" he trails off. He clears his throat. "How did you know about Nagisa?"
Makoto starts rocking back and forth, a flurry of mumbled 'I'm so sorry' fighting its way past a trembling lower lip.
Haru places a hesitant hand on Makoto's back. Makoto snaps upright, desparation coming off him in waves.
"I didn't mean to! I didn't want to say anything, but—!"
"I know," Haru interrupts guiltily. It was Haru who had told Makoto to talk, not knowing that his words would essentially doom Nagisa to Leader's cruelty.
Yet Makoto doesn't blame him; he turns the fault to himself instead. Haru is lost for words, so he sits beside him, biting his lip in consternation at his inability to help.
"That man was planning to hurt you if I didn't say anything," Makoto whispers, his head swiveling around to fix Haru with a tearful and oddly seeing gaze. "I could see it."
"You probably think I'm mad, right? A blind person claiming to be able to see," Makoto swipes an arm across his wet eyes. "But it's true."
Confusion and disbelief mar Haru's expression, but he sees no reason for Makoto to lie so he keeps quiet and lets him continue.
"At first, I thought what I could do was normal, you know? It was like most of the time I couldn't see, but then there came these moments when images would just pop up in my mind—first, it was the skirt Mama wore, then Papa carrying a shovel on his shoulder."
A self-deprecating smile spread across Makoto's face.
"Then one day, I heard some women gossiping about some nobleman who had arrived the day before. Immediately, I saw a man dressed in really nice clothes with the old blacksmith who lived across the town. He was making a really fancy sword. It was really pretty so I told Mama we should go and see it."
"I was really persistent so eventually, Mama gave in and took me to the blacksmith's shop."
Makoto takes a deep, shuddering breath and falls silent for a few heartbeats until he seems to shake off the weight of his memories and plows on.
"When Mama saw that I was telling the truth and the nobleman really was there, she pulled me aside and told me to never mention what I could do to anyone. I'd never heard her sound so afraid, so I promised never to tell."
"But secrets have a way of coming out no matter how hard you try to hide it." Makoto shakes his head sadly.
"It was the autumn festival, a few months before my seventh birthday. You see, in our town, we had this tradition where men dressed up as evil spirits and chased the children. Whoever is caught first has to climb the really tall pole in the middle of the town square. Of course, I've only seen it a few times since my 'sight' was still unreliable, coming and going on its own whims."
"Anyway, Rei—he was the son of the nice couple who lived a few houses away from ours—was caught first. He was almost half-way up the pole when—"
Makoto's hold on Haru's fingers tightens. Haru scoots closer to Makoto, providing what silent support he can.
"When I saw his foot slip," Makoto continues. He is shaking badly now; reliving this memory is clearly taking its toll on him. "Without thinking, I grabbed the nearest person I could and told him to help Rei because he's going to fall."
"It was only later, after Mama took me and ran back to the house, that I realised what I had done. In the end, Rei was saved when his father caught him before he hit the ground. I had managed to get the warning out in time, but that also meant everyone now knew there was something strange about me."
"But the townspeople were really nice; they kept quiet about it mostly. The only thing that changed was sometimes people would come to me with questions like 'is this year's harvest going to be enough?' or 'will my child be born healthy?'"
"I was happy that even I, who had to constantly be taken care of, could help people in my own way. I began trying to understand my ability, so I could give aid even to those who don't know they need it. Eventually, I could control it enough to choose when to 'see'."
Makoto turns to Haru, and Haru sees the hurt of isolation—of being different—in the depths of Makoto's dark green eyes. It's familiar, a dull throbbing in his heart, and Haru is glad yet sorry that they share the same pain even if Makoto's must be infinitely greater than his.
"Then one winter night, they came for me," Makoto murmurs. "A whole group of men brandishing swords and torches, demanding that I be handed over immediately. I saw them coming too late; Papa had to stay behind so me and Mama could get away."
Makoto clenches his eyes shut, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. "It was that moment—when I saw Papa get cut down like he was nothing—that I began to curse my ability. I wished so, so hard that I had just been born ordinary like everyone else."
"Maybe then Papa wouldn't have been killed, and Mama wouldn't have gotten sick because we didn't have enough food or money. When that man finally found me, I begged him to kill me."
An involuntary gasp bursts from Haru; despite all he has suffered, Haru has never thought he wanted to die. Perhaps it's a testament to the severity of Makoto's suffering or perhaps it's proof of his fragility, but Haru grips Makoto's shoulder, urges him to face him.
Haru wants, more than anything he's ever wanted before, to erase that despair, that deep, dark despair that threatens to swallow Makoto.
"Look at me, Makoto," Haru says earnestly. "Can you see it? Someday, I'll become strong enough to take you away from here. We'll run and run and run and never look back."
The light in Makoto's eyes may just be Haru's imagination, but he likes to think it's hope for the future that shines in his unseeing eyes.
"Do you really mean that, Haru?"
"Aa."
Makoto throws himself at Haru. He almost misses, but Haru is quick enough to catch him.
With his face buried in Haru's stomach, Makoto whispers "Thank you, Haru."
The next day, Haru seeks Nagisa out. The groom wordlessly leads him to an unmarked grave on top of a hill a few metres from their hideout.
Haru has nothing to say, but he places a bunch of yellow wildflowers on the raised dirt before he leaves.
When Makoto asks about Nagisa, Haru lies and tells him he's been sent away. Makoto nods, but Haru knows he isn't fooled. Yet, Makoto smiles and wishes Nagisa luck on his journey. Makoto is strange that way.
Haru finds Makoto's soft-heartedness both frustrating and admirable. However, keeping Makoto company quickly becomes the only thing Haru had to look forward to. His training gets harsher and harsher, but Makoto is always there to welcome him back, to ease the physical injuries—the bruises, the calluses on his fingers, the long, shallow slashes on his limbs—with the soothing balm of his voice.
For the most part, Makoto is left alone, barring the occasions when Leader would come and force him to reveal the times and locations of passing caravans so he could take his men and loot and pillage to his heart's content. After Leader's visits, Makoto's sleep is always plagued by nightmares that cease only when Haru slips into bed beside him.
They fall into a routine that feels as natural as breathing, and Haru begins to forget what it was like before he met Makoto. But time stops for no man, and when Leader decides that Haru is no longer doing enough to deserve his place in their group, Haru has no choice but to obey when Leader sends him out more often.
Yet, even as his world gets darker and darker, Makoto remains constant, and Haru thinks that as long as he has Makoto, he will never lose himself.
He never considers the possibility that it's Makoto who might disappear.
A/N: I have this bad habit of wanting to change chapters that have already been posted, but I'll post a notice in the coming chapters if I do change something.