Claymore Fan Fiction
Silver-Eyed WarlockBy Kraven Ergeist
If anyone noticed Raki's lifted spirits that evening, no one mentioned it. Though in all fairness, Helen treated everyone as though they ought to be in high spirits. Clare might have noticed, as she usually offered words of condolence whenever she sensed Raki was feeling down, but having already kissed him earlier that day, their third kiss as it was, he felt as though he had used up her quota of kind gestures for the day.
If anyone had witnessed the kiss, no one mentioned that either.
At least there was a distraction – Uma and Deneve had run across an abandoned cart a couple miles from their cave. Broken axle from the looks of it. Whoever had owned it had taken what they could carry and pressed on down the road on foot, the nearest town several miles sill down the dirt path. Most of the remaining supplies had spoiled, but there were several unopened bottles of mead, as well as some wool blankets, which Uma and Deneve had brought back to the cave.
Needless to say, Helen was a happy camper.
Raki fixed his usual meal – what would only pass for a single helping of food for a human kept them all well fed. The mead, with its varying effects on the half Yoma, made things all the more interesting. Miria, Deneve and Tabitha abstained, each citing their own reasons. Miria simply felt responsible for everyone, and didn't want the liquor clouding her mind, and Tabitha, with her keen yoki perception, needed her senses in tip-top condition for her job of being a constant lookout. Deneve simply wasn't in the mood.
Helen, Cynthia and Uma were each on their third or fourth cup, and Raki and Clare were both on their second. It wasn't the boy's first time with such hard liquor, though it was the first time he drank so much. The pallid liquid burned on its way down and kept burning as it coiled about his stomach, but the sensation dulled and the heat stopped being unpleasant. He felt like every worry he'd ever felt had been silly and uncalled for. What was he afraid of? They were 7 – now 8 – though by his count now it was more like 16 – 12? He tried counting again…
"Hey Raki – want some more?" Helen slurred.
"Please…"
Anyway, they were a group of mighty warriors, and with his newfound strength, they could topple anyone who came their way. And besides, what was he complaining about? He was surrounded by beautiful women! He should be enjoying himself, not constant fretting about having to protect Clare…
Clare…
He looked at her, the firelight causing light to dance across her face, casting shadows that were as elusive as the smile he saw on her face. Raki marveled at how beautiful she was. She didn't have Helen confident glow, or Miria's motherly appeal or Cynthia's innocent gaze. She had something else. Something simpler, more elegant. Not plain, no, that was not the word he was looking for…funny how the vocabulary always deserts the inebriated…
"Raki?" Clare muttered, noticing his gaze. "Is something…?"
She didn't get to finish her sentence as the boy passed out, his face falling into her lap, spilling his half filled cup in the process.
Helen would have whined – both at the loss of good alcohol and her misfortune at not being situated in the place where Raki's face lay – had she not been laughing her head off, telling Cynthia and Uma about this one guy she used to know – a human – who had approached her on a dare, and how he had found out the hard way that not every Claymore was as cold and emotionless as "old 47 over there," and expounding on the euphemism of the aforementioned "hard" way.
Clare, for her part, just stared at the boy who lay face down in her lap. She didn't normally drink, though she could take her share of alcohol. Most half Yoma could, Helen simply chose not to. Despite this fact, had it not been for the alcohol swimming in her stomach, she would have simply tucked Raki into one of the bedrolls and gone back to the campfire. But the feeling of his form against her, lying on top of her caused a warm bubble to form in her stomach that caused her to turn him over in his sleep so that he faced upward, cradling his head in her lap, stroking his hair. She gazed down at his face, almost admiringly, as she caressed him like a mother caresses a child, though the feelings rushing through her abdomen were not entirely maternal.
She looked up to see several pairs of eyes locked with hers (Helen, oblivious as she was, was still going on, Cynthia and Uma still entranced with her story).
"What?"
Tabitha and Deneve looked away politely, but Miria kept her gaze on Clare.
"You really care for him, don't you?"
Clare tried not to scowl. "Yeah. So what?"
Miria smiled. "I just think it's sweet – and I mean that seriously."
Clare sniffed and looked away. "Sweet isn't going keep him safe. It doesn't matter if we both become as a strong as the number one warrior, we still won't be safe from the organization, or from the Abyssal Ones."
Miria had nothing to say to that.
"You know, it's funny…" Clare muttered. "Before Raki, I didn't care about dying. I didn't care if I lost my life, so long as I had my revenge. But now…" she caressed the boy's face protectively. "Now, all I can think about is what can I do keep Raki safe. How will what I'm doing protect him from those who would use him…or hurt him? And because of that…I'm more and more worried about staying alive, to make sure he's safe."
Miria smiled, nodding. "Few of our kind ever feel love, Clare."
Clare did not respond – didn't really need to. Miria's comment had made clear what both were thinking.
"It's only recently sunk in just how dangerous it will be to keep Raki with us," Clare sighed, still holding his head in her hands. "But I knew ever since I saw him again that I'd never leave his side. Not again."
Miria sighed. "It's not that simple, Clare. You have to consider what he is. He may return your feelings – given his behavior, I have little doubt he will. But what then? What church would marry you? You're both sterile; you can't have his child. Your connection would be based solely on what you have together. And as real as that may be at the moment…it could just as easily slip away."
Clare glared at Miria for stating the logical truth, but did not speak.
"And maybe not even through any fault of your own," Miria continued. "You may love each other till death does you part. But that's just the trick – death is a common occurrence among our breed. And as you know…there are fates worse than death, fates which are just as common for us as death."
Clare felt tears threaten to emerge from their ducts. "We're just not meant for love, are we?"
Miria nodded grimly. "Half Yoma are bred to fight. Nothing more."
Clare clutched Raki's head tightly in her arms. She was forcing the tears back, even as she knew what Miria was about to say.
"If you know what's best for you, you'll quit while you're ahead. Love will only bring pain – for both of you. If you give him your heart, and take his for your own, you will feel it ripped from your chest when the worst happens, and rip his from his own. Think about it, Clare. Could you kill him if a life as an awakened being was all that lay ahead of him?"
Clare bit her lip.
"Could you imagine him doing the same for you?"
Clare felt the tears come. Deneve and Tabitha frowned, not interrupting, but clearly listening in. In the background, Helen was still droning on. But Clare could tell she was shaking. Cynthia and Tabitha were too. While their ears may not have picked up on it, their yoki sense was picking up a very real sadness coming from Clare, and their minds were able to work out the rest.
"He's already proven that he can't…" Clare admitted through tears. "He won't. He'd rather throw himself on his sword."
Miria nodded, eyes cast downward. She did not enjoy relaying this harsh reality to Clare, but it had to be done for her own good, and for Raki's.
"It's your choice, Clare," she allowed. "Yours and Raki's. You'll have to make this choice together. It's a calculated risk, but you could potentially live very long lives together. But don't burden him with this now - for the time being, he has enough to focus on, so try to avoid kissing him again, at least, until he masters the sword."
Clare suddenly felt herself blushing. Helen, her attention now fully fixed on the discussion at hand, stifled a crude euphemism about swords, and Cynthia felt guilty for having helped herself, so to speak, even if it had been mostly innocent.
Miria looked at all of her companions in turn. "While we're on the subject…is anyone here still a virgin?"
The dynamic change in topic caught everyone off guard.
"Wh-Why is that important!?" Cynthia wanted to know.
"Because what I'm about to say will apply to all of you," Miria said, calmly and serious. "Half Yoma can't reproduce, but we still feel pleasures of the flesh. That said, it's important not to associate those pleasures with feelings of attachment. Now, is anyone here still a virgin?"
Blushing, Cynthia, Uma, Tabitha and Clare raised their hands.
Miria nodded. "Deneve, Helen, I trust you're well aware of what I'm about to say?"
Both Claymores nodded, awkwardly.
Miria locked eyes with each of the younger girls in turn. "We're all different – we each retain certain aspect of our human selves. But we all have hearts. And they can all be broken. It's up to each of you individually not to misplace them."
She glanced at Clare.
"We have a male half Yoma with us now, and some of you might be getting ideas. But no matter what happens, I want you all to remember that we are renegades from the organization, hunted everywhere by Yoma and awakened beings. The cards are stacked against us, and the likelihood of one or all of us dying is as real now as it was seven years ago. That being said, we cannot be careless with our feelings, for the boy, or for each other."
Helen had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. "Can we get to the birds and the bees already?"
Miria fixed Helen with a hard look, and she looked away, embarrassed.
Clare cleared her throat, trying to get everyone's attention. "I don't…" she swallowed, collecting her thoughts. "I don't presume to have some kind of claim over Raki."
Her voice was ragged and her eyes were still red from tears, and it was clear that what she was saying was being said with great effort.
"If any of you so much as lays a finger on him…there's not a thing I can do about it. Obviously, his desires come first. But he is not…mine. And the sooner I stop thinking of him as such, the better."
As if to demonstrate her point, she carried his limp form over to his sleeping bag, bundling him up and laying his head on a rolled up blanket.
"You're all free to do with him as you please, provided he himself is consenting. You won't hear anything from me."
Miria placed a hand on Clare's shoulder. She could tell tears were threatening to emerge anew.
Everyone else could see it too.
"You should get some sleep," she said, kindly. "We all should."
Clare grudgingly laid her back against her sword, staring at Raki's sleeping form across the cave. Perhaps the mead was having more of an affect on her than she realized. If she had wanted to, she could have raised her yoki and flushed the effects of the alcohol from her body within seconds. But the mead also made it easier to cry. And she wanted to cry. She wanted to cry for a long, long time.
And warriors don't cry.
xxxxx
To be continued…
