A cave in the mountains
Warnings: as usual; a lot of angst, but all in all one of the more harmless chapters (no torture, rape, incest and childbirth yet, if that worries you…;-))
Author's note1: I finally made up my mind to split this chapter in half, because otherwise it would be much too long (presumably 11 000 words or more). For me that's quite a blessing, because I still have to revise (or rewrite?) the tricky second part… That will take a while unfortunately. Sorry for the delay!
Author's note2: In my stories Gerald always retains his personality and his memories and just alters his appearances (shapeshifts) at the end of CoS, so of course a transfer of said memories is not necessary, but Karril has to verbally pretend something like that has happened to avoid jeopardizing Gerald's life by connecting him to his former existence. Nonetheless I took some liberties with the prohibition of referring to a connection between the Hunter and Gerald Hawthorne, because otherwise it would have been outright impossible for Karril to brief Damien on the events that lead to Gerald's pregnancy, for example. I'm well aware that I crossed the line now and then, but please bear up with me. Well, I suppose I didn't make myself clear now, but hopefully you see what I mean when you read on;-)…
Author's note 3: I know that just a few religious texts from Earth survived the First Sacrifice, but let's just presume that the biblical tale of the Prodigal Son was one of them...
Author's note4: Poor Karril! Now he has to mother-hen two stubborn alpha males...
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oo
"Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up."
Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 9: The Kindly Ones
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
They had been on horseback for almost three hours, and the harvested fields and the wind-ruffled meadows had long been replaced by an increasingly hilly terrain, the stony ground demanding a high degree of attention if one couldn't afford an untimely delay caused by sprained horse legs or similar misfortunes. Although he crouched in his saddle and clutched the reigns of his horse like a lifeline Hawthorne was still putting on a good fight against all odds, apparently spared from falling to pieces yet by the last remnants of a veritable flood wave of pure adrenaline coursing through his veins and his very personal survival cocktail mixed of the proverbial stiff upper lip and a generous dosage of contrary defiance, but the warrior knight didn't doubt for a second that as alarming as Gerald's state of health had already been at the beginning of their hasty flight he simply had to teeter on the brink of collapse by now, and Vryce fervently hoped they would be able to reach Father Gabriel's cloister before the former Hunter had used up the last ounce of his waning strength.
The Knights of the Flame and their worldly allies wouldn't take today's events in their stride, and doubtlessly they were already assembling a posse to hunt them down like two rabid animals. Damien shuddered. May God have mercy on them if the mercenaries got them alive, but with winter looming and snowflakes falling from a steely grey sky for the last hour the weather conditions might prove a deadlier threat for two tired, ill equipped travellers, and Vryce's only consolation was the fact that their persecutors would have to cope with the same nasty problems. If they were lucky the hunt wouldn't commence till the following morning, and if not the obnoxious snowfall would have at least served to cover their tracks.
The eerie howling of the damned icy wind which was sucking the last remnants of heat from their frozen bodies abated just in time to perceive the ill-boding soft thud Damien had been dreading for quite a while now, and turning in his saddle the warrior knight felt his blood turn to ice water in his veins. Gerald had just fallen off his stallion who nudged his motionless master with his soft nostrils, and the thin blanket of snow below the adept's abdomen was already discoloured by a disconcerting amount of blood which was still seeping through his trousers and cloak. Muttering a vicious curse under his breath Vryce was off his horse in a heartbeat and rushed to Hawthorne's side.
As soon as he had frantically wiped the melting snowflakes from his eyelashes the warrior knight realized at first glance that there was no way of getting his incoherently mumbling companion to the relative safety of the remote cloister as he had originally planned. The parts of the haggard body which hadn't been exposed to the chilly temperatures were burning with fever, and with regard to the damned bleeding one didn't have to be a healer to reason that another two hours of a bumpy ride in the icy weather would kill Gerald as surely as if he cut his throat himself. Vryce raked his hair in naked despair. Dusk was close, and although the current snowstorm was just a gentle breeze compared to some of the blizzards he had had to endure during his numerous voyages in the service of the Church of Unification there was no doubt that the adept at the very least would never see the dawn again if they were forced to camp out in the open.
Scanning their surroundings Damien suddenly remembered the small hermit's cave Gabriel had shown him on their way to the monastery, and he muttered a heartfelt prayer of gratefulness at the address of the One God, the unknown recluse who had preferred a solitary life of prayer and penitence to the temptations of the mundane world and the kind-hearted monks who still cared for the provision of some stacks of firewood and the meagre supplies they could spare just in case that a stray wanderer needed a refuge. One could only hope that the wood would make them through what promised to be the coldest night of the year yet, and with a heartfelt sigh the former priest hoisted his unconscious friend onto his mare and mounted behind him, leading the packhorse by the reigns.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooo
One indeed had to be in big trouble to find a desolate, bleak place like the wretched cavern which rather resembled an animal's den than a human dwelling alluring, but his protesting body paralyzed with cold and his soul fraught with anxiety Damien had never been more grateful for shelter than he was now, and regarding Gerald he could have already carried a corpse in his arms, his friend being utterly unresponsive except for a pained moan when he had lifted him off their horse.
Hurriedly Damien stripped Hawthorne off his soaked cloak, vest and trousers and provided a makeshift bed from the not-too-clean-looking woollen rugs stacked in the back of the cave which were slightly damp, but nonetheless a big improvement on their own sopping wet blankets, and picturing the ever so finicky adept's bone deep revulsion at getting tucked tightly into those bits of smelly, threadbare cloth Vryce smiled faintly despite his worries. Having their backs to the wall fastidiousness had to take second place to survival, and unless a miracle occurred and the weather improved dramatically with temperatures already rapidly approaching freezing point in the late afternoon they would have to spend the night huddled together anyway to escape the icy jaws of death.
Groaning the warrior knight rubbed his sore back and dragged his weary limbs to the scarce supply of firewood which would last them till dawn if they skimped on it, but not much longer, and if the snowstorm hadn't tired itself out by then or Gerald was still too sick for a transport on horseback they would be in for a hard time. Don't fool yourself, Vryce, Damien thought grimly. Do you really believe that you can get him back on a bloody horse tomorrow in the state he's in? Giving birth under more than adverse conditions in a vulking cave in the mountains definitely won't do much to improve the damn son of a bitch's health.
After they had killed 'Mad Dog' Summers and two of his former brothers in arms in Jaggonath today their merciless pursuers would be hot on their heels like bloodhounds which had caught the scent of their wounded prey, and with a twisted version of his deeds and his face all over the papers Vryce didn't harbour a sliver of doubt that sooner or later somebody would establish a connection between the unknown stranger who had dared to queer the bloodthirsty mob's pitch, the accursed fallen priest Damien Kilcannon Vryce, despicable ally of the Prince of Jahanna, and the healer Gerald Faraday. From this point on it wouldn't be a stroke of genius to find out about his friendship with Father Gabriel, particularly not for an institution like the bloody Inquisition which had its own rather empathic ways and means at its command, and sooner or later one of his colleagues at the hospital would spill the beans, be it in a fit of religious zeal, from sheer fright or breaking under whatever perfidious method of torture currently popular with the Church authorities and their secular headsmen.
A violent tremor of pure, unadulterated dread passed through the warrior knight's frame, and he sighed in sheer despair. Although Gabriel had hinted at a hidden chamber in the ancient building whose foundations had been laid in the early Revivalist period when he had offered him a sanctuary just in case somebody blew his cover and the going got tough endangering the prior who had shown him nothing but kindness and the hardworking fraters ran contrary to everything he believed in, but in the wake of the destruction of Karril's temple he simply had run out of options. If he were just responsible for his own well-being Vryce could have tried to cross the Divider Mountains again, battling the icy altitudes and its lethal demonic inhabitants preying on weary travellers alike to throw himself at Her Holiness' feet and pray for her forgiveness, possibly representing the final straw for causing a religious schism destined to tear apart the very Church which had provided his sole home since he had been a pimpled teenager in the process as the late Patriarch had foretold so many months ago.
Despite the appalling aberrations of the Eastern Autarchy the mere thought threatened to freeze the marrow in Damien's bones, but with the ailing adept in tow there had never been a snowball's chance in hell to make it back to Ganji, anyway, and however he racked his brain going into hiding at Gabriel's cloister presented the only slim chance they had left if they ever got there alive and in one piece. The former priest rubbed his burning face and tried to pull himself together. On their way to the cavern they had passed several small groups of gnarled shrubs, and if all else failed he might be able to construct a primitive sled or travois for Gerald, but for the time being it was presumably wiser to concentrate on the more urgent matter of surviving the night.
Rummaging through the scarce provisions mainly consisting of dried fruit, zwieback and several bars of nutritional supplements Damien gratefully spotted a packet of tea leaves, and when he had managed to light a small fire with trembling, swollen fingers which felt like stung by hundreds of red hot needles and pins he collected some snow for a cup of herb tea. Something hot might work wonders for both of them, although Vryce had no idea yet how to force the liquid down the unconscious adept's throat.
When the fire was burning steadily and the water was heating slowly on the primitive stove Damien finally returned to his companion's side for a more thorough check-up, forcibly pushing down his hurt at Gerald's betrayal and the bitter truth that he had just presented a means to an end for an utterly ruthless man who had once again made a decision for both of them without admitting him into his confidence. But never mind that the adept had played on him like on a puppet on a string while he had almost boozed himself into an untimely grave and prayed himself hoarse on his very knees for Tarrant's eternal salvation. Somehow he had managed to forgive the Hunter for his atrocities committed on ten thousands of innocent victims and himself, had learned to cherish the indomitable human soul still alive and kicking though half buried under the weight of centuries of vile corruption far beyond mortal reckoning, and one fine day he might be able to forgive the human being Gerald Tarrant or however his former companion preferred to call himself nowadays as well for his inconceivable treachery.
Vryce had already lost the vocation which had once meant the world for him and had been excommunicated in absentia and cast out of his order months ago, but he was still a healer, and a healer had to help his patients as best as he could apart from his personal feelings. Daunted by his inability to Work the fae and the lamentable absence of the limited medical technology Erna's scientists had frantically been developing over the last seventeen months Damien gritted his teeth and bent to his task, insanely grateful for his on-the-job training while working at the Neocount of Merentha and old Healer Martin's perseverance who had insisted on the young aspiring sorcerers who had shown some promise in Healing getting a fair amount of practise in curing the sick without using the fae many, many years ago.
"Just imagine there's a quake and you have to stop somebody from bleeding to death; being fried to a crisp won't help your patients, you lazy young rascals", they had often been admonished by their teacher. Naturally the 'lazy young rascals' had rolled their eyes and giggled behind Healer Martin's back, deeming him hopelessly old-fashioned and their lessons a waste of time, but when the worst came to the worst those underrated skills very possibly could make all the difference between life or death now.
With a silent prayer Damien checked on the ominous bleeding first which had thankfully faded away to a slow trickle presenting no immediate danger, and the warrior knight drew a deep breath when some of the weight lifted from his shoulders. Nevertheless the adept was evidently in a bad shape, pulse racing, breath shallow and his skin flushed with fever, but what truly worried him sick was Gerald's frailty, the delicate bones threatening to poke through the hot skin of his emaciated body, and with a shudder Damien recalled how effortlessly he had been able to carry his companion, the grown man in his arms weighing not much more than a child.
Not good. Damien was reasonably sure that Gerald would have to dredge up each and every bit of his remaining strength and resolve before the night was over, a creepy thought which sent a shiver down his spine and spawned the heartfelt desire that the adept could stay comfortably in the realms of unconsciousness until everything was over. Gazing at the juvenile body with its narrow hips gave him a strange sense of foreboding, and he didn't like that feeling, didn't like it at all.
"Don't you dare dying on me, you foolish bastard", Vryce whispered, "not before I've beaten the stuffing out of you for getting the better of me with your asinine little devilry." Gently he stroked back a few black strands of hair and wiped the beads of sweat off the hollow-cheeked young face.
"How is he?" His deeply ingrained warrior reflexes apparently pretty much intact despite months of neglect and his bone-tiredness Damien was already halfway to his sword when he recognized the voice. Karril!
"Have you gone mad? I nearly jumped out of my skin!" Damien fumed. Examining the adept he had already gotten increasingly angry with the God of Pleasure who really should have better cut down on his lascivious occupations to keep an eye on his old friend instead, and now his simmering rage found a welcome target at long last. "Even a creature like you whose human body is no more than an illusion should be able to see that Gerald is in a pretty bad shape" he snapped viciously. "What on Earth and Erna has happened to him, Karril? He's half starved, weighs about a hundred and ten pounds and looks like death warmed over, not to mention the unnatural condition he is in and the distinctly unfunny practical joke you played on me. Have you both lost your vulking wits?"
Memorizing how Karril had had more than one of his chubby fingers in the pie when Gerald had played him for a complete fool, harping on his feelings like a finely tuned instrument and unscrupulously utilizing his affection and desire for his own devices as he was wont to, Vryce still felt sorely tempted to spit fire and chew rocks. Although it didn't come as a big surprise that the Iezu had naturally sided with the man he had known for centuries now Damien had presumed that their shared adventures would have earned him a kind of respect, if not friendship, at the very least, but obviously he had been wrong, and imagining both of them going into a huddle and laughing up their sleeves when planning how to hoax his gullible, besotted self he could have exploded with wrath.
Nonetheless the God of Pleasure had once again saved the adept's butt that afternoon. Without the aid of Karril's formidable illusory dragon he would have never been able to rescue Gerald from the fiery death which had been waiting for him, and his ashes would have been scattered to the four winds by now, the last remnants of an existence which had spanned nearly a thousand years. When it finally dawned upon him how close to death the former Hunter had come once again just a few hours ago the fire of Damien's furore was instantly extinguished by a frigid gush of belated terror so intense that he had to close his eyes for a while to regain his composure. Taking out his frustration on their sole ally in a world ravaged by religious madness, an ally who had had to witness his temple bombed to pieces and his followers butchered by madmen who dared calling themselves servants of the One God and had still risked everything to save the very founder of that religion, was sheer lunacy and served no purpose but venting his impotent anger.
"I know enough of human sensibilities to fathom that you feel a bit overtaken by the events now, priest", Karril cut into his musings, and Damien couldn't help but noticing that the Iezu's deep voice had taken on an unfamiliar agitated note, "but instead of heaping reproaches on us it would be wiser to reserve your judgement until you've learned a bit more about what has come to pass after you… healed Tarrant's failing heart. Maybe you will think better of the man who's carrying your child and my humble self."
"Maybe", Damien replied noncommittally. "Forgive me for not paying you full attention when you told me the crap about the visions, but I was rather busy digesting the fact that I'd been tricked into getting a man pregnant, not to mention that the damned master of disaster had just managed to get himself even deeper into the shit than usual and was just about being put to the torch. Presumably I might be excused for not being quite up to the mark."
The God of Pleasure frowned, and the garish orange of his bejewelled robes deepened to an unsavoury shade of brown. "None of us has been 'quite up the mark' during the last months, I suppose. When Gerald turned up at my temple his body had already been badly battered by the necessary adjustments forced upon it, but after conception things definitely took a turn for the worse, and for a time I feared he wouldn't pull through. Male adepts have tried before, you know. It's a dark, well-kept secret I had no notion of until our mutual friend the Lady Ciani let the uncat out of the bag when I consulted her in the matter. None of them survived the attempt, Damien, not a single one who didn't miscarriage in the first few months, and their unborn children died with them. You weren't there when Gerald puked his guts out for weeks on end and doubled up on the bed, not even aware that he was crying for you in his delirium, so don't you dare to condemn us out of hand."
Karril's robes were a fathomless black now, the utter absence of light spreading from his body to the very air around them like the heart of a true night until even their modest fire was smouldering with dark flames which seemed to suck in the remaining faint daylight, and a surge of naked horror threatened to smother Damien's rational thinking when the dreadful implications of the Iezu's words sank in. 'None of them survived'. And the fae had been Workable back then. Dumbstruck the warrior knight groaned and rested a hand protectively on Gerald's belly just in time to feel the abdominal muscles hardening under his gentle touch, and although he was still deeply unconscious the adept flinched and moaned softly. SHIT! "For heaven's sake, Karril, I'm not exactly an expert in obstetrics. Why didn't you just get him into a hospital, against the stubborn bastard's will if need be?"
"Don't be a fool, priest", the God of Pleasure replied gravely. "In times when you get tortured and burned for saying the wrong prayer shouting Gerald's condition from the house tops would have been tantamount to throwing him to the wolves, as you very well know. You were an eye witness today when those drunken half-wits slaughtered innocents in the name of your merciless god and the mob cried for Gerald's blood. Presumably it wouldn't have been worse than our hair-raising excursion to Tarrant's hell, but nonetheless I wasn't very keen on rescuing our friend from the dungeons of the Inquisition."
A sensible argument, as far as Damien was concerned, but his broad shoulders stooped under the burden of a situation he wouldn't have thought possible in his wildest dreams, and he dimly wondered what kind of miracle was he supposed to work now to save Gerald's life. 'None of them…' Cut it, Vryce, the warrior knight reprimanded himself. As you very well know the foolish son of a bitch has always had a knack of being the first. The first human being on the whole vulking planet who had dared to barter his humanity to the forces of the dark, the first who had sent an Iezu to hell, and the first and the last man you have ever made love to.
Dear God in heaven, Damien prayed silently, maybe both of us haven't exactly covered ourselves with glory in Your eyes, but please look after Your own now and let the founder of our faith also be the first male adept to survive this act of utter madness and save our son as well. Perhaps there aren't rivers on Erna deep enough to cleanse his fathers from their manifold sins, but don't let him pay for our deeds, I beg you.
Absorbed in his prayer Damien was completely oblivious to the fact that his calloused sword hand was still absentmindedly caressing the adept's baby bump until all at once strong, astoundingly human fingers closed around his own and squeezed gently. "Listen to me, Damien. Naturally I'm more versed in the realms of lust than in the tangled chaos of mortal emotions, and I don't know enough of love to feel qualified for judging Gerald's feelings, but through all the long years I've known him you're the only human being he's ever cared about. Blessed with a rather intriguing combination of brains and beauty and very well capable of charming the pants off you if he sets his mind to it each and everyone of my male followers and priests gravitating to same sex dalliances would have gladly participated in the required carnal intercourse, but taking a lover other than you was never up to debate.
"You should have seen Gerald when he was preparing to seduce you", the God of Pleasure continued with an impish chuckle. "He was as fidgety as a virgin, taking three baths in a row and fretting about what to wear for hours while still pretty much determined to keep up the ridiculous pretence that he was just getting ready for a simple act of procreation with no strings attached. How his temper flared that day because he very well knew that he couldn't hide the truth from me."
"Don't you agree that lecturing on the vulking truth is talking pretty big for a creature that lured me into his confounded temple, plied me with his bloody drugged booze and tricked me into knocking a bloke up, Karril?" Vryce replied bitterly. "You can talk yourself blue in the face and dress up the bleak facts in flowery words all the way you want to, but I don't know what to believe anymore, I really don't know."
Despite his blunt words Damien couldn't help but remembering all too well how alluring his lover had looked the night when their son had been conceived, so breathtakingly beautiful in his sheer carmine robes which hadn't left much to the imagination, and when the dark eyes had invited him with a seductive 'come hither' expression setting his nerves on fire and the layers of soft silk had parted tantalizingly slowly to reveal a naked, aroused body, the lush mane of glossy raven hair flowing around it like a black river of pure temptation… Very much against his will Damien's mouth went dry at the image, and he swallowed convulsively.
All at once Gerald's body tensed up anew, and shaking, much too warm fingers groped blindly for something to hold on to and closed around Vryce's wrist with surprising strength. "Damien…" The choked, feeble voice was barely audible above the howling of the snowstorm and the hammering of his heart, but to the warrior knight it sounded sweeter than a veritable choir of angels singing God's praise to an accompaniment of golden harps and lutes.
"Shush, Gerald, it's alright. You're doing fine", the warrior knight murmured soothingly, hoping against hope that his statement wasn't a blatant lie and that his comforting words would somehow make it through to his lover, but approximately a minute which felt like eternity passed until the adept relaxed his death grip around his wrist and Damien let out the breath he hadn't even realized holding in.
Regarding the shabby trick both Gerald and Karril had played on him Vryce definitely didn't feel inclined to accord credibility to the Iezu, but hearing with his own ears that the adept breathed his Christian name when he surfaced from the bottomless depths of fever and exhaustion for a fleeting moment something sharp and icy melted inside Damien's chest for the first time since he had learned about Gerald's condition and his involuntary contribution. Possibly the God of Pleasure had told the truth for once when he had professed that his lover had called for him when he had been racked with pain and sick as a dog for weeks on end, and perhaps Gerald's decision to bear his child instead of picking one of Karril's entourage or a complete stranger had indeed been based on affection rather than on the handy availability of a certain enamoured former priest.
"Seems he's coming around. I reckon that's a good sign, isn't it?" The Iezu's voice trembled slightly, and when Vryce finally managed to tear his eyes away from the sweaty, young face visage of his lover and faced the God of Pleasure he realized with a start that Karril was no less scared and horrified than himself, a very disconcerting revelation that wasn't exactly helpful for allaying the warrior knight's fears .
"Actually I don't have a clue. If we weren't stuck in this vulking cave in the middle of a snowstorm I would opt for some leg compresses to get the vulking fever down, but as it goes it will be hard enough to keep us from freezing to death tonight without making matters worse by splashing around with cold water. As far as I can judge it his temperature isn't life-threatening yet, and under the given circumstances I'd rather save that method until there is no other way. Moreover it might be a blessing in disguise for Gerald that he's still out cold. I don't know whether you are familiar with the bare mechanics of human childbirth, but if I'm not very much mistaken he's already in considerable pain, and it will get worse when the contractions get incrementally stronger and longer. A lot worse, I'm afraid. Giving birth always hurts like hell, and without any analgesics to ease the pain my hands are tied."
Damien's voice failed him for a moment, and a blinding wave of naked panic coursed through his trembling body like a wildfire. "Other than holding his hand and reassuring him I'm next to helpless, Karril, and that scares the living daylights out of me. A heavy bleeding like he suffered on our way never bodes well, and as fragile and wasted as he is I very much doubt that he will be strong enough for the torment laying in store for him. Just looking at those narrow male hips I'm torn between getting the creeps and fighting down the bloody urge to bestow that walking disaster with a mighty kick in the arse. Why the heck couldn't the damn bastard cut down on his vulking vanity just once in his lifetime? A slightly broader pelvis wouldn't have marred his beauty but might have simplified matters a lot, you know."
The God of Pleasure averted his gaze and fidgeted uneasily, and not for the first time Vryce marvelled whether the Iezu's human half wasn't gaining momentum with each passing day. "I know it will get worse, and I won't deceive you by pretending I haven't shared your compunctions since Gerald let me in into his plans. When I read his mind to gain some knowledge about the chain of events leading to this wretched predicament I had to put up with the appalling visions forced upon Tarrant prior your doomed trip to the Keep, visions which the former Hunter somehow managed to transfer to our friend Hawthorne's mind ere he 'died' at the hands of his last living descendant. What Gerald had to witness…"
The Iezu trailed off and shuddered. "After what has come to pass I can't blame you for distrusting me", he continued tensely, "but let me assure you that I'm truly grateful for what you did for Tarrant and that I would be proud to call you a friend. Gerald knew perfectly well he was putting his life on the line when he made his choice and settled for attempting the impossible once again. You can take my word for it that the grim future prospects gave him a good scare despite his flaunted bravado and his familiar disposition to what you mortals so colourfully call having a pole up one's ass, but he definitely derived a lot of comfort from the knowledge that you would be at his side in his hour of need. Perhaps you can find at least some solace in the fact that your lover holds you in sufficiently high esteem to entrust you with his life. Let's not give up hope, Damien. Gerald's the most resilient human being I've ever met, and I shouldn't wonder if he still had an ace or two up his sleeve."
Hot tears welled up in Damien's eyes, and he buried his face in his hands, at the end of his tether. Why on Earth on Erna hadn't Gerald taken him into his confidence but had carried his heavy burden all on his own with no one but Karril to relieve his hardship? Although as a Knight of the Flame and devote church representative his vocation had been uppermost in his mind deep down in his heart Damien had always had a soft spot for children, but he would have abandoned all hope of ever founding a family for a life with Gerald without thinking twice. The amazing opportunity of having both a child and the man he loved more than life itself despite the adept's unholy past and irritating peculiarities would have had him on cloud nine if Gerald had ever bothered to confide into him, and imagining all those irrecoverable blissful moments they could have shared when their son had been slowly growing from a tiny spark of life to a small being ready to welcome the world Vryce at long last lost the fight against the racking sobs forcing themselves out of his aching chest, so lost in his misery that he didn't give a damn for Karril witnessing his emotional release.
"I wish he would have told me", the warrior knight whispered hoarsely when he had at least partially recovered his voice. "Together we would have found a way, and…"
"It wasn't allowed, Damien", the God of Pleasure cut in. "A solemn oath stilled Gerald's tongue, but neither human laws nor gods or deities have bound me by a covenant yet except the Mother of our kind. Just keep quiet for a while and let me show you what really happened near that cave at the slopes of my birthplace."
Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
When the illusions Karril had conjured up for him faded into non-existence Damien was thunderstruck, and his mouth hanging agape he stared at the Iezu in utter awe, for once at the loss of words. It didn't really matter whether the God of Earth had always existed and watched over his children or the combined belief and prayers of the faithful had created a sovereign god of Erna. Theologians would bicker happily about that issue for centuries without a doubt, but at the moment Vryce had no intention whatsoever to join their ranks. All that mattered was the incredible fact that Gerald's dream for which he had bartered his humanity to see it fulfilled had finally come true, and that instead of rejecting Tarrant as He had done in the wake of their escape from the Terrata the Lord had welcomed the fallen Prophet back with open arms like the biblical Prodigal Son, offering him a chance to atone for a millennium of torture and murder.
"The nature of the one God is mercy, and His word is forgiveness" (WTNF, p.353) the warrior knight reverently quoted the Prophet's writings, and he couldn't have cared less that tears were running down his face again. If the Lord had placed this burden on Gerald's shoulders for the sake of mankind he would help him shoulder it as best as he could, and although the adept was certainly paying a heavy price for his redemption everything might still fall into place in the end if God in His infinite grace indeed looked after His own.
"But there's still something I don't understand, Karril. Tarrant struck a vulking bargain with God, and for lack of anything better to do that incorrigible, headstrong, stubborn bastard rushed straightaway headlong into ruin? Damned me to my own private hell of guilt and remorse for the sake of his bloody library?"
"Don't forget that the 'incorrigible, headstrong, stubborn bastard' sent you away to save your life, priest. Didn't you pay attention? Knowing that you're already fraught with worry I spared you the worst of the bloodcurdling visions Tarrant had had to endure, but by now you should have absorbed into your thick head that the former Hunter's demise was part of the deal. You know the reasons for Gerald's actions now, and instead of quarrelling with fate you had better get out of your wet clothes at once and join your sweetheart under the blankets if you intend to survive the night. You're shaking like a leaf."
Vryce glared daggers at the God of Pleasure, but as much as he was loth to admit it Karril was right. The warrior knight's teeth were clattering uncontrollably, and he had started swaying on the spot as if he were drugged up to the eyeballs with one of the nastier narcotics available on the black market. Even a blind man without any medical knowledge would have recognized the symptoms of an impending collapse, but before he could allow himself a short nap there were still some obligations to fulfill. "Not now, Karril", Damien mumbled thickly, his tongue feeling like a clump of lead inside his mouth. "There's no food for the horses, but I have to unsaddle the poor beasts and rub them dry at the very least, and we have to keep an eye on Gerald."
"Thank goodness you are neither stubborn nor headstrong, priest", the Iezu retorted sarcastically. "Nobody can deny that our friend Hawthorne is a bit of a handful even on a good day, but you were doubtlessly forged in the same furnace. Dropping dead from hypothermia you won't be much of a help if Gerald needs you. I will care for the horses and stand watch, and if he comes to or gets worse I will wake you up at once. That's a promise, and now get going and do what you're told for once."
His body exhausted beyond the limits of endurance and his mind clouded by the horrendous events and the string of mind-blowing revelations which had been sprung upon him during a single day Damien's eyesight was slowly but surely narrowing into a tunnel, and he barely noticed that his numb hands were trembling so badly that Karril had to peel him out of his leather boots and wet clothes. Sighing the God of Pleasure wrapped him into the last remaining blanket, forced him down gently and tucked him in at Gerald's side. Already more than just half asleep Damien gathered his lover into a tight embrace and kissed his burning forehead. Then everything went black.
