Thanks a lot Hearts' Abyss, The Kindly One, & MyOu LiFe for beta reading this chapter.

11

A Tumultuous Foray

Even before the ship's gangplank was lowered for the troupe's wagons, Yuuri could not help noticing how lively the Port of Rotherfyn was. Like any other port, it was bustling with sailors carrying commodity to and from the ships, vendors raucously hawking their seafood, and the tears of joyful reunion and sorrowful parting alike between seafarers and their loved ones. Unlike most, though, this particular port harbored a number of war ships that were ready to be launched at a moment's notice—though Yuuri could not tell whether those warships would still be stationed there in times of peace. From this distance, Yuuri could make out the crenelated walls of a castle chiseled from the cliffs—centuries-old remains that enlivened the spot, marking it as one of the most frequented tourist attractions in the country.

As Yakov had warned, the customs official assigned to the troupe did not grant them unimpeded access. Of all the numerous desks manned by serious-looking officials by the shipyard, why had they be called forth to this particular desk, whose official looked like he had just swallowed a nasty fish bone?! There was another desk with a large signboard overhead that stated: "group of ten or more" located at the end of the row, but the person in charge was nowhere to be seen.

The accursed official's bushy ginger mustache bristled as he demanded proof certifying that Circus! on Ice's fame and troupe members were authentic. After scrutinizing the stamps of past entry dates on each of the troupe members' passports, he declared, "All of you have visited Mheadaure before, except for one man." He held out Yuuri's passport to Celestino, who stood foremost in the queue. "This newest member of yours … how do I know he isn't an illegal immigrant using your troupe to slip into this country?"

"My dear chap, of course he's one of us! He's a newfound talent who has become one of our most cherished dancers—we can't afford to leave him behind when we depart from this country in a few weeks' time," Celestino assured him.

"A dancer, eh?" The officer crooked his index finger at Yuuri, who was sandwiched between Phichit and Victor in the queue. "Oi, you there, show me what you've got."

Dread seized Yuuri by the throat and began suffocating him. Performing in front of the audience had never been his forte—not to mention that one wrong step would prevent the entire troupe from entering Mheadaure. He tried to swallow past his bristling fear, but consternation gnawed a hole in his stomach like acid through paper. With his body as heavy as lead and the mid-morning air gusting icily on his skin, he stepped forward.

Since it would be ridiculous if Yuuri were to perform a ballroom dance for the customs officer with neither partner nor music as accompaniment, he opted for a folk dance instead. He shied away from the traditional dance of his native country, instead opting for a style more familiar to the officer. He pushed the ball of his foot across the floor and dropped his heel at the same time, and then switched to his other foot before switching back again in rapid succession.

Naturally, Yuuri would have been able to produce better sounds had he worn proper tap shoes. Even so, he was more than grateful to both Victor and Seung-gil for his current footwear. Being the one closest to Yuuri's size, Seung-gil had lent Yuuri his spare shoes on Victor's suggestion, because Yuuri's military boots—the only footwear he had in his possession since joining the troupe—would evoke suspicions of spy work. To Yuuri's mild surprise, no shred of reluctance had colored Seung-gil's expression when he had relinquished his shoes. He even advised Yuuri on how to look calm at customs so as not to draw suspicion to himself. Clearly, there was more to Seung-gil than what his forbidding exterior might suggest.

"You're clogging!" The official's lips curled. "Blimey, I've never dreamed that the clog's fame would travel across the seas to the Ortus Continent!"

Yuuri thought it would be best if he held his tongue. The origin of the dance he was performing certainly came from the same root as that of the clog but, about half a century before, immigrants had fused their primitive footwork with the clogging steps to create another style of dance by the name of buck and wing. In this manner, Yuuri tapped out audible beats by striking the concrete rhythmically, dancing to the merry tune of farmers after a bountiful harvest that only he could hear.

In the end, the mustached official returned the troupe members' travel documents and let them pass. Even so, what a striking difference in service this was! No employee would dare to treat customers with such disrespect in Kouki. "Are you sure you can afford our merchandise?" was unheard of and it was always "Thank you for your patronage," no matter how small the purchase might be. In larger stores, there were even those specifically employed to open and close the doors for customers whilst greeting prospective customers or bidding them farewell at the end of their visit, irrespective of whether they ended up buying anything.

After a latrine break, the troupe proceeded as per Yakov's instructions. The twelve people appointed to grocery shopping and exchanging money went on their way. However, the moment Victor took the first step to approach the Crispino wagon, an unknown pain clutched Yuuri's heart. He stood there in a daze, paying no heed to the wintry coastal draft blustering around his still form. A peculiar loneliness descended upon him, leaving him with a hollow feeling in his stomach and a gulf yawning between his beloved and he. In his years as a freak—a boy in a country that considered skating to be a feminine sport—solitude had become his constant companion. Yet now, when he was with someone who accepted his passion, why did Victor's imminent absence encumber him with an unease he could not define? This feeling was one that Yuuri could not grasp, so he grasped the only thing he could to anchor himself.

Before Victor mounted the Crispinos' wagon, Yuuri yanked Victor's coat, pulling the taller man behind the covered wagon and hiding him from the others' sight. Only then did Yuuri smash their lips together. He felt Victor's hitched breath and contracting muscles beneath him but, within seconds, the older man relaxed and kissed him back with equal passion.

Perhaps it was the caprice of the moment or perhaps it was the risk of getting caught, but Yuuri felt as though he was kissing Victor anew. His heart contracted from the thrill of his excitement as he leaned in to instigate another kiss, for the first meeting of their lips had been too ephemeral to count as gratifying. He pursued Victor as his lover drew back, recapturing those delectable lips covetously with his own. Naturally, their second kiss lasted longer, and their third one longer still.

When Yuuri separated from his lover at last, Victor murmured in a daze, "Wow, if this is what I'm going to acquire with each parting, I ought to suggest we drive separate wagons more often."

Before Yuuri returned to Victor's wagon, Chris winked at him. "I saw that, lovebirds."

Yuuri almost missed a step as he mounted the wagon, attempting in vain to staunch the thoughts in his head. How many more of them would tease him for that spontaneous kissing session?

Betwixt the town of Rotherfyn and the glens beyond it arose the caravan route which the troupe intended on taking. Over a hundred and fifty streets spanned the stretch of land from the ocean to Rotherfyn's gates, crisscrossing every which way to connect every place for pedestrians' and vehicles' shared convenience. Travelers traversing them were seen marveling at the domes and spires wherewith the lofty buildings were surmounted.

Yuuri held the reins the way his father had taught him as a young boy of twelve, driving a cart for his future errands. He called to mind how Toshiya had smiled with a sense of pride when Yuuri did it correctly for the first time. When Yuuri had halted the cart right in front of the inn and assisted Toshiya in unloading barrels of rice wine, his mother had smiled, too, albeit with less pride and more of something melancholy. Later, she ruffled Yuuri's hair and praised him, "My little boy is growing up." It was the last time she treated him like an immature child; thereon in, she touched him less often and allowed him much more freedom, provided that he held himself responsible for every action he took.

Heat stung Yuuri's eyes and tears began to prickle at the corners as the memory washed over him. He wiped them, berating himself for allowing his thoughts to wander unchecked. His bereavements for his family had often intruded upon his leisure time at the barracks, most especially when he stared at the ceiling from his top bunk bed at night. However, thoughts of his dead family had never plagued his mind when he had been in Victor's presence.

Ah, that's it. Victor.

Yuuri clutched at his chest, valiantly pushing Victor's absence to the back of his mind. Would Yuuri's parents permit their son to entangle himself in a romantic relationship with a man? No answers were forthcoming to Yuuri, no matter how long he dwelled upon them.

Although his parents never spoke of it once Yuuri and his sister were no longer toddlers, he knew that, deep down, his parents longed to see one big family—with his sister's husband, his wife, and their children—all maintaining the inn. Perhaps Mari remembered this too, which was why her sixteen-year-old self had insisted on remaining unwed unless her future husband was willing to marry into the family. Hiroko and Toshiya initially encouraged little Yuuri to look up to Victor and practice harder than anyone else in ice-skating, yet creases of worry started to emerge on his parents' brows when Yuuri's voice had deepened with adolescence and Victor's posters and newspaper cutouts still decorated his bedroom wall. Still, they had never mentioned it and so Yuuri responded in kind. He had tried to convince every single living soul, including his own, that he adored Victor's skills and nothing more.

That had indeed worked before Yuuri met Victor in person.

There was no conceivable way that Yuuri could ever meet the tofu vendor he used to frequent on his mother's errands, the old man who used to fish on the bridge three blocks away from his parents' inn, or the various sellers he'd pass in the village again. Yet everyone in the Circus! on Ice troupe had kept him from wallowing in their absence, for he could not be truly lonely if there were still comrades around him.

With a lighter heart, Yuuri gazed at the lush pastures and the glens yonder. The caravan had left the outskirts of the town and headed for the wilderness. His reunion with Victor was nigh!

When the wagons lumbered to a halt, Victor was the first to dismount. Arms outstretched, he ran towards Yuuri, who also hopped off his own wagon with Makkachin in tow. Although Yuuri was usually not too liberal with skin contact, his inhibitions evaporated in the midday sun, letting him rush to Victor's side with equal fervor and embrace the taller man with all his might. Only in Victor's arms did Yuuri feel safe, no longer prey to the ghosts in his mind.

Makkachin barked once, gently reminding Victor that she was also there for him.

"Yes, I missed you, too." He crouched and petted her. All too soon, though, teams A and B arrived, for their lack of transportation was offset by their lighter traveling needs.

Poor Makkachin! She'd be able to stretch her paws more had we more time. Although Yuuri tried not to let the disappointment at their short break upset him, Victor still squeezed his hand and gazed at him with concern.

"Ugh, could you cads be more repulsive?! You parted for barely an hour!" the teenaged Yuri squalled, nose scrunching in disgust.

Yuuri merely grinned, for he had been accustomed to little Yuri's conduct: the more the boy showed disapproval towards anyone, the more he cared about them. Such behavior was not unknown to him; after all, in Yuuri's native country, people like this were deemed tsundere. What did bother Yuuri was the glimpse he caught of a sighing Georgi as they returned to their respective vehicles. He asked Victor about this as soon as they found themselves within the privacy of their covered wagon again, "It may be presumptuous of me to assume this … but Georgi has displayed signs of displeasure in my presence a number of times. Did I unknowingly offend him?"

"Ah, that'd be the memory of Anya haunting him. She used to be his sweetheart until she chose a soldier over him. You were wearing a soldier's uniform the first time you came, remember? Besides, Georgi becomes prone to fits of melancholy whenever he spots a happy couple."

"Oi, big forehead and fat pig, you'd better not do anything untowardly there! We'll leave you behind if you do!" the teenaged Yuri hollered from his own wagon.

Victor and Yuuri grinned at each other, before Victor took the rein and Yuuri contented himself with watching Victor's back as his lover sat on the jockey box. After a while, he took out some rubber balls to practice juggling. It was one of the things he thought he could do without disturbing Victor, since he had grasped the basic of juggling two objects but was yet to perfect the art with three or more of them.

The caravan rode past small hamlets and was occasionally greeted by friendly farmers either plowing their fields or on their way to and from ram sales. The farmers were typical of the area with their ruddy features; though they were dressed to answer the demands of propriety, they were also prepared to lay down their hoes at a moment's notice and arm themselves in defense of their homeland. At the sight of a sheep dog patrolling a flock of grazing sheep, Makkachin whined and lay on her haunches.

"I'm sorry. I know you want to run around after being cooped up in that pen for three days." Yuuri patted her head. "As soon as we stop for a break, I'll take you for a short walk." Despite his reassurances, Yuuri couldn't help peering at the darkening clouds with furrowed brows.

In due time, the caravan trundled over the winding slope of a grass-ridged glen. At the far left of the glen loomed mountains, their jagged peaks swathed in swollen gray clouds. Far below them, a leaping stream had continued to run down from the high pass behind, cleaving a narrow path between pine-clad crests to flow out through a stony gate and pass into a wider vale. The wagons traveled on until another stream lay before them, where roaring water gushed steadily over black rocks glistening in the afternoon sun and sent it spraying high into the air. The water was so clear that one could see the stream's bottom so, naturally, they stopped there to refill their water bottles.

Michele smacked Leo over the head for spouting a toilet joke in Sara's presence. J.J. presented his water bottle to Isabella the moment he lifted it from the stream's surface, which she accepted with a gracious smile. As promised, Yuuri let Makkachin out. However, his attention was not on Makkachin when she encircled him three times. Even after the dog amusedly turned her attention to a passing frog, he continued to stare pensively into the stream long after she had gone.

Victor approached him from behind, jestingly poked Yuuri's cheek with a finger. "A penny for your thoughts?"

"I was wondering … why scattering ashes across the water's surface is considered tantamount to a burial in several countries."

"Yuuri…" Victor enveloped him in an embrace. "Did you know that I didn't honor my family with a proper funeral either? Instead, I tried to drown myself ... but Yakov mercifully arrived at the lake and saved me in time. We gathered the corpses of anyone in the village and burned them as one, even though Yakov's backache bothered him before we finished piling the dead. After we managed to stack them into a large pile, we were too tired to do anything more than offer a simple prayer for them." Pulling back to stare into Yuuri's misting eyes, Victor quietly said, "What matters most is that we're living to our utmost for them. I believe your family wouldn't blame you for not scattering their ashes; no one could distinguish their bones from the debris after such large scale bombing."

Guilt bubbled up in Yuuri's insides. Here he was, whining to a man who had suffered far worse than he, yet all his mind was concerned with was the way Victor had read him with nary a hint. Overcome by amazement and other emotions roiling within him, Yuuri could only eke out a short, "I know."

"But?"

Blinking away the onset of tears, Yuuri confessed, "I haven't repaid their love and kindness. My family always supported me when I skated, even though this meant the three of them had to serve customers on their own whenever I practiced at the rink. Even at the age of thirteen, I sometimes found myself grumbling when mother asked me to shovel away the heaping snow that blocked our inn's entrance. I took my fortune as a Katsuki for granted until my neighbor, Sadatoki, left his parents' house at the age of nineteen because he found no joy in his family business. Their family used to be famous blacksmiths for generations but, in my era, they produced kitchen knives and gardening rakes instead of swords and arrowheads."

At the sight of Victor's arched brow, Yuuri explained, "Unlike the way of life in this continent, it's both uncommon and indecorous in my country—or perhaps the majority of countries in the Ortus continent—that a son should leave his parents' house. When he gets married, his bride would leave her own family to live with his parents. My sister demanded the opposite and became a spinster for refusing tradition."

Victor mulled over the explanation before returning to his lover's confession. "Yuuri, you're too hard on yourself. It's perfectly normal for children to grumble when they're told to do chores, and no child can ever compete with parental affection. Their love and kindness knows neither bounds nor measurements."

Victor turned Yuuri around before he spread his arms again, and Yuuri relished in the feeling of being wrapped anew in them. They lay down on the grass to snuggle until the younger Yuri emerged from behind some bushes. The teenager was about to shout his usual expletives but silenced himself the moment his gaze landed upon Yuuri and Victor's, comprehension welling in his bondi-blue eyes. He turned around and returned to his own wagon without a word.

"It seems Yurio always finds me in embarrassing situations," Yuuri chuckled. He rose to his feet and offered Victor his hand to help him stand. "Come, let's not keep the others waiting."

As if on cue, blinding sheets of lightning rent the sky and thunder clapped sharply overhead, almost drowning out Victor's voice as he called for Makkachin, who was still running around and enjoying her newfound freedom. The remaining troupe members idling by the stream rushed back to their respective wagons. In a matter of minutes, the rain was falling hard and the wind drove it against their wagons so that their draft horses had to suffer its icy stings whilst drudging their way along the narrow track that wound above the river.

To their right, Mount Hiwyndholt loomed in the distance, growing ever darker and loftier as the miles went by. Despite the inclement weather, the luxuriant pines added an air of serenity to the scenery as the caravan rode on. However, it was impossible to enjoy their presence when they rode with all the speed they could gain, never pausing upon fear of arriving at their destination too late. As well-trained and enduring as the horses were, there were still numerous miles to go.

Upon seeing the trees lying broken and strewn all over the ground, Yuuri wondered if an avalanche had caused it. Some of those trees were entirely destroyed, whilst others were bent and leaned upon jutting rocks or neighboring trees. As the caravan climbed higher, the path became intersected by ravines. When he glanced down at the vale beneath, he saw perennial mists creeping up from the rivers that ran through it and twining in thick wreaths around the bulbous clouds shrouding the mountain summit. Rain continued to pour from the somber sky.

The draft horses slowed considerably and Yuuri had no choice but to whip them, even though he did this with just enough strength to keep them going. It pained his heart to lash the animals who had pulled their wagon despite such terrible circumstances.

Perceiving Yuuri's hesitation, Victor called out from under the wagon cover, "Yuuri, let's switch."

Yuuri shook his head; Yuuri shook his head, for the thought of having Victor do his duties made his heart clench.

"Yuuri, come. Let me drive," Victor insisted.

Yuuri clung to his stubbornness by shaking his head more vigorously.

"But Yuuri~"

Yuuri stayed still for a few seconds, before letting out a weary sigh and looking ahead with a determined yet troubled gaze. "You may drive once the ground becomes flat again," he answered with finality in his tone. He did not wish to argue with Victor, as the beating rain compelled each speaker to raise their voice in order to be heard. The air would produce a concussion in reaction to their loudness, which would be sufficient to draw destruction upon the head of the speaker at an inopportune moment.

The dreary afternoon had faded into a darker shade of slate-gray as murky clouds drifted disconsolately over the pathway, making the day shift into a drabber one. The caravan turned away from the mountain path and bent its course northward.

The towering peak of Mount Hiwyndholt had receded into the darkening sky as eventide fell. Ahead, a combe drew near—a great bay in the mountains, out of which a gorge yawned open. Ever steeper and narrower than the ravines they had passed, it wound inward under the montane shadow; only the rook-haunted cliffs, speared against the sky like formidable ramparts on either side, emerged from the shadows to block the moonlight. A village lay a few miles away to the far side of the vale, but this was not the troupe's destination.

Under the beating rain and along the slippery pathways, the wagon at the fore of the caravan became stuck in a ditch. Celestino and the two stagehands in it immediately dismounted, unloading as much of their belongings as they could to help their draft horses pull the wagon out of the ditch. To make matters worse, the mud clung to their boots each time the men lifted their feet, slowing their progress and making their bodies burn from the effort. More treacherously still, the thick morass gave way under the men's heels at the worst moments, just when their position was the most precarious, so it was a struggle between too much traction and not enough of it. Meanwhile, a storm was gathering around the peaks of the mountain they passed earlier. Dark clouds joined thick layers of fog in skulking in front of the hazy moon. When the wagon was finally pulled out, they did an emergency repair with the aid of other troupe members by replacing the right back tire's hub, with plans to do a more thorough repair once they found less hilly terrain.

Although night encroached upon them, it was not until nearly two laborious hours later that the tumultuous storm began to subside, allowing the track widened out as the water puddles receded. By then, men, women, and animals were all fatigued—for though they had ridden slowly, they had ridden with very little rest. Hour after hour they had trudged up and down—over passes, through vales, and across countless rivulets. The moon, which had been obscured by a great sailing cloud, was riding out clear again. With evident relief in his tone, Yakov sent Phichit, Leo, and Guang-Hong on horseback to scout for a suitable campground.

At last, their tiresome journey terminated at a forest clearing, wherein they halted to set up camp under the starry sky and the waxing moon. People who lived nearby called the forest Deoiridh, after a pilgrim who had sacrificed her life to save the village children in times of yore.

When Victor opened the trunk containing his camping equipment and pulled out his tent, Yuuri asked as his hand gently scratched Makkachin's ear, "Why can't we sleep right here? What's wrong with sleeping in the wagon?"

"Well, it'd be inappropriate for the women to share the same wagons as the men. And Yakov said if one or two tents were erected, the rest followed—it's proof of the troupe's solidarity."

Yakov might be Victor's mentor, but it was hard to imagine that this man was the one who taught Victor to take a woman by the waist and a bottle by the neck. The old man's orthodox view on gender segregation only strengthened that view. However, the notion piqued Yuuri's curiosity on other matters. "Victor, did you learn magic tricks on your own, or did Yakov teach you?"

"Mostly on my own, though I often get my inspiration from watching other magicians. Without Nikolai—Yurio's grandpa and Yakov's old friend—I may have never considered becoming a magician. He's the one who took my fourteen-year-old self and three-year-old Yurio to a magic show. Now, when I dwell upon it, the magician's skills were nondescript and he relied too much on covering the objects he manipulated with a large piece of cloth … but that show opened my eyes to what I could do with my career."

As Yuuri gathered a lantern, two hammers, and some nails, Victor asked, "What about you? What inspired you to be a skater?"

"You," Yuuri mumbled. Judging by the heat creeping up his cheeks and ears, he knew he must have blushed. His only consolation was that he was crouching with his back facing Victor.

To save himself from further embarrassment, Yuuri blabbered, "But there wasn't many choices when it came to dancing and skating. In my hometown, there was only one skating rink and one ballet studio. Most of the children who used to practice with me quit because of the war, since parents did not wish for their children to so much as prowl the streets without them … but most of all, it was because all of them were girls. Even now, most Kouki residents were too small minded … they regarded boys who skated or danced to be disgustingly effeminate." Yuuri held his tongue for a few moments, before he uttered, "That's why I didn't have any close male friends and, when I became an adolescent, the parents of those girls didn't wish me to go anywhere near their daughters."

Yuuri barely registered the dull thud of the folded tent against the wagon's floor before he felt Victor's arms embracing him. They stayed like that for a while, until Yuuri eventually assured Victor. "Thanks. I'm all right now. We'd better pitch that tent before more rain falls."

Yuuri followed Victor outside and together, they started erecting the tent. Although Yuuri had some experience setting up his own bivouac during his eleven months in the military, his speed paled in comparison to Victor's years of practice. He had barely finished one corner when his partner had completed three.