Chapter 12
Wolfram sat in the grass. He'd picked a few blades and split them down the center—watching them divide with a slight interest. He'd been sitting there, shirtless and covered in dried blood, for about fifteen minutes.
Yozak and Conrad stayed behind to round up the four thugs who were left—either passed out from smoke inhalation or trapped in the far recesses of the cavern with a stuck side door that they were desperate to open but couldn't because of the sweltering heat swelling the door shut. The former included Boss.
As they worked securing the prisoners, Yozak and Conrad discussed putting out wanted posters for the two missing men.
"You'll never find them," Boss grumbled back almost as a challenge. The spy smirked. Boss was in a dream world if he really believed that one. Yozak suspected that the tavern owner's son would be easily recognizable in the area, and he was fairly certain that someone somewhere would want that reward money.
Wordlessly, Yuuri and Murata followed Wolfram down the trail leading back to the city. The blond appeared to be weary, barely awake, with the stride of someone who was moving because he was driven by something stronger than mere willpower. Half way there, Wolfram, who had been feeling sluggish and thick, had a dizzy spell and stopped in his tracks with the heel of his hand pressing to his temple—making Yuuri worry with his large onyx eyes widening as he tilted his head. Murata, who was closer, briefly considered trying to lend Wolfram a shoulder to lean on until he received a hard, sideways glance that told him to rethink his plan.
The blond picked another blade of grass and looked at it. The piece waved in the breeze, pointing to where the wind was blowing. The lazy trail to town snaked off to his right and his cold eyes followed it briefly. Wolfram was facing the direction he'd just come from. For some reason, that he couldn't fathom, it made sense to him. It felt right to stare in that direction and wait.
The tromping reached his ears. They were not in unison, like soldiers. This was probably the reason, the thought, it got his attention so quickly.
"We've got quite a party going on," Yozak called cheerfully as he nudged the four men in green robes down the narrow trail. They were all tied up with rope and leather straps, linked together like a chain, which the spy salvaged from the cavern hideout. Yozak gave the last man, Boss, a little poke in the ass with Wolfram's dagger to make him step a bit more lively. And Conrad rolled his eyes at that.
"If you can wait here, we'll drop these guys off at the local jail and come back with the horses," Yozak said.
The blond gave a weak nod.
"Unless…you want me to stay…" Conrad said, his voice laced with concern.
Wolfram stared at him for a second, his eyes vague and distant as though he hadn't slept in days. Then, the blond turned to watch Yozak's retreating form down the trail. Those two—alone together. That idea appealed to him. It would certainly make Yozak happy.
"No," he mumbled quietly with a brief shake of his head.
"Alright then," his brother said with a cheerful tone that fooled no one. "See you later, Wolfram…Tra'va."
Wolfram quirked a thin smile at that and it made Conrad feel better about leaving him.
"Did you hear that, Tra'va?" Wolfram whispered, tossing a piece of grass into the wind. "Conrad remembered you, too."
Wolfram's mind wandered again.
It's noon, maybe… Wolfram raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he looked up. The bright yellow orb was hanging high and dotted with small clouds all around. Bigger ones hung heavily to the north, though. But the smaller ones, he noted, were pretty and made shadows on the ground. Wolfram blinked slowly at that and blamed his blood loss for making him slow witted and sluggish. He also wondered just what an idiot he was by taking such an interest in the trivial things around him. He needed a nap. That was for sure. But, still… Staying awake had its pleasures, too. In fact, sitting on his own felt good. There was a peace that he craved but couldn't quite reach. Without looking, he knew that Murata and Yuuri were several paces away—watching him. He took another deep breath and let it out. He was getting tired of it, being the center of attention in a bad way. And to add to the misery of his headache, he could sense that his fever would be returning soon. Tra'va was causing this one, he knew, and he was too exhausted to heal himself.
Wolfram, sitting cross-legged, raised his arms up—enjoying the stretch. Thanks to the spirit, he could feel the pull of the shrine. The strange power was stronger now that they were outside and close. He could taste it on the wind the way a tobacco smoker could taste menthol. And, if he had the choice and the strength, he would have started walking. He told himself that he would have simply stood up and trudged off—not caring about anything else except the motion of his legs. Wolfram chuckled at himself. Yes, he found that amusing. Walking the whole way? Beat up like this? What a stupid plan. Yes, a horse would have been better, faster. And "near" and "far" were relative—depending on whether or not you were traveling on foot or by horse.
The gentle waves of green grass before him were blocked by something black.
Narrowing his eyes at it, Wolfram realized that a black school jacket had just materialized in front of him while he was thinking.
"Lord von Bielefeld," the sage said in his typically formal and polite way. He had taken a seat on the grass directly in front of him.
"Oh…" The blond said as a sigh at that moment. He wanted to be alone again, but decided to hear what he had to say in the hopes it would be quick. "Great Sage." His words were flat, even, and fatigued.
The other double black eyed Wolfram. Even with the purpling bruise mark from being decked, bloodied and disheveled hair, and deep cuts, Wolfram still had a kind of ethereal beauty that shined through. He was so much like a younger version of Shinou…and, in many ways, not like Shinou. The original king that Murata knew would never have allowed himself to look this vulnerable. There was always a wall. It was one that he'd built—brick by brick—so that his persona fed the illusion that he was indestructible. Wolfram had a wall, too, he realized. But Wolfram's wall was made up of cleverly disguised avoidance. He pushed anyone away who ventured too close. And the bratty behavior came from that source. And, until recently, the only one who had to power to get past it was Yuuri. Now, the sage wondered, could anybody get in?
"I wanted to apologize," Murata said, deciding that was the best way to start the conversation.
Wolfram turned his face away and looked at the place he knew Yuuri to be sitting. He was waiting, as expected, under one of the pine trees, observing them with a smile. Seeing Wolfram watching him back, he gave a wave. Unimpressed, the blond turned back. He placed his elbow on his right thigh and rested his head in his palm. Yes, "thick" that's what he felt. The blond wondered just how many bottles of spiced wine he'd need to knock himself out so that he'd sleep for a week. He'd welcome that. Then, he reminded himself that Murata was still talking to him.
"I've been wanting… to discuss this 'issue' with you for awhile now, but…"
The blond sighed inwardly. He understood what the sage meant, but didn't want to get into it at the moment. "There's no need."
Dull green eyes looked in to bright onyx ones.
"No, really…" His slight smirk faded. He hedged a bit, feeling self-conscious because he had the blond's full attention. "I should because I was involved in this… And I knew about Yuuri and…Kumiko." Seeing no reaction, he added lamely, "She's really quite nice, by the way."
The same medium green eyes watched him without a care.
No, Murata decided, Wolfram had not taken the bait…or he simply didn't want Yuuri anymore. Maybe all of Wolfram's shouts and pathetic cries of Yuuri's name as well as the efforts he went through to rescue him were out of loyalty or a conditioned response to the thought of losing his friend and king. The Maou, on the other hand, might actually mean something to him.
"Apology accepted," Wolfram said mechanically. What more could he say to get this conversation over with quickly enough? He really wasn't sure.
Murata's face shifted a little with curiosity. Accepted? Really? He wondered at that. Was any part of his apology actually reaching Wolfram? "I just don't think there are any devils in this situation," the sage continued. "But, you know, complicated relationships are always a part of castle life."
Wolfram sighed and folded his arms across his chest. Yes, he'd have to endure the young man in front of him a little while longer. This was The Great Sage and, like it or not, his people still revered him. Even if he had no respect for him personally, Wolfram decided to respect the title anyway. Murata was being chatty and, he supposed, wanted to do his job—parting with some "sage" advice. It was tolerable, at the very least, and didn't make his headache worse.
"Still, I know what the role of the sage is," he went on as Wolfram feigned interest. "And I should have been less of a comrade to Shibuya and more of an adviser."
For the first time, Wolfram nodded at him. "Agreed," he said quietly, "but it's over."
"Really?" Murata said with faux cheerfulness. But that was more of a "Murata Ken" reaction than an "Original Sage" one.
"Let's just move on," Wolfram said.
"That's very mature of you," the sage replied, pushing his glasses up on his nose.
Mature? Okay, that was annoying. Wolfram decided to be brutally honest with Murata. "Don't pin a halo on me. And don't expect instant forgiveness. I'm doing this because it's what would make Tra'va happy," the blond returned with cold, dull eyes. "I owe her. So, no matter how I feel about you, she still loves you…and me…" he admitted with a slight fever blush beginning to burn, "…very much."
"How is she doing?" Murata asked with some real concern in his voice. That, alone, was probably the best apology that he could ever give Wolfram, and the blond let go some of his anger and resentment with that.
The blond rubbed his bare chest with his palm, trying to sense her spirit within. What he could see in his mind's eye was her sad form, stretched out with wings limp and sprawled awkwardly with a shaking hand reaching for Murata. But her arm dropped when she read his heart and realized that Wolfram was too repulsed by the idea of touching the sage—even for her sake. Tra'va's image melted away and left behind only a warm feeling of love—for both Murata and Wolfram.
Remembering all of the times that he wanted to just be held in someone's arms, he sighed at that. "I'm sorry," Wolfram whispered under his breath with a tired expression. "I should have done what you wanted…no, needed. I'm no better than Yuuri, am I?"
Behind him, Wolfram could hear footfalls on the grass. He knew it was Yuuri. The double black had waited long enough for Murata to have his say and to give his apology. And, now that the sage was still in one piece and not barbecued, it seemed safe to approach. It didn't occur to him, though, that Wolfram didn't have the stamina to barbecue a Vienna sausage let alone The Great Sage.
"I have something I'd like to say, too," Yuuri mumbled humbly with his hands in his pockets. It was now his turn to say "sorry." And he hoped that Wolfram would accept it. He could also feel The Maou inside of him glowing with a kind of stern approval worthy of Gwendal.
Wolfram squinted up at him. This moment just kept getting worse and worse and worse…
He's a mess, Yuuri thought sadly. He's been beaten so badly. Just look at his face! If he lets me, I'll try to heal it.
Wolfram could see it in his eyes and believed that he could practically read his thoughts. You can't take your eyes from me now that I'm not handsome. I don't need your pity. Thanks for nothing, Yuuri.
"Maybe, I should go for a bit," Murata suggested. If Yuuri was going to apologize, it might be easier if they were alone.
"No, that's okay. I don't mind saying 'sorry' in front of you." He shifted his body a little more in Wolfram's direction and looked into his expressionless green eyes with a bit of ache inside of him. The double black was going to apologize for Kumiko and his not-so-innocent "friendships" with the girls on Earth. He wanted to explain that it was normal to seek out girls, date, and experiment a little with his attraction to them, but that he should have been honest with his "accidental fiancé" before doing it. Yes, that's what he would say along with his desire to still be with his best friend—and, as for a future together beyond that, he wasn't sure. But what he was sure of was he needed Wolfram to understand and still stay by his side as always. The blond, his blond, was his anchor in this world.
"You see…" The double black pulled his hands from his pockets to make a gesture, like prayer, in humbly asking for forgiveness. "Wolfram, what I'm trying to say is…please understand…"
The love note fell from Yuuri's pocket and rolled onto the uneven ground next to Wolfram.
The lined notebook paper had been folded into a thick rectangle. And, even though Wolfram had no knowledge of Japanese, he had memorized the shape of the Japanese characters that spelled Yuuri's name -- "ユー" and " リ" thanks to the endless little notes that Yuuri's mother slipped into his luggage or laundry each time he returned from Earth.
Wolfram noticed that the name was written in girly handwriting in purple ink with little hearts all over it. But, due to the chaos they'd all been through, it was crumpled, too, on the lower left corner and was a bit worn.
Guessing what it was, Murata smacked his hand over his face and grimaced.
Yuuri's heart stopped the second he saw it hit the grass in a kind of slow motion. His face filled with a blood red color, eyes wide. This was unreal--a nightmare that darkened visibly from the moment Wolfram wrapped his thin, blood-stained fingers around it.
Yuuri could hear his heartbeat. This was not the way he wanted to apologize, not at all. And he wouldn't blame Wolfram, this time, for yelling at him or threatening bodily harm. The blond could dive at him and throw punches. In fact, he'd prefer it. Yuuri told himself that he wouldn't fight back. He'd let Wolfram work him over and get it out of his system once and for all.
"You dropped this," Wolfram said evenly. He handed it up to him.
Yuuri took the note back. Here it comes… "Wolfram…I…." he muttered, raking his fingers through his raven hair nervously.
"I'm tired," Wolfram interrupted. "And I want a nap until Conrad returns." He stretched out on the grass and closed his eyes. Wolfram laced his fingers together and placed them on his chest. Yes, he was here. But, he chose to send his thoughts to a place far away where nothing couldn't reach.
"I'm sorry…," Yuuri said, walking away.
Murata frowned at that as he followed the double black. "No," he grumbled under his breath the way he always did with Shinou, "you're sorry you got caught."
Even though Wolfram's eyes were closed, he could sense the bright sunlight. A blade of grass, split in half, waved from between a finger and a thumb. Briefly, he considered rolling onto his side and putting a bent arm over his face. That would block out enough light for him to snooze in the warm sun. But, his body felt too heavy to move and he could feel his breathing change to one with a slow and rolling rhythm.
The blond pushed all thoughts from his mind—no Yuuri, no Murata, no injuries. There was only this moment, and he could relax in the knowledge that he could slowly let go of all of his problems. Well, maybe he'd get a sunburn from sleeping in the sun. That could be painful. The thought woke him up a bit. Still, considering how the rest of him felt—which was like crap—a sunburn really couldn't compete, now could it?
The sun must have passed behind a small cloud because the brightness wasn't shining through his eyelids anymore.
Medium green eyes opened.
"It's…you…" Wolfram blinked up at The Maou.
There was a sexy, knowing grin that he was sporting as he sat upon the grass a little behind Wolfram's head. Wide, masculine hands sought out Wolfram's face and a thin green light danced from the fingertips. The healing touch spread, slowly erasing the cuts and the fist-size purpling bruise on a pale cheek.
"Yuuri…" Wolfram said with relief. He leaned into the healing aura—body arching up without meaning to. He could feel his fever breaking, and he smiled at that.
Proud of the response, The Maou's grin widened. Shoulder length black hair swept to one side with the next soft breeze. "Hm?" he said, bringing his own face closer to the blond to hear him.
"Dunno…I forgot what I was going to say," Wolfram went on, giving a sigh to the end of the sentence. "So…good…wonderful…" His body relaxed into the grass as he mumbled it groggily. The Maou's touch came straight from Heaven.
"I think," the Demon King suggested, "you were going to say 'thank you' or something like that. Right…?"
Wolfram could feel The Maou's presence behind him shift a little to the right and he turned his head slightly to see that he, too, had a blade of grass in his hand. Only, instead of splitting it down the center, The Maou was stroking it against his own pale cheek. Wolfram tried not to smile or shy his face away, but he just couldn't help it. The green blade came again, casting a silky line across his chin followed by a puff of cool air. Easily, the shimmering touch changed to one of a light, airy feel—almost cool enough to be icy. Wolfram chuckled at that, peeking a little but trying to keep his eyes closed. He squirmed.
"That feels good." Wolfram wriggled at his touch. "But it's not a healing aura anymore."
"You can tell?" The Maou said playfully and dropped his blade of grass.
Wolfram held back a grin. "Yes…" He opened one eye. The color of the aura he had seen was a misty grey. "I'd say you're using something almost like a cross between water wielding and wind wielding. I didn't know you could do that."
"I have my ways," The Maou said quietly into Wolfram's ear. He leaned in to kiss it, but Wolfram turned his head and whispered "don't" very quietly.
Eyes with black slits raked over the battered body before him. "Why?" The tone was curious, not angry. But, he wouldn't have blamed Wolfram considering how the double black had just treated him minutes ago. He would accept Wolfram's anger vented at him since he saw them both as the same person.
"I'm dirty," Wolfram said, eyes open and looking up at him with the hint of a sparkle. From Wolfram's viewpoint, The Maou face was upside down and hovering directly over him. Thanks to Yuuri, the Demon King needed a shave and had a light dusting of soil on his skin. The "bad boy's" unruly, shoulder length hair danced lazily with the blue aura that surrounded him.
The blond repositioned himself and got as comfortable as he could on his aching back—leaving the left foot straight and bringing up his right knee, bending it, with one foot flat on the grass. His arms rested at his sides, and he eyed the person hovering over him almost impishly.
"You're planning something," Wolfram said in a sing-song way, trying to figure it out.
"The question is… Can I?" The Maou whispered to him lowly. "Considering how you feel about Yuuri—about me—at the moment."
Wolfram's face slackened. "To be honest, I'm not sure how I feel—which is a first for me." It came with a shrug. "Maybe, that makes us even. I don't know."
"Hm," The Maou said and leaned in closer which, he noted, changed everything. He winked.
Wolfram's eyes spoke of amusement now. It was almost comical seeing The Maou up this close and the wrong way around. His face looked huge, wide. And the dark eyes seemed to be seeking something, flicking left and right—making a decision of some sort.
The rich, velvet voice asked, "Wolfram, right now…in this moment…you don't mind me so much...do you?"
The tug of a gentle smile on Wolfram's lips was the only answer he needed. "Then, my blond one, I'll take that as a 'yes.'"
Green eyes and black eyes were close—very close.
"Yes," Wolfram answered. It had been a long time since he was this entertained.
The Maou's lips found Wolfram's. And the blond's eyes shot open at that the very instant it happened. It was odd. His body went rigid with the sensation of his lips being stolen with no body pressing into him. They were kissing upside down with The Maou's greedy lips searching his. The Demon King's palm pressed against the side of his face with the thumb stroking it, encouraging a response.
Wolfram wasn't even sure that he could kiss upside down. But, then, with the next demanding kiss, his eyes slid shut and he simply allowed himself to go with the feeling—kissing back in a timid way that The Maou found most endearing. He hummed an approval into the blond's mouth and peeked one eye open to see the light dusting of a blush. Wolfram's fingers clinched into the grass and his body rose up to meet him when he began to pull away.
The Demon King broke the kiss and sat up, but he never took his eyes off of his blond. Gingerly, he wiped Wolfram's pink lips with his thumb.
"I've never thought of doing it like that," he said, breathless.
"Remember that line," The Maou chuckled. "You'll be saying it a lot in the future."
Wolfram approached his white horse and stroked the mane affectionately before shoving a foot in the stirrup and hoisting his leg over. The actions were smooth and automatic. He'd done it a thousand times in his life. But, this time, in doing so, he felt light headed and pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. Damn it! It's happening again…
"Are you okay?" Conrad worried, knowing that the answer was "no" but that Wolfram would, most likely bark a "yes" at him. Instead, tired eyes and an equally tired expression answered.
"I'm fine," Wolfram said in a monotone, letting his breath out slowly.
The situation was obvious and Yuuri, now back to his normal self, gave a "What can we do?" look to Conrad who could only nod quietly in thought.
"Umm….How much time do we have left to get Tra'va to the shrine?" the sage asked, changing the subject if he could. He also eyed Wolfram to see if he was well enough to travel.
There was a pregnant pause while Wolfram searched himself for an answer. "We still have a few days...maybe…" Then, his eyes turned to the left in an almost haunted expression. "We could go now, you know…"
"Wolfram?" Conrad said, nudging his horse closer to Wolfram's steed. "I think we need to go back to the room, clean up, and get some rest. Early tomorrow, we'll make the journey to the shrine and say 'goodbye' to Trouble."
Say 'goodbye' to her…? Wolfram suddenly felt sick inside. All along, some part of him understood that he'd have to deliver her to the shrine, but it always seemed so far away. Now, he'd have to go through with it. And he wondered how it would feel to be alone in his body again. He wondered if losing her would hurt. He could feel the adrenaline pumping at the thought. He was leaving her behind somewhere. …Alone… No, he couldn't think that far. He just couldn't.
"Wolfram?" Conrad repeated himself, drawing nearer.
The blond saw the sudden movement and jerked his head, being shocked back to what was going on. "Sorry…what?"
"We're going back to our room….now…"
He nodded vaguely at this big brother and the horse walked forward at a comfortable gait. But, the shifting and sometimes unpredictable lurching movements of the horse, as it avoided holes and dips in the dirt, was starting to get to Wolfram. He blinked a bit and the images before him began to merge together with colors bleeding into each other. Blackness peeked at the edges of his eyes. He forgot to breathe—his body heavy.
"Sorry for the bother," Yozak said cheerily from behind Wolfram. The blond turned to the voice and realized that there was another set of legs behind his own. A beefy arm was secure around his bare waist and the horse's reins were in a wide, callused hand. "But I'm sure you won't mind," the orange haired spy said easily, "because Trouble and I have traveled like this for many an hour."
"Humph," Wolfram responded as almost a huff with arms crossed.
"You almost fell off," he whispered into Wolfram's ear. Then, he said much louder, "It's a short ride after all..." He winked to Conrad who had a sudden look of immense relief.
Yuuri watched with an expression that no one could read. And Murata forced himself to smirk.
As they went down the trail, Yozak said quietly, "You can lean back and sleep against me if you want to. Trouble did that a lot, too."
"I know she did," he returned. Begrudgingly, the blond head tilted back a little. "She's happy right now," Wolfram said with eyes half lidded. "She likes it when you hold us." He leaned his body against the spy and took deep breaths to fight the next dizzy spell that was upon him.
"I'm glad," he said with legitimate warmth in his voice.
"So, has Trouble said anything to you?" Yozak asked. But his voice was a little louder than he intended and the others heard the question.
"How is Tra'va?" Murata chimed in. "You didn't…" and his onyx eyes drifted to Yuuri, "… have the chance to answer when I asked you earlier."
Wolfram stiffened at the question from the sage. He remembered Yuuri and the love note. What a fiasco that was. And he was sure that he'd feel something—something strong—later on once he allowed his mind to mull things over. Once he allowed himself to feel something for Yuuri again.
"She doesn't speak to me anymore," Wolfram stated flatly.
"Why? Is she mad at you?" Yozak teased a little. A good natured chuckle rumbled in Wolfram's ears. It was almost soothing. But there was a blond shake of the head "no." "She isn't strong enough."
"What?" Murata said with concern and Yozak leaned in, too. "You're kidding me," he said with a worried tone that was unfamiliar to the blond.
"Can she make it through the night?" Murata asked, now urging his horse to catch up with Wolfram's. He wanted answers.
"I think so," the blond replied without looking behind him. "She 'talks' to me in feelings mostly. If she tries really hard, I can see her. But it's not like she can control my body anymore." Yozak tightened his grip a little when he felt Wolfram sag. "She can hold own until tomorrow. At least, that's the impression she gives me."
Yuuri frowned a little, knowing it would be refused, but decided it would be honorable to offer anyway, "I can try to heal her...if she'll let me, that is…"
"It won't work," Wolfram snapped with frustration, making everyone feel uncomfortable. With a slight groan, he put a hand to his pounding head which was caused by raising his voice, and wished that it, along with everyone else, would just go away. "The Maou has healed me twice, but it did nothing for her." He looked down at himself and realized that his other hand was clutching Yozak's—the one wrapped around his side. He whispered a vague "sorry" and let go. He let his arm swing listlessly at his side.
"It's fine," Yozak murmured back.
"No…it isn't," Wolfram sighed and closed his eyes in frustration. He said quietly against the spy, "Conrad would be a much better choice in this position than me."
The horse stepped lively. The city was in view once more.
"So, that's what you think? Playing matchmaker now, are we?" There was a smile in his voice to lighten the mood.
To Yozak's surprise, slate green irises, edged in pink, turned to him. "I know the hearts of everyone around me. Give it a try."
