The Changeling
"Cross"

"There are times when I think she may still be alive."

The day before, they had left the road for the mountains. They had traveled steadily southwest from Crystal Valley for over a week, always following a paved highway that had branched off into a muddy path that had still been passable by horse, but now they had left even the comfort of that - and their beasts - behind. Caesar had been surprised when he'd been the one who'd struggled, but Pesmerga, for all his heavy armor, and Albert, for all his poor health, were both driven forward by their determination. Both of them scrambled upward over rocks and up hills, heedless of injuries or danger. Nighttime, when they camped, was a relief, because then Caesar could tell the difference between them: Pesmerga maintained his tension, trembling in anticipation of the morning when they would once again start moving; Albert, on the other hand, became weary, aimless, and relatable once again.

He also became, if Caesar was careful not to bring him back onto his guard, much more talkative. So Caesar crumbled a dry, fibrous twig between his fingers and tossed it in the fire and tried to sound disinterested. "Really?"

"It's certainly a possibility," Albert said. "I think...Yuber's original intention was to take me, and he's never really wanted me dead." Caesar didn't prompt him, so he went on, a little bitterly. "I entertain him."

"Really?" Caesar said, joking as gently as he could. "You've always seemed quite a drag to me."

Albert didn't respond to that at all, not even a smile or anything. After a long pause, he said, "I used to - to dream of finding a True Rune. I used to want nothing so much as immortality, in whatever form it might take."

"Used to?"

"Look at them," Albert said, jerking his chin at the dim outline of black armor against the black sky. "Hardly a day went by when Yuber wasn't evaluating everything for its entertainment value. I think sometimes they play this game merely out of boredom - Pesmerga always seeking, Yuber always running. Yuber especially; I think he must be older, must have been bored longer, because he controls the pursuit. He could end it at any time. But he keeps running, and Pesmerga keeps chasing, because that's what they do."

"You think?" Caesar said, watching the firelight flash against the shadow. "I don't know. I'd like to think it was more noble than that."

"Of course you would." Strangely, that wasn't mocking. "But it isn't a matter of good and bad. Look at Pesmerga; he may be different from Yuber, but that doesn't make him good. He's merely the lesser of two evils."

Caesar thought about that and found it unsettling. "Maybe we shouldn't be using him, then."

"Maybe not," Albert said. "But for now our goals are in line. He wants what we want. We can use him."

"Still, doesn't it seem strange to you?" Caesar said. "Going with your Grand Theory of Demons - I mean, just look at him. You think a whim, a hey-I'm-bored - you think he'd be all that devoted to just that?"

"It's funny," Albert said, a not-quite-smile gracing his face, "how easily a whim consumes you."

"What does that mean?" Caesar asked, but he'd pushed too far; Albert drew into himself, his face closed, and he looked up again with damnable composure.

"We'll get there tomorrow," he said.

Well, that was one hell of a relief; Caesar wasn't sure how much of this climbing he could take. "What d'you think we'll find?"

"His lair - " That spoken with a touch of irony - "is in a cave, appropriately enough. I was given no more details than that."

"What if your daughter's there?"

Albert looked Caesar in the eyes, then looked away again. "I can't get my hopes up."

"Why not?"

"Because," Albert said sharply, then, quieter, "Because she probably won't be."

Caesar was a bit startled when something as asinine as "I'm surprised you love her so much" spewed forth from his mouth, but it was out there and it was awful, and Albert looked up at him with closer to true anger than he'd ever seen from his brother directed at him.

"She's my daughter," he said.

"Well, sure, but - you never cared for the family - "

"Is that what you think?" Albert asked, and Caesar shook his head at the harshness in his voice. "That's what you think?"

"Yeah," Caesar said.

Something hard came over Albert's face, something sad and angry, and he stood without another word and walked over to his bedding and lay down. Caesar shook his head, confused, and waited for him to call back a last word, but none came. And he waited for Albert to stop being all sulky, because Albert wasn't sulky, ever, because that would mean being affected by that. But when he woke with sun on his face, sore from having slept awkwardly propped up against a rock, Albert hadn't moved from the spot. As he stretched against his aches, Caesar realized that he didn't know his brother.

They came the next afternoon to a huge cavern in the mountains, empty but for at the back a great door, fitted all the way to the thorny roof, made of a solid, dark metal. It had studs for decoration and a single loop of iron for a knob, and at the base of it, small before it, propped up like a doll was the form of a little girl.

Caesar knew her. She was horrific, but he knew her. The child looked like no child should: her stomach was swollen, her face emaciated; the chest beneath her ripped dress was bony, smeared with filth and blood, her skin dark with it; her face was painted obscenely, her prominent cheekbones pink with rouge, her eyes frosted, her lips a foully dark red. But there were two things that made him swallow his nausea: first, beneath the grime and grease her lanky hair was scarlet; and second, she was alive.

Beside him, Albert made a tiny sound, a soft sob of disbelief, and Caesar reached out to grasp his arm, to hold him back in case it was a trap, but it was Albert - of course he already knew it was a trap. So Albert shook off the grip, took a step forward, and opened his mouth to say something when Yuber appeared.

A great tension went through Pesmerga, an enormous jerk as he went for his sword then forced himself to relax again. He said nothing, just stalked a few steps closer, then snorted and turned his back on the other demon. Caesar looked at Pesmerga, then up at Yuber, and shook his head. "What..."

"Too scared to come out here in person, Yuber?" Pesmerga rumbled. And Caesar looked up at him and realized - there did seem to be something wrong with the demon, something...less focused, perhaps.

Yuber's illusory eyes flickered down to Pesmerga a moment, a tiny smile on his lips, then over to Albert. "Quite the company you've taken to keeping, Silverberg," Yuber said. "Calling the little boy, just for me?" Pesmerga grunted in annoyance; Albert said nothing. "And..." His creepy fucking eyes settled on Caesar and made the nausea flare up again. "Mm. The estranged brother. Isn't that fun?" Yuber's smile went a little wider. "Tell me, boy, what do you think? If I'd offered your brother the option, would he have settled on you as the sacrifice?"

"Shut the fuck up," Caesar said, swallowing his sickness.

"I think he would have. Pity," Yuber said, contemplative. "I wish I'd thought of it. You really are quite..." The unfinished thought hung serpentine in the air, and Caesar felt a stab of - of fear - run down his back, settle in his stomach, roiling things there, and he wished powerfully that he had never come, that he was anywhere else -

Mouth dry, Caesar turned to his brother and said, "Tell me why the fuck we're listening to this thing?"

"It's a valid point." Albert's voice was thin even though his words were confident. "I'm guessing you have something to say. So say it."

There was a moment when Yuber's smile stretched, became something grotesque and masklike. Then: "She screamed."

The two words were foul, and once again Caesar reached out to grip his brother's arm. Albert was tense, trembling, but this time he wrenched his arm away, violently. And Caesar dared to take his eyes from the illusion to see Albert isolated, fiercely alone and as furious and pale as he had ever been.

"It was entertaining at first," the demon continued, "her cries, but eventually, time after time after time after time - " and with each repetition, Caesar could see a little more of his brother's steely control stripped away, until finally, he made a tiny noise, a single moan of protest, and Yuber broke off with a grin. "What is it, Silverberg? Don't like me paying attention to someone else?"

Caesar looked over at his brother, but with that noise, Albert had regained his control; his face was flat, impassive. The illusion laughed and continued.

"But it got old, you understand. The screams just got irritating." It shrugged. "So what was I to do? I silenced her, finally - stuffed something in her just to shut her up. It quieted her." Again, the demon laughed, tapping his lip with a gloved finger. "Now, what could that something have been?" He shook his head. "No matter. She's quiet now, and I have no more use for her. Have her back."

Albert started, looked at his still daughter, looked back at the demon, and said, quietly, "And the catch?"

"Catch?" Yuber said. "None. Just - " Deliberately: "I'll be moving on soon. If you want to come see me before I go, you may want to act quickly."

Evidently, there was no more; the illusion vanished. And Albert walked forward with shaky steps, slow, wary, until he came to his daughter's side and knelt down and took her in his arms. Caesar was close enough to see the way his brother's face crumpled, in relief or sorrow or joy, when slowly, the little girl reached up and clasped her arms around his neck. Caesar was also close enough to see her eyes and realize that it was a knee-jerk reaction - that the little girl was dead to the world, that she would have done this for anyone - she didn't know that it was her father holding her. But how could he say that aloud?

"My little Elissa," Albert whispered, petting her hair, and Caesar didn't know whether to cry or vomit to see the way he held her - the look on his face, the love for everything he'd lost when he'd lost her. "I'm sorry, I abandoned you, but I came back, didn't I? I came back."

Pesmerga was trying the door, pulling at the heavy iron ring, straining against it. It didn't move. He ran his hands over the door, searching.

"What, is it locked?" Caesar said to him, desperate to look away from his brother.

"Yes," Pesmerga said flatly, but pulled on the door one more time for good measure. Then he took a step back and looked over, and Caesar followed his gaze to the pair, to Albert and his daughter, then looked back at Pesmerga.

"Warms the heart, doesn't it," Caesar said miserably.

But Pesmerga cared nothing for the emotion of the scene, cared nothing for Albert; it was Elissa he was focused on. In two steps he was by their side, pushing Albert away with one arm, tearing his grip from his daughter, even though her arms held on, her fingers interlaced around his neck until finally they were dragged apart.

"What - " was all Albert had time for before Elissa was pressed flat against the stone floor, a knife at her throat. And it was too quick - a short jerk in Pesmerga's elbow, a soft bubbling noise, and then nothing - nothing; Caesar had expected a scream, a whimper, something, but there was just a wet breath, a gesture, a sick squelch as Pesmerga pulled something free, and then a hushed impact as he carelessly dropped Elissa's thin, tiny red body.

Caesar looked down at the little girl, his little niece, her dull eyes still open - had she been that lifeless even then, that she didn't even flinch from the cut? But her lips, her dark lips, they seemed almost to smile above the smile in her neck. It seemed as though there was some secret that only she knew. It was as though that quick cut had been a joke.

"No." Albert shook his head, took a step forward, another, and with each step cried, louder and louder, "No, no, no, no - " He fell to his knees beside her, wrapped his arms around her, pressed his face into her distended belly, moaning, "No. Not my Elissa." His breath hitched, and he seemed unaware of anything around him."Not my little girl," he sobbed. "Not my little girl."

"Oh fuck," Caesar whispered and somehow found his legs to take the few steps forward to touch his brother's shoulder. It was a mistake; the touch energized Albert, so that he jerked back and looked back at Caesar, his face made terrible by the stain of his daughter's blood and made terrible by something more. There was just a moment of softness, a motion of the lips that might have been a whisper of I'm sorry or might have been a breathy damnation.Then, with a speed Caesar had never thought he might possess, he was on the demon, tearing furiously at anything, everything he could reach, hitting again and again with weak fist at the visor.

Then again, a tiny effortless motion, and Albert fell back with blood on his chest.

Caesar looked down, disbelieving, then back up, and down again. This was unbelievable. This was ridiculous. He knew better than anyone that his brother was immortal. Other kids wouldn't even challenge Albert - he was too much, too powerful, striding unbreakable with Caesar taking shelter in his shadow. Lightning bowed before Albert, storms, demons of the night who made this demon of the day nothing. Albert was the one who made his fear nothing; the day he had fallen from Albert's graces was the day he'd become vulnerable, because Albert was his shield, his protector.

So how could the unbreakable lie here before him, shattered?

The explanation was easy: it wasn't Albert at all. This, like the demon before, was an illusion. He had been the whole time; that was why he'd been so open, before, that was why he'd shown anger, fear, sorrow - the real Albert was hiding still, this was all a great experiment to see how he'd grown, if he'd grown. His brother was still alive.

He dropped to his knees beside this man who could not possibly be Albert, whose face was shining with sweat and whose breath was still coming, sharply in shallow starts. With great effort, not-Albert, the illusion, gathered a breath that whistled in his chest and wheezed out, "This was a mistake..." Another breath, even more labored than the one before, and a breathy word that might have been "Sorry" - and then a cough, an etching of something that was like anger, like disgust, something deep and dissatisfied. Caesar touched his face and realized that he was solid and that he was dead.

"That's it?" he asked his brother. "That's all?"

But he'd forgotten Pesmerga was there, that anything was there. When he looked up to see him unlocking the door with the key pulled loose from little Elissa, something that was closer to hate than he'd ever felt flared somewhere below the hollow of his throat. The demon seemed to understand him, tipped his chin up a touch. "Don't be stupid," Pesmerga said. "Our witness is dead; our contract is shattered. If I need to kill you, I can."

"Do it, then." Caesar was dimly aware of the way his hand had worked itself into Albert's collar, the way his breath was coming in short harsh pants. "Fucking murderer. Fuck you. You broke the contract."

"I was merely defending myself," Pesmerga replied, so levelly, calmly, that Caesar might have let go of his brother, would have charged the demon, if not for Albert's example. "He forfeited his own protection."

"Oh, he posed a great fucking harm to you! Fuck, fuck, fuck - no," he whispered, and fell back, sitting down heavily. He looked down at Albert, at his dead brother, at his face that had no peace. "Lesser of two evils," he whispered to himself, and clenched his jaw.

The demon pulled on the iron door, and with a great creak, it swung open. A breath of coppery air puffed out with it, and Pesmerga nodded once, satisfied. Then he looked back at the bodies and Caesar, sitting among them.

"Your brother's only sorrow, contractor, is that he died before he saw his vengeance enacted. I hope my assurances of success will speed his spirit's flight."

"You lousy fuck," Caesar said. "This was never about revenge. This was..."

"Wasn't it?" Pesmerga asked. "You think that by regaining his daughter, he might have reclaimed what he lost? You think that was even what he wanted?" The demon waited for that to sink in, waited for him to understand, then said, "He came into this believing his daughter was dead. Everything has turned out as he wanted: his daughter is dead, and Yuber shall be."

It was logical, yes, so fucking right and logical, but - "Lose," Caesar whispered, focusing into that single word such hatred and venom that even Pesmerga seemed to rock back a little. "Lose. I don't care, I hope he kills you, I hope he slits your throat and you die and he pisses on your corpse, I hope he tears you into pieces, makes you into shit, I hope you're wiped from whatever sorry fucking world you came from."

And even Pesmerga had to take a tiny pause before he spoke, but when he did speak it was as low and level as it ever was.

"I'm not the villain here. He was the one who engineered all this."

Of course Caesar knew that, of course he knew, but there was nothing inside him that cared - Pesmerga might have been the lesser of the two, but he was still fucking evil. And Caesar couldn't understand why his brother would have trusted in that. Why he would have lost himself so much to have trusted...

"Go the fuck away," Caesar spat, and reached over and took Albert's cold hand in his. And Pesmerga nodded without another single word, and turned away and stepped into the curtains of blackness that lay beyond that great iron door. It swung shut behind him, leaving Caesar alone in the shambles of silence of the cave.

He crawled over to Elissa, brushed the hair from her face and closed her glazed green eyes and pulled her dress up to cover her more properly. And he clenched his jaw as he realized how much she looked like Albert, how she had his nose and his eyes and a high bone structure that made him think she'd have grown up to be a strategist.

He brought her over to lie beside his brother, moved Albert's hand so it lay atop her head, then swallowed and moved it back. Then he scrambled away from them and found an open corner and vomited until his guts ached and his mouth burned, then sat back, exhausted, and wondered how he could carry them both back down the mountain, back to their homeland, for their burials.

(A/N: AH HAH HAH HAH HAH oh goodness. Because to let Albert get out of this alive would be utter blasphemy. He never does. Anyway - single most horrific thing I've ever written. One last marginally gentler chapter to go.)