Old chapter 36.
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The Twenty-Fifth Testament
- The Resonating Past -
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"Allen…"
A disembodied voice rose from the waters, resonating against nonexistent walls.
There was a cloaked figure – dressed all in white – perched on top of one of the many gravestones scattered about which stuck up above the surface, its unseen eyes overlooking the dreary nightscape before the figure suddenly straightened up some and turned its head in direction of the voice, flickering briefly towards the surface before once again looking skywards, towards the thin crescent in the darkened skies where it hung, surrounded by a whole array of stars.
"I'm here."
A sudden gust of wind blew past as the figure left its perch, its unseen feet coming to rest on top of the surface itself.
Beneath them, a slight ripple formed, before the surface gradually began to freeze as snow began to fall from the clear skies above, scattered about by the wind as it gradually grew stronger.
"I'm right here."
Snowflakes whirled in the air, all while the hooded figure stood motionless upon the frozen waters, cloak whipping around it as the unknown fabric of it was caught by a swiftly rushing current of air.
Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the wind died down, and the figure turned around just as abruptly, seemingly overlooking the frozen and pronouncedly desolate landscape once more.
The figure retained its silence, its domino mask and hood efficiently hiding whichever emotions may have been hidden beneath, all while the disembodied voice continued to echo between nonexistent walls.
"I'm coming for you, Allen."
Eyes, hidden behind the metallic domino mask, grew wide in something akin to terror before being screwed tightly shut as the figure shuddered openly.
Hands – mismatched in both colouring and fashion – were brought up to press against unseen ears as the figure let out a shuddering breath which hung like a white cloud in the cold air, carrying the hint of a quiet whisper as the disembodied voice repeated the promise yet again before echoing off into silence.
"I'm coming for you."
The frozen waters beneath him stirred, disturbed by the unseen as well as by a deep-seated inner turmoil as the figure shuddered once more, struck by an unmistakable sense of foreboding as new echoes rang out to fill the silence the previous voice had left behind.
"Allen…"
The figure looked up.
Mismatched hands were removed from unseen ears, as mismatched eyes – obscured by the mask – looked towards the waning moon where it hung.
This latest voice – ever familiar, but not dreadfully so – summoned an image of a child sitting on top of the railing to some large ship, looking out towards the horizon, oblivious to the fact that his thoughts – some of them, at any rate – were being projected elsewhere, appearing as echoes within another's consciousness.
"Can you see me?"
The image blurred somewhat, shifting in and out of focus, all while the echoes went on.
"Are you watching me now, right in this moment?"
The figure shifted slightly as the frozen waters beneath stirred once more.
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A gentle ocean breeze tousled his hair, like an invisible force passing through on its way to some other faraway place. Timothy was sitting on top of the railing once more, his feet dangling over the edge of it, even if he probably shouldn't have, considering after all the things he had been through the other night.
Timcanpy had settled on top of his head, burying himself in-between dishevelled tests of hair, and the sun was slowly sinking into the horizon, marking the end of yet another day out on the open sea. The ocean itself was calm, but not entirely still, as an occasional gust of wind brushed against it, disturbing the surface ever so slightly.
Out on deck, the crew was bustling about as usual, presumably on their way to get supper, but he paid them little heed, looking out towards the horizon. In return, they ignored him to a similar extent – after all, they too had suffered the brunt of his bad mood at the very beginning of the voyage, and as such, they knew to keep their distance. Admittedly, he had not taken much out on them, but they were well aware of the fact that he desired no one's company but his own.
Absentmindedly, he took note of the fact that his stomach was growling again, a clear indication that he probably hadn't eaten in a while. Still, with all the people moving about, he didn't exactly feel like diving into the fray to swipe himself something remotely edible; doing so would no doubt ensure that he would be forced to engage in some sort of conversation with either a member of the crew or a member of the Order of Utter Incompetence, and it would suffice to say that he would appreciate neither. Admittedly, starving himself really wasn't the way to go either, but he would rather not suffer their company any to any further extent than was to be considered absolutely necessary for his continued survival.
He paused, blinking as a sudden realisation struck him. Allen. He was beginning to sound just like him; it was truly unsettling. Then again…
He was broken out of his reverie when a voice called out to him. Turning his head, he was able to confirm that it was the bandana-wearing redheaded idiot – otherwise known as the Bookman Apprentice, otherwise known as Lavi – holding up a pair of oranges for him to see, grinning as widely as ever. He just snorted in response, holding his hand out, palm held upward. An utterance of gratitude was on his tongue, but he held it back, making sure it never went past his lips. However, the redheaded idiot in question seemed to notice it anyway, his grin widening just a fraction. "You're welcome, little guy."
Timothy averted his eyes, turning them instead towards the orange in his hands. His stomach growled once more, and he could have sworn his hands shook a little when he set about peeling the fruit; if so, then he really needed to be more careful, because if he kept going at a similar rate he could very well find himself blacking out at some point, and if any of the exorcists learnt about that he was pretty sure he would never be hearing the end of it.
Somehow, he had a distinct feeling this was how Allen had felt back in India, during his recovery. No really, in hindsight, Timothy could very much relate; having people treating you as though you were just as fragile as glass or ancient porcelain was rather annoying when one came around to experience it. Thus, he felt like he now understood Allen's occasional displays of snappiness in their midst a bit better than he had before.
Once again, brown eyes sought out the horizon, watching it intently as though trying to discern what lay beyond it. However, his eyes could only see that far – unlike Allen, whose eyes and ears picked up on so much more than what was audible to the human ear and visible to the human eye.
Amber-coloured eyes – positively glowing – flashed before his inner sight and he visibly shuddered, to the surprise of his silent observer. Allen…
Another gust of wind blew past, and it seemingly carried a voice with it, but it was too distant, so he was unable to discern any specific words. The wind picked up, and the voice it seemed to carry rung stronger within him. It tugged at something – a memory, perhaps – but it eluded him, slipping away from him when he reached for it. Remember.
He forced his eyes shut, on the verge of gritting his teeth. Remember!
The memory continued to elude him, possibly due to the rather intense scrutiny of an all too familiar redhead he didn't really know at all.
That nearly ever-present grin – it certainly looked friendly enough, but it was too shallow; too superficial. "Why?"
His sudden inquiry caused the grin to fade a bit before it morphed into a slight smile as the other tilted his head slightly in question. "Why what?"
"Why… is it so fake – that stupid grin on your face?"
The redhead paused, his single visible eye widening just a fraction before the other's mask had slipped back in place with a grin – looking a great deal more forced than usual – adorning it. The Bookman Apprentice leant closer, scrutinising him. "Hey, kid… just what the heck was that supposed to mean?"
Timothy did not allow himself to be deterred by the other's sudden proximity, forcing himself to remain calm, even if his eyes narrowed just a hint at the underlying tone found in the other's question. "They – those other idiots – might not see it, but I do," he finally said, brown eyes challenging the other. "You're a fake."
The apprentice's grin diminished once more, but it faded more thoroughly this time around, leaving no trace of its existence as it went, all while Lavi himself scratched the back of his neck, a look of indifference gracing his features. "That's harsh," he then noted rather flatly, keeping his voice perfectly level.
"But not untrue, unlike you," Timothy responded without skipping a beat, looking on as the other sagged slightly in his posture while leaning against the railing, sighing out loud.
"Geez, kid…" The other paused slightly, looked up momentarily and then shrugged, his usual façade slipping back into place as his voice took on a more cheerful undertone. "Then again, I suppose it takes an idiot to know one."
Timothy watched him with something akin to distaste. "Then I suppose you should know all about it, seeing that you're like the king of all idiots…" he finally noted, once again directing his eyes towards the horizon.
The other continued to lean heavily onto the railing, sagging even more in his posture. "Kid… I'm just trying to be friendly over here. What are you trying to do?"
Oh yes, what had he been trying to do again? Ah, that, right?
"Well… I was trying to convey the message that you should 'piss off', but I doubt you got it."
Subtlety had never really been his forte; neither was good manners, but the latter could at the very least be blamed on Cross' bad influence.
"You know some really big words for being a mere brat…" Lavi finally noted, lifting his head slightly to get a better look at him. "Did he teach you – this Allen Walker guy?"
There was a brief pause, followed by yet another question. "Or was it Red the Joker?"
It was not a less-than-fruitful attempt at a friendly conversation, but rather a continuation of an earlier interrogation – that was exactly what it was, even if it was veiled in order to resemble something else. Realising this, Timothy's eyes narrowed once more. "…You're noisy."
The fake grin was back in place, broadening. "I'm chatty by nature – haven't you noticed?"
He snorted, but didn't comment any further even if he did feel like snapping that the other's chattiness was pretty damn hard to miss. Instead, he retained his silence, directing his eyes back towards the sun as it sunk further into the horizon, colouring the sky in a fiery red colour.
"Say…" He kept his eyes on the horizon, refusing to acknowledge the Bookman apprentice as the latter waved his hand slightly, obviously intent on getting his attention. "That guy – what's he like, during normal circumstances?"
Oh yes, it was all about Allen, wasn't it?
He let out a small huff of something akin to annoyance. Oh right, the redheaded bandana-wearing idiot had been with him after all, the last time he was able to talk to Allen face to face down in that accursed dungeon, acting out the role of an redundant escort who had only really tagged along to eavesdrop on their conversation.
"Is he always that… impassive, sarcastic and outright whimsical?"
Whimsical? Allen?
Timothy considered it for a second or two before discarding the notion. "Who knows?"
"Hah?" the other responded, blinking. "You don't know?"
Truth to be told, he probably didn't. "He's a weird person…" he finally admitted, the words rolling off his tongue with surprising ease, earning himself a slight snort in response.
"Really? I kind of figured."
He shot a slight glare in the other's direction, and the other held up his hands.
"Sorry about that. Do continue."
He bit his lip. Brown eyes slid down, eventually zeroing in on the half-peeled orange he still held in one of his hands – he had all but forgotten about it, and his hunger along with it. However, once noticed, his stomach expressed its need for sustenance, and nimble fingers – very familiar with the particular task at hand – set about finishing the job. "I don't know how to describe him actually… not without contradicting myself…"
The words slid off his tongue so easily, as if it had taken no effort whatsoever to bring them into existence. It was as though a dam had broken somewhere within him, allowing pent up words and emotions to rush forth. It felt strangely liberating somehow, while he was also painfully aware of the fact that he was revealing things which should probably have gone by unrevealed to a person he did not at all trust. However, there was still something about the whole situation, something about the other's tone and behaviour that indicated that the content of their conversation would remain between them and not be spread any further…
Then again, it was also entirely possible that it was just something he was just imagining, subconsciously wanting to be liberated from an unwanted burden. Either way, he somehow doubted Allen would mind – Hell, he doubted Allen would even give a damn to begin with, but that was just a hunch on his part, even if he did accredit himself one quite knowledgeable about the other's habits and attitude in general.
He put a piece of the peeled orange into his mouth, nearly cringing as the sudden sourness assaulted his taste buds. "I've never really known what to make of him – I still don't. There was just something about him…"
Yes, there had always been something about him – there had always been something about Allen. Whatever it was, it drew others in, bringing them to diverge from their own intended paths so that they could tag along with him instead, headed for the unknown. "It's like he's a walking contradiction – he is rational, all while he's irrational. He's…"
Always walking forward, always on the move, as if he was unconsciously unwilling to stay around and wait for the past to catch up to him. "He doesn't trust… it's like he thinks we'd put a dagger in his back the moment he turns around… yet, sometimes he just…"
But he hadn't been wrong either – they were the ones who hadn't kept their promises. "Out of all of us, the only person he really showed his back to was Miranda… even after…"
Miranda. There was a twinge of something in his chest, a momentary ache as a reminder of what had been, just a couple of weeks prior, back when they were all together, when they were all…
He could almost feel tears burning in his eyes, but he held them back, a hint of frustration leaking into his voice. "Honestly, I never really got it… why he always treated her differently from us. But… maybe…"
"Maybe…?" Lavi repeated, tilting his head slightly to the side in question.
Timothy swallowed. Then, he popped another piece of the orange into his mouth, hoping it would distract him from it all. It didn't. "Before he met her, he had been travelling alone for years, with the circus… but with her, he broke a pattern… and for her, he broke a promise…"
"A promise?" the other echoed, and he gave a short nod of acknowledgement before sighing, his eyes resting once more on the horizon.
"To remain uninvolved…" He shifted slightly in his posture. "To join neither side, to remain a grey existence in a world of black and white…"
He tilted his chin down slightly, his eyes on the darkening waters below. "Cautious yet reckless, cruel yet kind, selfish yet selfless…"
"Because he's a joker, right?" the Bookman apprentice quipped, clearly referring to what Red had said during their last meeting. "A fourteenth player without a place in the game, an existence of contradictions… wasn't it? One who swears no allegiances and take orders from no one… a solitary existence…"
It hurt, perhaps because it was the truth, or part of it at any rate. Then again, that light…
"Back then… back when I was down under… for just a few seconds, I…" He shuddered. "It felt like I would be swallowed up… I thought I would die for a second, but then…"
"Then that appeared… right?" the Bookman apprentice cut in, his tone of voice making it rather obvious as to which phenomenon he was referring.
An ethereal figure – familiar yet unfamiliar – standing in the moonlight, shedding light upon dark waters down below…
Timothy shuddered once again, a cold shiver running down his spine. A part of him wanted to curl up where he sat, to pull his knees closer to himself and to cover his ears to drown out the sounds of waves echoing in his ears even though it was plain obvious to him that there were none and that the echoes he heard were just figments of his imagination. Still, he retained his position, his eyes fixed on the waters below them, all while his ears listened to the redhead's continued prattle.
"I have to say, I've never seen an Innocence move around like that… seemingly out of its own will…"
Timothy looked up suddenly, turning his head to face the other. "It wasn't…" he said. "Not entirely, at least."
Silence. The faked grin was far gone, and in its place shone true curiosity. "What do you mean?"
Truly, what did he mean? How did he know that for sure?
He averted his eyes once more, directing them towards the sun as it had nearly disappeared into the horizon. "Briefly… for just a moment, Allen was there," he finally admitted. "I could feel him watching…"
Amber-coloured eyes, watching silently from afar…
"…It's weird," he went on, reading the other's silence as a sign of confusion, which overall probably wasn't all that far from the mark. "Sometimes, I just feel it… It's like he's standing right beside me, even though he's nowhere to be found…"
There was a mild frown, followed by a subtle nod, encouraging him to continue. "Back then, when we were all together, I used to get annoyed at him at times… It was like he was looking through us rather than at us, and I just…" He paused momentarily, looking down at the waters below. "I didn't like it," he then admitted, mostly to himself. "Still, I…"
Tears burned in his eyes once more, but he did not shed them; he wouldn't. A hand landed on his shoulder, and his eyes snapped back in direction of the apprentice, noting through blurry vision that the latter was eyeing him sympathetically. He imagined he had to look really pathetic at that moment, moments away from bursting into tears – moments away from crying, more out of frustration than out of sadness.
"You should rest," Lavi finally admonished him, the shadow of that familiar fake grin adorning his features. "We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow, little guy."
Timothy huffed slightly in response, bringing his sleeve up to wipe away any excess liquid from his eyes. Then, he turned, jumping down from the railing and onto the deck with little effort, turning slightly to look at the Bookman apprentice where he stood. "I still think you're an idiot."
The other smiled sheepishly, scratching his head. "That's harsh," he responded, his tone light. "Harsh, but not completely untrue, I suppose."
Timothy turned, fully intent on leaving, but then the other continued.
"Look," the redhead said, leaning his back against the railing. "I know this guy is like the world to you – or rather, that he's like the sun and moon and whatnot to you and presumably to your other companions as well…"
Timothy's head snapped around, and brown eyes glared darkly at the redhead, who in turn held up his hands in a disarming gesture. "I'm not saying there's anything wrong about that," the Bookman apprentice defended. "I get the fact that he's really important to you all, and I'm hoping – for your own sakes as well as ours – that he'd treasure you equally, even after-…" – he faltered slightly, looking increasingly uncomfortable – "But…"
No, he wouldn't listen; he didn't want to hear any more of it. Timothy turned, directing his eyes forward once more, his feet steering him away. He had always been stubborn – far too stubborn for his own good – but without being stubborn, he doubted he would ever have accomplished anything in life. He had been stubborn when he had decided to tag along with Allen and the others, and he had been even more stubborn when he had tried to convince Allen to teach him how to juggle.
Those juggling balls – he had lost them somewhere along the Indian subcontinent, not really thinking much about them until he had found himself idle and restless back at the Asian Branch, and even more so out at sea. His hands – they were restless, much like Allen's had been when they had not busied themselves by shuffling the worn playing-cards of the deck he had always carried around during the time Timothy had known him.
Absentmindedly, he found himself wondering just where those cards had disappeared off to, because he doubted Allen still had them, reasoning that they had probably been taken from him alongside his other meagre earthly possessions besides the clothes on his back, meaning that they were probably back at the Asian Branch.
Cards…
He paused in his steps, a dawning sense of realisation bringing his mind to a halt.
His eyes widened slightly.
Tarot cards…
Echoes.
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"You and your stupid cards…"
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"Don't you ever get tired of messing around with them?"
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"Not really."
The other's response consisted of a disinterested shrug.
"My hands have a tendency to get restless if they remain idle for too long…"
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Snorting, he pulled out those accursed tarot cards, handing them over.
"An old crone gave me these…"
"Apparently, they are supposed to be able to tell the future or something, but I think they seem pretty useless so you can have them…"
Allen, putting his own cards aside in favour of accepting the offering, studied them briefly before moving on to shuffle them.
Then, apparently satisfied, the white-haired teen drew card after card, placing them face down onto the seat, creating some sort of pattern before putting the remaining cards aside as he set about to turn the cards face up, one at the time, all while he – Timothy – continued watching, vaguely taking note of the images revealed, recounting them quietly in his head.
The Moon…
The Sun…
The Star…
And…
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He shuddered, suddenly overcome by a feeling of foreboding. Then, he looked up to the sound of his name being called, turning to face the occasionally infuriating redhead once more.
"Timothy?" The other sounded almost concerned; almost. "Hey, are you okay? You got really quiet for a while back there…"
He shifted his posture slightly, levelling the other with a grave look, taking silent delight in the fact that it served to make the other feel rather unnerved from the looks of it. "I don't expect an idiot like you to understand," he finally said after a few moments of consideration and of choosing his words wisely. "You Order folks keep going on and on about your friendships and the importance of looking after your comrades. Still, you don't get why I – why we – refuse to join in on this… farce of yours."
He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "To us, he's a comrade. He's our leader, and he's the one who held his hand out to us when we needed it. Way before you lot came along, he saved Miranda from a life of no tomorrow, and it was his words – not yours – that gave Crowley hope and which led him to leave you in favour of following him. Even I – even after the hellish years I spent with Cross – threw away my quest to get back home in favour of tagging along. I admired him – and I still do – and I wanted him to acknowledge me, and I think it's about the same for the others…"
He paused yet again, his eyes narrowing even further. "You lot speak of friendship and of being comrades, yet you still don't get why we – I, at least – bloody Hell refuse to play along. Allen saved my life – you pointed that out yourself – and he nearly sacrificed his own life to do so. And then, you lot just came along and locked him up, sending for the bloody Inquisition…"
He huffed, shifting his posture. "We'll be entering the Earl's territory any day now," he then said, turning his head slightly, shifting his attention towards the rapidly darkening horizon. "So I thought I might as well come clean before that…"
His eyes once again rested on the redhead, coldly, and he could feel Tsukikami – previously gone silent – hum in agreement to his sentiments, along with Timcanpy who batted his wings rather determinedly. "I'd rather be a heretic than a hypocrite."
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