Long Nights
Chapter 4
notes: This is Yuuram, plain and simple. Words all in CAPS are the same as italics. I write using editpad so no italic button here. My beta went poof so this is unbeta'ed (I think this story killed her.) I'm sorry. I have the worst grammar and spelling skills ever. XD~
disclaimer: I don't own KKM or the characters.
The ride from Shin Makoku was slow but unimpeded by other travelers. Most were in the fields that lined to each side of the road, busy working crops for the coming planting season. Murata watched them for the first hour, bent over and digging into the rich soil. It made his back her, though, and he soon turned away. He didn't bother trying to read the missives von Voltaire had sent along with him. They were tucked firmly under the seat beside him but it made him feel tired just thinking about them.
He kept the opposite shade open so he could stare out the window, his back propped against the far wall of the carriage and legs spread out over the seat.
Wolfram slept peacefully enough for more of the rest of the day. He woke more and more, the farther they got from Shin Makoku. Murata would feel a curious itching between his eyes and turn to see Wolfram shifting, lifting his head, to get a better view of his face. Curiosity dealt with, he'd lay back down and stare off into the distance.
There was mild reproach in those watery green eyes and curiosity, but nothing else. He kept silent as well, making him wonder if he'd really spoken. The silent staring was beginning to wear him thin.
He felt the censure straight to his soul. It was as if the Prince could see everything hidden part of himself, every dark knock and cranny. What, he supposed, fascinated him the most was the lack of real emotion. Wolfram seemed frustrated a few times when he saw him, annoyed, hurt, but nothing really deep. That was a curious thing.
'Maybe he did wake up for Shibuya,' he thought. He chewed this over in his mind. It did seem like Wolfram woke expecting something, but maybe he was expecting an someone? The more he thought on it, the more it made sense. He didn't like it but he was willing to admit his own errors and adjust his plans.
The second night was the worst by far. It became routine that Wolfram didn't help him out if at all possible. Murata didn't think it was by chance that Wolfram fell asleep just as they pulled up into the inn yard.
The sun was low in the horizon, though not touching. He judged they had another hour of light before the sun set but he decided not to push the horses or driver and he didn't want to be caught out at night. Weller had thought of bringing along two "passengers" that rode on the top seats and he suspected the driver was also good with a sword. Still, he refused to risk it.
The driver, Andrew he learned later, decided to care for the horses himself and took a bed in the warm straw about the horses in the stable. Murata made a mental note to give him extra silver at the end of their journey. Horses had a fine way of getting lost, though it was perhaps not the wisest course to bring it up with the Inn master.
Vickter, one of the two guards that road about them, carried Wolfram into the Inn and up to their second floor room. He and Oscar had a room one door down from them and closer to the stairway.
"Put him by the window," Murata said, moving to the window. The room was small and clean but stuffy. He wondered if it ever got aired. The creaking and groaning from the window as he shoved at it was answer enough. Vickter set him on the bed and came over to help him jimmy it up.
"Will you be eating in your room, Geika?"
Murata turned to him. Vickter was a handsome man, with curling blond hair and bright blue eyes. His smile was always ready, regardless of the blood and murder he must've seen while in this line of work. That was a rare quality in a person. "Yes," he said, after a moment. "I'd best stay with him."
Vickter bowed. "And for ..." He looked at Wolfram pointedly.
"Ah." Wolfram hadn't eaten all day. The servants had tried to coax broth down his throat, messaging gently to get him to swallow, but not much had gone down. He'd been conveniently asleep during meal times with him as well. "Broth," Murata said. "As thick as they make him." He wished again for the faceless nurse. He'd get it down his throat if he had force it down.
After the door shut behind Vickter, he took care of his own needs. He peeled off the dusty jacket, relieved himself, then poured cool water into a basin and wiped himself down as much as possible. He changed into soft cotton pajama's, scoffing at himself for doing so. It would be foolish to be caught in pajama's if real trouble happened but he was too tired to worry too much about it.
He checked Wolfram over then. He'd been putting it off and was mildly surprised he hadn't wet himself. He leaned down over Wolfram and said, "Wakey, wakey. I'm sure you have to pee by now."
Wolfram's eyes snapped open, surprise and fear mixed with the constant sadness. His chest heaved as if he'd been pulled out of nightmare. Murata felt a pang of tenderness of him.
"Come on," he said, pulling him to a sitting position. "No! Stay away!" He tapped Wolfram's cheek several times until he opened his eyes and stared up at him with something that might be anger. "You're going to eat as well," he said helped him onto his feet. "Else I'm going to keep you up all night. Just you watch." He would and he'd enjoy it too.
He threw one of Wolfram's arms over his shoulder, using it as a lever to pull him to his feet. Wolfram leaned heavily against him but said nothing as they walked to the chamber pot.
"Good boy," Murata said, setting him back down on the bed. His lips quirked, the image of patting Wolfram's head coming to mind. He resisted the impulse.
He straightened, popping his back. The food hadn't come and his stomach grumbled painfully. They hadn't had much of a lunch this day. He tossed around the idea of going down himself. Obviously Vickter was being detained, maybe even eating himself. He looked down at Wolfram. Solemn green eyes regarded him silently.
No, he couldn't leave him here alone. Shinou only knew he'd climb out the window and fall to his death. How would he explain that?
He rummaged through a small pack he'd had carried in. He pulled out a pair of pajama's and tossed them on Wolfram. Shibuya's pajama's, black things made of the finest silk. "I don't suppose you can dress yourself?" He folded the ties back and didn't bother to turn for a response. Wolfram was still awake, which struck him as odd. He stared at him for a moment. "Hungry then, I take it? Or maybe I trick fear into you? I see the habit of beating spoiled princes did some good."
His lips twisted into a frown. He pushed his hand through his hair. He was stalling. Did the Great Sage stall on unimportant tasks like this? Why, oh why ... It took a force of will to stop himself from whining.
"You need to get dressed for night," he told the silent man. He turned and brought the basin and pitcher of water to Wolfram's bedside table. "I'm not going to hurt you."
During the whole, rotten business, Wolfram stared at him with mild curiosity. He didn't seem to mind being stripped to the waist, washed with a damp cloth, or getting dressed again. Well, he didn't help either. "Shouldn't made you take them off your pants at the chamber pot," he grumbled.
Dinner still hadn't come by the time he was tugging up the pajama bottoms. Reds and oranges spread out in all directions from where the sun kissed the horizon. Wolfram apparently decided the window curtains were more interesting now because he seemed to pay him not more heed. That would be a relief if he'd come to be old, boring sight for Wolfram.
His stomach growled. Where was food?
"Wolfram," he went around the other side of the bed, between Wolfram and his line of vision, when the blond didn't make any sign of hearing him. "I've got to... transfer energy into you. I have to touch your face," he explained, cupping his hands on his cheeks. It was easier with direct contact, though he could do it without physical touch if he had to. Wolfram didn't seem to notice his touch. He repressed the sigh and focused himself.
What he was doing wasn't healing, per say. He felt grateful at that. He wasn't particularly good at healing, though it's said to be the easiest of all the spells to learn. He was dumping his own energy into Wolfram in order to bring up his reserves.
Each Mazoku was born with a natural reserve of energy. There wasn't any spell, dangerous attack magic that could level cities or the strongest healing spells that could put severed limbs back with nary a scar, that could use up all of a Mazoku's energy. There was always a fail-safe catch that stopped the person from casting that spell when they'd been depleted about halfway their natural strength.
That isn't to say such spells are impossible. It's not uncommon for several Mazoku to work in tandem with the more powerful spells, but I digress.
There is natural exceptions to the rule and other outside influences (such as the plate) that can drain a Mazoku dry. However, once the magic is under the halfway point, they become unable to create and replenish their own reserves and they quickly cannibalize what is left in order to survive. Wolfram had most of his immense power eaten or stolen by that thing, whatever it was.
Wolfram's eyes widened, his mouth gapping open in horror as Murata let his energy trickle into him. He grabbed Murata's wrists, as if to pull him off. Murata pushed more into him, wishing to get this over with as soon as possible.
He could see the goose pimples raise on Wolfram's forearms. "Stop!" he gasped, tears filling his eyes. "Please stop!"
Murata let his hold on his magic slip. A momentary elation filled him before he frowned. "That couldn't have hurt. I was just letting it seep into you. I wasn't doing anything special with it." He paused. "I've been doing it day and night, and Shibuya before that. You've never let out a murmur or moan."
Wolfram trembled. He raised his green eyes in defiance to him and Murata thought he looked sick. He was only able hold their gaze for several moments before he bent double over on the bed. "It felt horrible," he cried. "A thousand bugs crawling under my skin." He passed a hand over his eyes. "I never want to feel that again."
Vickter chose that unfortunate moment to come in with their dinner tray. He started at the sight of Wolfram crying and Murata looming over him. Murata realized he couldn't look more guilty if his pants were around his ankles. "I knocked," Vickter said, edging the wooden tray onto the small table at the far wall of the room.
"Thank you, Vickter." Murata watched as the guard closed the door behind him. He wondered if the man would write immediately to Shibuya or would wait until they'd reached the Farm. Oh well. There would be no helping that now.
His belly grumbled. Roast beef smothered with thick gravy and mixed vegetables. A large glass of mulled wine and bread so fresh it steamed made up the remainder of his meal. The broth seemed more like a thick soup. He stirred it with a metal spoon, scooping up a bit before letting the spoon plop back.
"Hungry or do you plan on crying all night?" he tossed over his shoulder.
"I wasn't crying!" Wolfram's voice warbled. Murata turned to study him. He'd slung on leg off the edge of the bed and seemed to hunch over when he felt Murata's gaze on him. "I don't even know who you are!"
"I suspect you don't know much of anything," Murata said without thinking. Then the importance of what Wolfram had said hit him. He studied him for several long moments, turning over what he'd said. "Come."
Wolfram gave him as if he were crazy. He rubbed his bare arms up and down and he stoically ignored him, but his eyes kept darting towards the food.
"You're hungry, aren't you?" He cocked a brow at him. "Do you need me to help you?" Murata knew he was pressing Wolfram, perhaps too far. But he'd never been awake for so long nor spoken with such life, if you could call it that. He couldn't have Wolfram slip back into his dreams. It was probably a much more preferable place to the real world.
'He doesn't remember me,' he thought, watching him.
Bright color blazed in Wolfram's cheeks. It made him look a hundred fold more beautiful than he had. "I don't need your help!" he said stiffly. He swung his other leg over the edge, his complete concentration on standing up. He took a shaky step and Murata crossed the small length to help him, but he collapsed before he could reach him.
Wolfram glowered up at him.
"I'm sorry, Wolfram. I thought you could make it," Murata murmured, bending over him. "In all my lifetimes, I've never been a nurse." He sighed and braced himself, pulling Wolfram to his feet. The blond might look all of five pounds soaking wet but weighed much more in reality. "Let's eat and go to sleep, okay?"
Wolfram made no answer and he felt asleep instantly once his head touched the pillow.
Murata couldn't sleep that easily. The meal had been pleasant if quiet and Wolfram seemed to visibly wilt at the table, as if each moment longer was increasing the strain to stay awake. He'd been hungry enough to fight to stay away, though. Murata felt that was somehow important. It was also the first time in a week he'd shown any interest in food.
Moreover, why had Wolfram reacted like that to his energy? It certain hadn't been the first time he'd energized him.
Murata laid down on his bed and wondered what would happen to Wolfram after all this had settled out and he had enough strength to return to Shin Makoku. He'd probably be weaker in magical skills than he was before. Murata didn't know how anyone could ever get back to that level again. He might even have to stop soldiering. Oh, how that would irk him.
Shibuya might be pleased, though. Hadn't he been trying to get Wolfram to stop running around the countryside? The thought made him smile.
What was he thinking? He felt foolish. Of course Wolfram would never be the same. Wolfram hadn't remembered him and he'd thought the chances of that were close to impossible. Shibuya had been the central cause of instigating the power of the plate. Wolfram had no attachments to him and he should've remembered him. It was obvious that things effects were far larger than he'd thought or maybe he'd mistaken the source of what had triggered it.
He stared at the easy rise and fall of Wolfram's slow breathing. Previously, he'd thought Wolfram would forget Shibuya, maybe Gretta, and a handful of experiences in the past five years. Now he wasn't so certain and he hated that. You can't build great military strategy if the major piece of the puzzle was gone.
His whole plan had been based on assumptions but what could he do? Take him back to the capital and let him drift asleep forever? He was doing the right thing.
Murata pushed everything else out of his mind, for the night anyway, and let himself drift to a fitful sleep.
The rest of the trip when smoothly enough. Murata didn't bother to give Wolfram a full scrub down each morning and changed his clothes only once each day, recycling the clothes as he didn't want to dig through the boxes and trunks Weller had packaged. It was easier this way for him and even thought the blond started to smell a bit more at the end of each day, at least he wasn't giving him more ammunition to hate him for.
The energy dumps each morning had assured a lasting distaste in Wolfram, he was certain. He dumped as much as he could stand each morning, noon, and night, and Wolfram shuddered and made as if he was being attacked each time. He was unsuccessful in drawing him into conversation again as well.
Wolfram was waking for longer periods of time and the initial period of confusion seemed to lesson with each wakening. Murata wasn't sure if that was good or not.
On the afternoon of the sixth day they arrived at the entrance to the farm. This farm, not known by any other name than "the farm" by those who go, was set on an immense acreage. You took the west road off the main highway and had to go down a packed dirt road for an hour through clumps of woodland and intermitted farmlands.
"I think we're here," Murata said, looking out the window. He moved closer and threw open the curtains before turning to Wolfram. "See?" he gestured.
Wolfram didn't seem interested. He shifted his eyes away from where Murata was pointing and decided the dusty, dirty ground was more important a thing to look at.
Murata sent him an ugly look before wondering he'd become such a child himself. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the window, staring. He was looking forward to being free of the carriage for a long while.
The crested a turn and broke through the heavy bit of forest to see the farm in all it's glory. It looked less like any farm house he'd ever seen before. The mansion was a three story white-washed monster. It seemed so out of place amongst the rustic countryside. He supposed it wouldn't please the nobles who traveled here from afar to live in a squat farmhouse.
The carriage pulled up on the outsider side of the long, circular driveway and stopped. He wanted to race from the carriage and into the fresh spring morning but he made himself turn to Wolfram again. "We're --" He stopped. Wolfram had conveniently fallen asleep again. It would be half as funny if he didn't do it every time they stopped. "Such a brat," he said, not caring if Wolfram had hear him.
He left him in the carriage with the strict orders for Vickter to watch him. The other men set about unloading the carriage and soon they were greeted by grooms from the stables sent to look after their horses. Murata looped up the white stairs to the entrance and knocked on the door.
He felt moderately stupid doing as such and when no one answered -- well, it was an INN, he told himself -- he pushed the heavy oak doors in and walked into the relative cool of the manor house. He was always through the large front room when a fat man bustled in wiping his hands on a clean apron. His ruddy face lit up with delight when he noticed him.
"My Lord!" he greeted, enfolding Murata's preferred hand in both of his own. His palms were sweating and Murata had to repress the urge to wipe his own palms on his pants when the man let go. "I'm Dmitriy Belenki, but all my friends call me Dima." He pushed sweaty bangs off his forehead. "It seems to be getting hotter by the minute, does it not?"
Murata smiled and agreed with this. Dima took him through the first room and into the back, pointing out three lovely sitting rooms that drew people who needed the sun. There was a large public dining room where guests could mingle over their dinner. A live band played once or twice a week for those couples who liked to dance. If mingling was his thing, Dima said, they also had two private dinning rooms and dinner could always be brought to his room.
This "farm" was much larger than he'd thought. The building must go on a ways in the back. He followed the owner down hallways and through corridors to a large kitchen.
"Do you drink?" Dima asked, stopping by a large door. "We have a wonderful wine cellar. Only the best for our guests."
"A little," Murata admitted. He looked back where they'd come and thought he'd left Wolfram alone for too long. "I drink a bit with meals, some in good company, but I never enjoy getting drunk."
Dima laughed. "Me too, friend. Me too. I can't stand drunkards but ... well, not matter that." He wiped his brow away with the back of his hand and said, "Oh, I'm sure you'll be wanting to see your rooms. We reserved the best rooms for you in our modest inn."
Dima ushered Murata back to the front of the farmhouse, one arm slung jovially over his shoulder. They came to the front door and a set of wide wooden stairs. He made as if he would leave Murata up them, stopping only to give interesting tidbits about the paintings that lined the walls, but Murata stopped him.
"Mr. Belenki, er --" He stopped at the crestfallen look on the inn keepers face. "I mean Dima. Dima, I requested ground floor rooms," he said. Again that sad face. Well, there wasn't anything he could do about that. "My companion; I don't think he can get up and down stairs just yet."
"Oh yes, but surely ... They are the best, after all, and ..."
Murata shook his head. "I'm sure they are wonderful rooms. I want to give him incentive to wander around the farm, however, and a flight of stairs hardly seems like motivation to me." Still Dima looked unsure. He took a step closer and placed his hand on the man's shoulder, squeezing tightly. "We can move again once he's stronger, if that pleases you."
It did seem to lessen the dark cloud but he still looked resigned. "Whatever the Master wants," Dima said in a false-cheery voice. He looked about him until he caught sight of a maid. "Vera!"
She paused and looked, then came over at the gestures he made to her. She bobbed a curtsy to Murata. Vera was a passable beauty, Murata thought. Her brown hair was twisted into a bun on the top of her hair with little wisps falling about her face.
"Please get the two back rooms ready for Lord Murata and his guest. Get as many of the other maids to help, if you please, and let Mistress Gapon know."
She curtsies again and left.
Dima showed him the two large rooms that would be his and Wolfram's shortly with much less enthusiasm. He explained about the woman, telling Murata that she'd come highly recommended. All the way from the capital and if anyone could heal the Lord, it would be her.
"No twin beds?" Murata asked, turning around in a circle. He really wanted to sleep in the same room with Wolfram but didn't want to share a bed with him. He'd heard stories, needless to say. He didn't like the idea of leaving him alone. Wolfram would probably be disoriented and if word got out the fianc was here, alone without a detail of soldiers, anything could happen.
Dima's eyes narrowed and he started to fan himself furiously. "It's so hot this spring," he complained but Murata was certain he was saying more about him than the weather. "We don't have any twin beds here, my Lord," he said after a long pause.
Murata arched a brow but said nothing. The man looked as if he would pass out as it was. Instead he walked to each of the doors and pulled it open until he found a connecting door that linked the two rooms. He supposed he could lock the doors from the inside and keep the key with him, just leaving the connecting door open.
"What about Mistress Gapon?"
"A lot of our more ... discerning patrons bring servants with them." He walked to one of the side of the room and drew open a door. I'd thought it was just a small chamber off the main room. "All of our guest rooms have such accommodations for the servants. Or, if she wants, she can sleep in the attic with the maids."
Murata stared. He didn't like the look of that small room. He'd been high born more lives than he'd been a servant but the lives he spent cleaning up after the rich always had a greater impression on him. The room looked rather inhumane with no windows but some people would accept that in order to be closer to their masters. He sighed and nodded. "I'll leave it up to her then."
They met Mistress Gapon on the way back to the front. Murata insisted on seeing how Wolfram was doing and they almost collided in the hallway. Murata stared hard for the second time today. Why, Mistress Gapon looked amazingly like Jozek would in a dress, right down to the twinkling blue eyes. She winked at him.
Mistress Gapon followed behind him as they walked back to the carriage. "How is the Lord? Was the trip hard on him?"
Murata didn't answer until they were back outside. He paused at the top of the stairs to look back at him. "He's waking up more and more but ..." Vickter had propped Wolfram into a seated position on the floor of the carriage, his legs dangling out. He blinked owlish eyes and paid more attention to the pebbles littering the ground than he did to the party walking over to him, but at least he was awake.
"He's been sick," he said when Jozek walked over to him.
Wolfram lifted his head, blinking against the afternoon brightness. Jozek put his hand on Wolfram's forehead before tilting his head to the right and left. The Prince pulled away from this evasive study and almost fell back. Jozek's hand was the only thing that kept him upright.
"What a ... fragrant Lord," Jozek said over his shoulder in a squeaky feminine voice.
Murata rolled his eyes but he didn't think the man saw. "I'm sure you'll do better," he said, trying to be amiable.
Jozek picked Wolfram up in a sweeping gesture and carried into the Inn.
"Ah, wait Dima," said Murata. He climbed into the carriage and rummaged through his personal tote bag and pulled out the sealed letter. "The payment, I believe, is discussed in there."
Dima stuffed the letter into a hip pocket and nodded.
"Thank you for this hospitality," Murata said.
TBC~
Please R&R if you want. :)
