"More!" says mebh. "Nao!" She holds a bazooka to Olly's little head, eyes wide and wild. Her finger twitches on the trigger.
And I must obey.
Part 4: Star of Deliverance
He could not see out of his right eye anymore. It swelled shut hours ago. He knew it was the least of his worries, but it bothered him nonetheless.
Things seemed foggy. He could not remember if the last blow was dealt by fist or foot. Perhaps it was both. Nothing was certain in this clouded world. His head ached so horribly - cloven down the center like a split log. He could not think.
The shrieking curses did not touch him any longer. They seemed to come from very far away. The accusations were unnecessary, anyways. He already knew he was despicable. A murderer. A thief. He already knew because he called himself these things every day.
He could not feel his arms. They were numb. He tried to wiggle his fingers from time to time, but he could no longer sense them enough to know whether they still moved. He hoped so.
At times he lost sense of reality. Ethon seemed a raptor: a bloodthirsty bird of prey. He swooped from the blanketing dark - fingers like talons, eyes sharp and piercing above a hooked nose. His keening voice echoed off the stony walls. And Roy was his prey.
A moan escaped his purpled lips and he hated himself for it. He hated feeling weak. It was why he hid behind his smirking mask. So no one could see. He didn't want others to know the truth: That he was a selfish coward, unsure and self-loathing.
He felt himself slipping and he allowed himself to sink. It was better than knowing. It was better than feeling the dull blows and the biting insults. He wanted to escape. He did not care how.
I wail; and question make of these wide skies
When shall the star of my deliverance rise…
I sought the fount of fire in hollow reed
Hid privily, a measureless resource
For man, and mighty teacher of all arts.
This is the crime that I must expiate
Hung here in chains, nailed 'neath the open sky.
Aeschylus – Prometheus Bound
Maes pushed up his glasses to rub his sleep-blurred eyes. The other hand kneaded the phone receiver in tight, anxious spells. His palm made soft creaking noises against the lacquered wood.
"You're worried," he said. It was not a question.
There was a long silence over the line. Maes waited patiently, though he imagined he heard Riza shift uncomfortably through the crackling connection. "…Yes." Her voice was steady, but he knew her well enough to detect the disquiet in her tone.
Maes leaned against the wall and cradled his forehead in one hand. It was well past midnight – far too late for telephone calls from his best friend's subordinate. Maes hunched and lowered his voice so as not to disturb his wife, who slumbered peacefully in the adjoining room. "How long has he been missing?"
"Since yesterday evening. He didn't come in today."
"And you say he met Maple before?"
"Yes."
"And…?"
Her drawn out sigh answered his question before she did. "Denied promotion."
Maes nearly groaned. Of course. He knew exactly what happened. This wouldn't be the first time Roy disappeared in the wake of a bitter disappointment. The alchemist was more predictable – and more vulnerable – than he led others to believe. Usually, Roy headed to the nearest bar to nurse his injured pride and drown his discontent. He always left unannounced, leaving his friends unsure and fretful.. The alchemist would reemerge later, smelling strongly of whiskey and sporting a feeble, disingenuous smirk. Maes watched it happen a dozen times before. "Did you try looking in an alley?" he half-joked.
"Maes."
Maes' smile – already weak and mostly feigned – faded. "You're right. Sorry…" he murmured. She really was worried. "So he's been gone since yesterday evening?"
"Yes."
Maes glanced at his watch; It was after two in the morning. "And you call me now?"
Her tone became uncharacteristically reticent. "I… I couldn't sleep."
"Because you're worried."
"Yes."
Maes let out an apprehensive breath. Riza was an unflappable, steadfast solider. She would not call him for something trivial. "Does anyone else know?"
"No. We covered for him today. No one knows he's missing besides us. We thought he'd…" Her voice caught. "He hasn't…" she stopped again.
"You figured he'd show up eventually, like he always does."
She paused for a heartbeat. "Yes."
"But he didn't."
"No." Another pause. "If Maple finds out –"
"He might lose more than a promotion," Maes finished bluntly. She was right, of course. At best, news of Roy's little sojourn would tarnish his record. Emotional instability – in whatever form – was not becoming of a military officer. Especially not a Lieutenant Colonel. And at worst… "He could be demoted."
"Yes."
"And you want me to...?" His voice trailed. He knew why she called him, he just wasn't willing say it aloud. Not at this ungodly hour.
Riza did not reply. She simply waited, expectant. Knowing.
Maes shook his head, amazed at how effortlessly she swayed him. Roy did well when he chose Riza as his aide and bodyguard - one of the few good decisions his best friend could claim. Maes sighed. Gracia was not going to be happy about this. "I can catch the early train this morning. I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Alright." She did not bother sounding relieved or even grateful. She knew he would come before she picked up the phone.
Maes hung up the receiver and rested his forehead against the wall. Not for the first time, he cursed his choice of friends. He loved Roy like a brother, but sometimes the alchemist seemed more trouble than he was worth.
Just what have you gotten yourself into this time, Roy?
Autumn leaves carpeted the courtyard. Roy strode through them, stirring dry eddies and swirls in his wake. He usually loved this time of year: the crisp air and ever-changing foliage. The sound of geese flying overhead as they migrated to their winter nesting grounds. The smell of warm baking. Madame always made pies in the fall - an uncharacteristically domestic trait for such a crass, formidable woman.
Roy saw none of these things. His mind buzzed, fixated on his newfound bane and rival: Ethon, the shy, awkward boy from his alchemy class. Ethon, the quiet genius. Ethon, the boy who stole flame. It stung. He felt hollow - as though something had been ripped out of his chest. Roy had not slept all night. His thoughts would not still; his mind desperately sought a way to salvage his ruined pride and recover what was lost.
"Roy!" a voice called from the other end of the courtyard.
Roy recognized it immediately. He bowed his head and willed his feet to move faster. He was not in the mood to talk to Maes. Not now.
"Roy! Hey, Roy!" The sound of hurried footsteps approached. Not for the first time, Roy cursed his luck and his best friend's longer stride. It was not long before Maes' hand clapped over his shoulder. "I want to talk to you."
Feeling cornered, Roy rounded on Maes, face guarded and mouth fixed in an unpleasant frown. "I'm busy, Hughes. What do you want?"
Maes stepped back, eyes widening in surprise. He could not remember seeing Roy so aggravated. "I wanted to talk to you," Maes said. "About Ethon."
"There's nothing to say," Roy said bitterly. "He's made a flame, and he's going to take the test. The end. It's over." Something seemed to reach inside Roy and squeeze his heart. He trembled and bowed his head to hide his face from Maes.
"That's not what I'm talking about," Maes said. His warm, calculating eyes seemed to pierce Roy through. "Roy... I just... I mean..." He sighed, throwing up his hands. "I need to know. I need to know what you're planning."
Roy drew back, sucking air between his teeth. In truth, his mind drifted over many awful things during the long, sleepless night. He wished... he wished yesterday had never happened. He just wanted Ethon gone. It would be so much easier. Things could go back to normal and he could resume his studies. But as much as he hoped it, Roy could not bring himself to truly contemplate the idea of hurting Ethon. Still, it bothered him that Maes somehow knew of his half-drawn plans. Roy shook his head, avoiding his friend's eyes. "Planning?"
"Don't." Maes' mouth firmed. "Tell me the truth, Roy."
"I don't..." Roy muttered. "I didn't..." It hurt, the way Maes stared at him - like he could see right through him. Hot, prickly guilt washed over Roy. He hung his head. "I wouldn't..."
Maes reached forward to place his hand on Roy's shoulder. "I know you wouldn't, Roy. You're better than that. You're not petty." He squeezed. "I know you'll do the right thing."
A sob threatened to escape Roy's throat and he swallowed thickly. He looked away. "Right."
Maes stared at Roy for a long moment before offering a small, encouraging smile. He squeezed his friend's shoulder one final time and strode away.
Roy stood alone in the courtyard for a long time. The dry leaves blew in the autumn wind, swirling about his feet. Geese flew overhead, announcing their passage with muted snap of wings. And still Roy stood, his eyes dark and far away. It was well past dusk before he stirred. He nodded and shuffled home through the growing darkness.
Maes' breaths made frosty clouds and he tugged his collar up against the chill wind. It was very early: the deep, still part of morning when little stirred and most slumbered. He always felt strange at this hour, like his wakefulness breached some unspoken law.
Few passengers rode this early train and the platform was largely empty. Maes peered through his frosted glasses, searching. It only took a moment to spot Riza standing near the exit. She waited, utterly still, her gilded hair illuminated by the unwavering electric lights. He rose a hand in greeting and strode towards her.
"Thank you for coming so quickly," she said. The morning quiet seemed to swallow her soft voice.
Maes nodded. "Have you made any progress?"
"Yes. We have a lead. He was last seen at a bar."
"As I thought," Maes huffed. "And from there?"
"He left in the company of a young woman." Her voice remained impassive. There was no bitterness to it, no hint of spite. But as Maes stole a fleeting glance at Mustang's quiet sentinel, he saw her mouth tighten: an uncharacteristic show of emotion in an otherwise stoic woman. Her undoing betrayed her true feelings to his practiced eye. She was terribly afraid. "Our intel indicates she was of an... unsavory nature," she continued.
Maes rested his hand on Riza's shoulder and squeezed softly. Her muscles felt taught; she was ready to spring. "Let's get out of this cold." He nodded towards the exit. They walked in silence, their shoes making hollow sounds on the platform's timbered surface.
"Thank you for coming," she said again. She kept her eyes on the wooden planks. "I couldn't... not alone."
"Hey," he reproached. He reached back to rub his hand up and down her back. "Taking care of that idiot is a big job. It's probably nothing. Just wait: He'll show up in the office this morning, lipstick on his collar, back to his semi-lovable self. Knowing him, he'll have the gall to act offended we were so worried."
Her smile was weak but grateful. "I never thought I'd say this, but I hope you're right."
Ethon stood over Roy's still form. His limbs twitched; he could not hold still. He rounded the cave restlessly before returning to his victim, whose breaths came in soft, agonal gasps. Ethon stared down at Roy for a long moment, hands fluttering at his sides.
Nothing came of hours of questioning. Roy stalwartly refused to reveal any details of his alchemy. Nothing Ethon did seemed to sway the colonel: Roy silently bore the blows and insults, at times flashing his charming smile. Mocking him. Ethon could not bear the impudence. He could not control his fury. And so - frothy and vengeful - he loosed his vengeance on the shackled colonel.
And now this. Roy lay unconscious, chest barely moving with each shallow breath. Ethon did not mean to go so far. His mouth settled into a determined line and he settled on his haunches next to his still victim.
The Flame Alchemist. Even now - beaten and bruised - he was beautiful. Ethon's breath caught and he reached forward to brush the damp fringe from Mustang's eyes. How he longed to touch this hair when he was young. How he longed for that confident, brazen boy. For a moment Ethon's expression cracked, revealing a long-forgotten hunger. For so many years he secretly loved the dark-haired youth. He desperately hoped... he wished... for something - something - in return.
But Roy betrayed him. Ethon would have been the first Flame Alchemist if it weren't for the selfish boy with the flapping tongue. Mustang stole the title from him. And Ethon was ruined, ruined by the failure. He would never forgive this proud, handsome boy. Never.
Never.
Ethon growled and pushed himself away from his bound prisoner. He would have Roy's secrets.
Whatever it took.
Kate leaned against the counter, signaling the bartender for another round of drinks. She needed a few after last night's job. She shuddered to think on it now. Ethon unnerved her. There was something wild and violent about his eyes. The man was utterly insane. Fortunately the job went off without a hitch: She had not heard so much as a whisper of Mustang's disappearance. There were no hints of an investigation. And for a moment Kate pitied the Flame Alchemist, trapped in the clutches of a clearly unstable man. She was not sure what Ethon might do. A feeling almost like guilt stole through her.
"So serious," a male voice sounded to her right. "What's on your mind?"
Kate glanced over. A lanky blond man sat at the bar, twirling a pale beer between his hands. He smiled, azure eyes twinkling merrily.
Kate patted his cheek and gave him a long-suffering look. "Sorry sweetheart, not interested."
The man pouted. "What, I'm not attractive enough for you?"
She let out a smoky laugh. "You're plenty attractive. It's just... I think my husband might have a problem if I were to get too much attention from another man." She nodded toward Beau, who hulked in a corner booth. No matter where he sat, he always looked too big to be allowed.
The blond whistled. "Not interested getting his hackles up. Your husband looks like he's cracked a few heads together in his day. Thanks for the warning."
"No problem," she smiled indulgently. "I wish I could. You really are cute."
"Why thank you," he said. "I like to think so."
"Clearly."
"Tell me... What's a woman like you doing with a guy like that?"
Kate sent him a sly smile. It was not the first time she had been asked that, nor would it be the last. "He makes me laugh."
The blond man squinted at her for a moment before he threw his head back to let out a hearty chuckle. "Fair enough..."
"Why don't you run along and find yourself a lady friend that's not married to a strong-arm?" Kate said. The bartender set her drinks on the counter and she slid him a few cenz. "I'm sure you'll find someone to your liking here."
The blond stuck his lip out. "But you're the most beautiful woman in this bar. I had my heart set on taking you out tonight." Despite his declaration, his eyes lingered on a golden-haired woman as she crossed the room. He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively and she sent him a severe look.
Kate stifled a laugh. This guy really is a piece of work. "I think you'll manage."
He released a regretful sigh. "You're sure? You can't go out for just... one dance?"
"Ha! No..." Kate glanced over at her husband to send him an apologetic look. Instead, she frowned at what she saw. Beau was no longer alone. The golden-haired woman had sidled into the booth next to him. She sat close, knees nearly touching his. Her hands were hidden below the table.
Kate did not notice Beau's wide-eyed warning until it was too late. She felt something cool and hard poke just below her ribs. She was worldly enough to know the feel of a gun barrel.
"Don't move, please," the blond man said pleasantly.
"Who are you?" she growled.
"I'm just looking for something I've lost," he said. "Maybe you've seen it... or should I say... him?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Kate stole another glance at Beau. He hadn't moved. He glared sullenly at the golden-haired woman who - Kate assumed - held him captive with a gun of her own, hidden below the table.
The blond jabbed his weapon deeper into Kate's side. "I think you do know." His free hand gripped her elbow. "Now, let's go for a walk, shall we?" The gun never moved from its position in her side as the man guided her from the bar. From the corner of her eye Kate could see Beau's dull eyes following her. He was furious.
The night was chill and the moon full. Kate suppressed a shiver; she longed for her coat, which still hung on a wooden peg in the bar. The cold gun barrel was not helping matters. "Where are you taking me?"
The blond man nodded towards a nearby alley. "Just there." He pushed her a little. "Faster, please."
Kate blinked as she stepped between the buildings; the enveloping darkness made it hard to see. She could just make out a tall figure cloaked in shadow, the faint sheen of glasses reflecting light from the main road. "Now," the figure said - a man by the sound of his voice. "Tell us everything." The man moved and Kate heard the sound of a blade over fabric. He thew something into the air with practiced ease.
For a moment, the knife seemed to hang - suspended like a steely star. It caught the streaming moonlight before it dropped into the man's hand with a soft, threatening sound.
Now we are in the thick of things. Ponygirl asked that I "don't break Roy's face."
I refuse.
:-O
Thanks again to Disastergirl for quelling my perennial self-doubt!
