Author's Note: Sorry for the delay on this (wow, two whole months). College is hating me and my double major right now, XD. Read and enjoy (and don't hate any mistakes, as I haven't proofread very much)!
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Bookman was glad to find that Lavi was getting used to having personas. The three after Ensio proved that Lavi's mind was becoming accustomed to the introduction of a separate personality to his psyche, which Bookman found extremely promising. Lavi was learning to cooperate with his persona, giving the mask he wore more depth in the means of intelligence and the ability to articulate and process information well. But other than that, Lavi remained surprisingly dormant, almost submissive to whatever persona he wore. At least it didn't matter the personality: Lavi always knew his objective and his purpose by Bookman's side. The old man couldn't ask for a more capable apprentice.
The second persona was discarded without seeing much, but the third, Boris, saw enough for the two of them. They had been traveling through the Carpathian Mountains and stumbled across a train being ransacked by robbers. Apparently, there were gold pieces and other monetary equivalents, along with teas, coffee, and spices from the orient that were becoming rapidly expensive because of the rise in economic status in Asia and her island nations. These men had somehow surprised the people on the train, including armed guards, and had made everyone get off a station early. Bookman and Lavi watched from a safe distance away under a gray sky, the old man keeping a mental record as the incident unfolded before their eyes.
28th August, 1876
Carpathian Mountains, Romania.
Everyone aboard locomotive 3471-8 is being forced off at this station in -- by an armed group of unknown men. There are no insignias or indications of whom they may be, so it can be assumed at this time that they are an independent, unheard of group, or perhaps hired mercenaries for a third party. They waste no time in securing the arms from the guards that had been riding aboard the train. Although the vessel was transporting goods, it was also a passenger transit. Men, women, and children of all ages exit in various states of fear and anxiousness. While some men keep them on the platform, others move toward the end cars and open the doors. Inside these cargo holds are funds, most likely being transferred from one bank or vault to another. Gold bars are in neat stacks, coins in large, burlap sacks. There are a multitude of other things as well, perhaps for a market trade: luxuries such as coffee, teas, salts, spices. Something that smells like it could be opium, one cannot be certain. All smell is beginning to become drowned out by the humidity in the air and as the oncoming storm clouds that have been lingering all day begin to pour down.
The people huddle, watching as these thieves begin to unload the car. They do nothing, at first; merely stand and watch. And then, they begin to act. This behaviour, prompted by the endorphins and adrenaline, along with the all encompassing fear of the prospect that if nothing is done, they will most likely be killed, some men begin to murmur to one another, formulating a plan, judging from the movements of their hands and the secretive glances spared at their captors. They begin and are ruthlessly pushed back by use of arms from the thieves. Loaded muskets and even smaller arms at close range produce messy results that splatter vermillion on the wooden platform. Women scream, mass panic ensues, which leads to more shooting, stabbing, killing. The women that are still alive are easily violated, children slaughtered—
Bookman had to stop his mental record there for two reasons: one being the sudden onslaught of rain, and the second being that his apprentice was no longer by his side, but somewhere behind him, gagging. The old man grabbed Lavi by the collar of his cloak when he was through, pulling him back up close to where he sat. He looked pale tinged with green, horrified at the display. Boris was too kindhearted, just as Lavi was. All of his personas so far had that flaw and were weak in that sense.
"Watch," Bookman said.
A woman was screaming, on her back amongst the corpses, colored crimson as a man pinned her to the ground and proceeded to have his way with her. Lavi's face turned away, cringing as her bloodcurdling voice got louder with agony. Bookman gripped his wet, red hair and turned his head back to look at the scene through the onslaught of rain.
"Watch," Bookman repeated.
The woman was still screaming. An injured man managed to drag himself up from the ground to try and aid her. He was already bleeding badly, nearly dead, but trying so hard to do something to help. When he was almost to her, another thief turned to regard him and, without so much as another thought, shot him in the back of the head. The force from the projectile went right through him and blasted out his forehead, coating the thrashing woman in more blood. It made her hysterical and she continued with the most anguished of yells. Lavi's only eye flickered down, focusing on the rocks rather than on the gruesome history that was being made before him. Bookman released his hair and roughly grabbed his chin, angling his face so that no matter what, he would have no choice but to witness that.
"Don't look away," Bookman said.
Atop of the hysterical woman, the man that was violating her must have gotten tired of her screams and pulled out his weapon to silence her. Even as her body went still and her lifeblood flowed out of her broken skull, the man continued until he finished and finally pulled out of her. He could feel Lavi trembling under his fingers, see his eyelashes fluttering with every tremor that ran through him.
"Don't ever look away," Bookman commanded.
The men were done after that. They split into two groups: one to unload the train into their carts, the second to pile up the bodies. One on top of the other on top of the other…Then there was fire. Under the protection of an overhang and with the aid of some oil, the bodies lit easily. Bookman could see the golden light reflecting in Lavi's eye like an ember burning slowly in the night.
"I hate people…" Lavi murmured quietly, watching the men running off with their spoils. His eye was now fixed on the burning bodies, Bookman's grip unnecessary.
Boris was discarded not long after that. He went passively, almost with relief at the disappearance of his existence after witnessing such a traumatizing event. And it was during the few days in between Boris and the next persona that Lavi apologized to Bookman.
"What for?" Bookman asked, looking down at Lavi from around his paper. "Whatever did you do this time?"
"I'm sorry for freaking out…back in the mountains," Lavi said, eye downcast. "I thought I could handle it, so I assumed my persona could too, but I was wrong."
"It isn't easy to watch something like that the first time," Bookman answered, going back to hide behind his paper.
"But it wasn't my first time…seeing something like that," Lavi replied, from somewhere behind the Editor's Notes. And although Bookman didn't move the paper to look at him, he could feel that the room got very still suddenly. "I mean…I saw a bunch of people get killed…a lot…" The chair next to Bookman was moved and he heard the sound of Lavi crawling under the table as if to hide as well. "Does it…ever get any easier? You know…watching people get killed?"
"You hate humans so much, why does this bother you?" Bookman asked, snapping the paper a little to add to the impression of him not being all-too interested in what Lavi was talking about.
"I dunno…it just feels wrong…and I can't just hate 'bad' people, because what's really 'bad' anyway? Everyone's got some badness in them, just some more than others," Lavi said.
"So hate them, then," Bookman suggested, wondering if Lavi would snap up the bait.
"But who am I to judge who has more badness than someone else?" Lavi asked, and Bookman could almost imagine him under the table, knees to his chest, looking smaller than ever.
"Then don't hate anyone," Bookman said.
"But I do hate them," Lavi answered.
"If you hated people so much, you would have been able to watch with no remorse and no regret. Guilt would not haunt you, nor dreams plague you," Bookman answered, moving his paper unnecessarily just to make a sound in the quiet room. "But you were unable to watch because you do not unconditionally hate humans."
"You were able to watch," Lavi said.
"I have practice," Bookman replied.
"Practice at what? Watching people die without feeling anything?" Lavi asked, his tone turning slightly bitter.
"Exactly," Bookman answered. "Impartiality is the most esteemed value and most practiced doctrine of our Clan."
"So…basically don't care," Lavi said, his voice sounding glum. "Apathy instead of hate, because hate is a biased emotion, right?"
"Correct," Bookman answered, putting the paper down on the table. "In this world, there are only three things that matter to you; that you cannot be indifferent to. One: the recording of the hidden history we seek. Two: the establishment and proper discarding of persona. Three: the never-ending pursuit of knowledge and truth. These three things you must hold above all others and pursue them progressively."
"Everything else?" Lavi asked, voice almost dripping with trepidation.
"Emotions, attachments, feelings are all to be regarded as coldly and indifferently as possible. They are unnecessary. Even 'hate' is too strong of an emotion," Bookman said. "A persona may experience a number of these things at once, but it is your duty as the main personality to keep them in check and never let them run too deep. If they do end up reaching this far, to actually interact with your main personality, you are in danger of letting yourself become more than just an unbiased, indifferent observer. If that day ever comes, you'll no longer be a Bookman."
"Impartiality…" Lavi murmured quietly, as if testing out the word. "So this will really…make me not care or…feel anything?"
"It is inaccurate to say you will feel nothing," Bookman said, "but you will feel something so miniscule that it will not have an impact on your recording."
"So it will make me neutral, then?" Lavi asked, his voice sounding more depressed by the minute.
"In a sense, yes. Without the distraction of personal bias, you will be able to logically process information: in a conflict, there are almost always two groups," Bookman began. "The aggressors—the ones who began the conflict—and the victims—the ones who suffer at the hands of the aggressors. It is human nature to sympathize with the victims, just as it is human nature to place blame on the aggressors. However, with a neutral mindset, you merely accept three things: that there was a conflict, that people suffered because of this conflict, and that any emotions you may have over this conflict will not change the course of what happened so they are, therefore, unnecessary. Then, and only then, can you truly call yourself an unbiased observer. Impartiality at its finest."
"But will that make me not feel?" Lavi inquired, after a moment of letting it sink in.
"Did you even listen to what I just said, or did it pass through that thick skull of yours too quickly?" Bookman asked.
"No, I get it," Lavi answered glumly from under the table. "The theory and the practice sound infallible. But…we can't completely eradicate our human instincts, no matter how much we try, right? It won't make me biased, leaning to one side or the other, if I care that a human life was wasted, right?"
"Tending to care about even one human life will make your account unusable," Bookman said sternly. "And you are correct: it is impossible to completely erase human nature from our personalities. But there are ways to overcome the troublesome parts of these emotions so they are mostly latent."
"How?"
"Personal seclusion. The best way to achieve this is by not interfering with humans at all. The further you distance yourself, the more detached your emotions will become."
Lavi went quiet for a long time after that. Bookman wondered what he could be thinking of, learning the full regulations for this position he had suddenly found himself striving so hard to fill.
"No one said this road would be an easy one," Bookman said.
"I didn't expect it to be one," Lavi answered.
"Then stop sulking," Bookman replied, picking his paper up after he lit a cigarette.
"I'm not sulking," Lavi retorted, obviously sulking. "I'm just…thinking."
"Thinking for you might be dangerous. I would advise against it," Bookman said, and upon hearing Lavi move slightly added: "And if you even think about kicking me, I'll shave your head while you sleep."
Needless to say, Lavi stayed very still after that.
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Ince was Lavi's fourth persona. It meant Innocence in Hungarian, and was a rather popular name at the moment in the region. Some might think it was ironic, the name for the boy who was training to be a Bookman. After what he had seen and experienced, surely there was no innocence left. But Lavi didn't seem to mind, and neither Bookman, as his innocently cute looks had gotten them a ride from Oradea to Hungary. Crossing the border between Romania and Hungary, Bookman and Lavi found themselves in the second largest city in the country: Debrecen. It was a busy place, full of trade and life despite the seemingly never-ending gray sky that had remained over Eastern Europe for nearly all of August and September.
In such a big place, it was easy to find a doctor to remove the plaster cast from Lavi's healed wrist. He was at least kind enough to provide Lavi with a lightweight splint to wear for the next few weeks so that it wouldn't accidentally break again, giving it time and support to get stronger.
"So, why here?" Lavi asked, fiddling with one of the straps on his brace, sounding bored. As they walked down the street, they passed people rushing by on their daily business under the darkening sky. Rain would be coming soon. "What's the big deal about Europe anyway?" Ince's attention was flitting between their one-sided conversation and the colorful buildings, clothes swinging on drying lines, and the stray cats running around people's ankles.
"This is where it starts…again…" Bookman murmured, as Lavi kneeled down to pet a kitten that had come across his path. He looked at the sky as if the snarling black clouds could tell him something important.
"Huh, what?" Lavi asked, looking up at him after the cat had scampered away.
"It's going to rain, let us go," Bookman said, and continued walking. Lavi obediently followed, staying close to his elbow as they made their way through the crowd of people rushing to get home before it poured.
"Hey," Lavi said, just before they began crossing the street.
"Hay is for horses, brat. How many times do I have to tell you?" Bookman replied.
"Ne, what's that?" Lavi asked, stopping in the middle of the road. Bookman was nearing the curb when he looked back at his apprentice. He appeared confused, like someone trying to find something in the dark, or trying to hear a sound from underwater. But he didn't have much time to wonder what was wrong with his apprentice, a little too concerned with the fact that Lavi was standing in the street and a carriage was rushing at him at top speed.
"Get out of the road!" the driver of the coach shouted, but didn't seem to try to be restraining his horses in the slightest. And Lavi wasn't helping much, either, still looking around himself in a confused daze, not moving out of the path of the oncoming projectile. Luckily for Bookman, and for Lavi, the old man was fast to react, dashing out into the street quickly enough to yank his apprentice out of the way by the collar of his cloak, pulling him to the safety of the curb as the carriage rushed by without so much as even slowing.
"What were you thinking, idiot?" Bookman growled, smacking the back of his head with enough force to knock him to the ground.
"Owww…"
"You would be in much more pain than that if you had remained in the road any longer," Bookman grumbled, reaching down to hoist Lavi up by collar again so that he was standing again. "Would you like to explain why you were standing in the middle of the road like the mentally handicapped?"
"Huh?" Lavi said, looking at him, confused. Bookman's patience was wearing thin, his fingers already twitching, wanting a cigarette. He took a deep breath to quell the desire.
"Why were you so incompetent that you remained in the middle of the street? Has no one ever told you that it isn't a good idea to play in traffic?" Bookman asked, his sarcastic question having no affect, as Lavi wasn't even looking at him.
"Don't you hear it?"
Lavi was staring down the street, the same way the coach had gone, toward one of the most well-known buildings in Debrecen: the Nagytemplom. Also known as the Protestant Great Church, it was a huge, yellow building that stood out in vibrant contrast to the gray atmosphere.
"Hear what exactly?" Bookman asked, looking in the same direction as Lavi. His apprentice actually started walking slowly in that direction, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration.
"There's something…like music…" Lavi replied, in a far-away voice as he headed toward the church. Bookman followed, curious, dividing his attention between the structure and Lavi. He paid no mind to the storm clouds gathering above them, but focused on the Nagytemplom and how, with each step toward it, he too could hear a melody playing. But it wasn't anything light or ethereal; it was deep and intense, dramatic almost.
"An organ," Bookman said, answering Lavi's vague description of the musical instrument that was creating the sound.
"Can other people hear it?" Lavi asked, as people hurried by them to wherever they needed to be so urgently. Bookman was unsure, as no one seemed to be displaying any outward signs of hearing the music. It would have to be something looked into…
They were directly across the street from the church, staring at the sweeping architecture that looked somewhat less formidable because of the buttermilk color of the building. But it was beautiful, nonetheless. The sound emitting from the building, however, was a different matter. It was so intense, almost gothic-sounding, and something about it made Bookman uneasy.
"I've never heard an organ before," Lavi said, tilting his head at the building. "Is it supposed to sound like that?"
Bookman didn't answer again, the both of them standing there most likely looking strange as they stared at the building. And then Bookman finally used his eyes and could see that the coach that had almost killed Lavi was parked outside the church with two others just like it. There were men in khaki uniforms, silver cross roses on their breast pockets… All thoughts of researching the organ's phenomenon left his mind and Bookman grasped at Lavi's arm to keep him from going any further toward the building. Some of the men were looking at them, one openly pointing in their direction. And with that, Bookman turned them around and began walking the way they had come.
"Why are we leaving?" Lavi asked from beside him.
"Because it is the safest thing we can do right now," Bookman answered, looking over his shoulder quickly. One of the men was crossing the street to follow them. "Come on." Bookman pulled Lavi down the nearest alleyway which led to another street. They crossed it, ducking into the next narrow space between buildings and so on and so forth until they were as far away as they could get before the rain started. "In here." Bookman found the nearest hotel and they hurried inside out of the downpour.
The inside was darkly lit from dirty, overhanging lanterns and people were crammed inside at the bar drinking and gambling. Smoke hung in the air like a permanent curtain and Lavi coughed from beside him, making a disgusted face. The patrons didn't look at them when they entered, too consumed with whatever sort of debauchery they were taking part in, dirty, greasy faces alight with decadence.
"Hey there, looking for some fun tonight?"
A group of four prostitutes were standing by the wall in various states of undress. Their hair was wild, tangled and tussled, their eyes rimmed with too much kohl (but was Bookman truly one to judge?) and lips painted too bright red. Voluptuous breasts were practically spilling out of their corsets, along with currency which attested to other business they had done that day. Their pupils were so dilated that they had to be strung out on opium.
"The kid can watch for free," one said, making Lavi cough again. But it had nothing to do with the smoke.
"Maybe some other time," Bookman answered, and they all looked surprisingly pleased with themselves.
It had to be opium.
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"Jeez, so what's with this fanclub you've got going with all these women who want you?" Lavi asked, when they had been given a room. It was small and cramped, just like the rest of the inn, and right over the bar, so it smelled like vodka, cigarettes, and stale vomit. Cheery. "It's creepy."
"I concur," Bookman said, going over to the window to peek out through the curtains. It was still raining outside, nearing dusk, so there were few people out. But Bookman saw a khaki blur run by, and he moved behind the curtains until the uniformed man had passed.
"I think there should be a club for me," Lavi continued from where he had flopped down on the edge of the bed. "Me, me, me. I'm pretty enough. I should have a fanclub. But there would have to be lots of hummus. I love hummus…" Bookman tuned Lavi out as he uncharacteristically rambled, choosing instead to remove his shoes and slightly damp cloak before taking guard again at the window. "…do you think they have hummus here? I hope so…because what's a me fanclub without hummus?"
"I didn't know you were such an egoist."
"Hey, it's all about me," Lavi said, rolling over on his stomach to grin stupidly at Bookman. "And I know what it's all about, thank you very much."
"Apparently not, or else there would be women in your fanclub," Bookman replied, his attention still directed out the window. "Or perhaps you lean toward male company." Even so involved in his watching, it didn't go unnoticed when Lavi turned almost as red as his hair.
"Wha-what?! No! There are women there. And only women," Lavi tried to assure him, stumbling over his words a little. "They're…belly dancers…and they like to serve me hummus while they're dancing. And I like watching them," he added quickly, almost as if it was an afterthought. Then he rolled over on his back again with a sigh. "It's like the best of both worlds. I get to eat and they get to dance around and jingle. Everybody wins. It's a fanclub for meeeee and there's hummus, yussss…."
"Sometimes it hurts me to listen to you speak," Bookman said.
"Sometimes it hurts me to know you agreed to fornicate in front of me," Lavi replied in a matching tone.
"I agreed to no such thing," Bookman answered.
"Yeah right, and if you're going to do that, please tell me so I can be far away. I really don't want to come in and see…" Lavi put his face into his hands. "Ugh! Why, why, why do I have such a visual imagination?! The mental images are…whyyyy?!" Bookman threw a pillow at his head to get him to shut up before resuming his previous activity of staring out the window.
"Well, someone's grouchy today," Lavi mumbled from under the pillow. "And here all I was asking for was world admiration and belly dancers who would feed me hummus…" His stomach growled loudly. "Ahhh…I'm so hungry…I'm going to go get food downstairs…"
"Don't talk to anyone," Bookman said, not looking away from the foggy glass in front of him. "If someone gets close to you and wants to talk, you scream rape, understand?"
"Rape, in this place? People might just want to watch," Lavi mumbled, disgust leaking into his voice as he got up to leave. It was only when the sound of Lavi's footsteps disappeared behind the closed door that Bookman allowed something like worry to creep into his expression. He should have known and he should have seen that this was coming, what with the shift that the world was coming into.
The Black Order was on the hunt for more soldiers.
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Night fell and with the safety of the darkness also came the fear of the unknown and the unseen. Bookman knew that they would not remain in Debrecen for very long. Not with the Order running about. Although the Bookmen and the Order had had a few arrangements in the past, there hadn't been a connection between the two in a long time. And even then, the connection was far from an alliance. But bitter feelings were not what Bookman was worried about; it was the substance called Innocence that made him feel uneasy. The incident in Qandahar was far from forgotten. After all, how could such an exposure to Innocence leave them unaffected? And now they could hear a mysterious organ that could or could not be heard by others, but either way, the phenomenon was being investigated by the Order, which meant the cause was most likely Innocence-related.
In any case, if they were to be stopped, they would most likely be questioned, or tested upon. If they resisted, they would be forced, and if they escaped, they would be hunted. The Vatican was not one to let traitors free so easily.
And speaking of traitors, where had his air-headed apprentice wandered off to?
"Idiot…" Bookman muttered, moving toward the door to go look for him. But he didn't have to go very far, as Lavi was coming up the stairs with a rather pleased look on his face. "I thought you were going for food."
"I did," Lavi answered. Behind him there were giggling voices and the four whores appeared carrying various plates and bowls of Hungarian specialties.
"Hello!" they chorused at him, all smiles and…lots of breasts.
"What," Bookman said, looking at Lavi, unable to articulate what he wanted to so badly. As in 'What the fuck do you think you're doing?' and although the words didn't necessarily come, Bookman was sure his expression was doing enough of that for Lavi to figure it out.
"I was hungry," Lavi replied, with the most innocent of expressions it was almost as disarming as the half-naked women following him.
"I presumed for food," Bookman answered.
"Well, yeah, for food. They're carrying plates, see," Lavi said, pointing at mentioned dishes. "They were really nice to carry them for me because after I was blinded it that horrible farming accident, my depth perception is completely gone. They didn't want me spilling it everywhere." Bookman could tell Ince was milking the hell out of that one and Lavi was going along with it, probably just for kicks. "Oh, and so this is: Katalin, Felicia, Esztr, and Magdolna. They told me they thought it'd be fun if we all ate together and then we could have a sleepover." It was most apparent that it was for kicks and both Ince and Lavi were pushing to see how far Bookman could go before he had a heart attack.
"Idiot," Bookman said, hitting him none-too gently on the side of the head, which sent him crashing into the door across the hall. It moved inwards with the force of his motion and revealed three men smoking a hookah on a tiny, sagging bed.
"Nice of you to drop in," said one of the men after he had puffed a perfect ring of smoke from his lips. He looked at Lavi, who was practically unconscious on the floor, then at Bookman, who must have had quite a look on his face, and then finally at the four ladies who stood in the hall looking in. Either they were excited about seeing the scantily clad women, or they were excited about seeing the food that the scantily clad women were holding. "Would you like to join us?"
"It'd be our pleasure!" said Esztr, who stepped over Lavi to enter the room. The other three girls did the same as Bookman dragged his apprentice by the collar across the hall back to their room.
"Heeeeyyy…they've got our dinner…" Lavi mumbled, after Bookman had closed their door and dropped him on the ground.
"That's the least of your worries right now," Bookman grumbled back at him, sitting down to brood at a rickety table shoved in the corner.
"But I'm so hungry…" Lavi moaned, pulling himself up onto the bed melodramatically, where he curled up into a sad little ball. Bookman almost felt badly for a moment, but then the emotion was quickly squashed and killed.
"Maybe you should have thought of that before involving those ladies of ill repute," Bookman retorted; Lavi kicked off one of his boots harshly to show that he was annoyed. "No need to get testy."
"You're the one getting testy," Lavi growled, kicking his other boot off so it fell to the ground with a loud thunk! "I was just avoiding the ugly guy in khaki."
"Khaki," Bookman repeated, gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. "One of those men was here?"
"He was looking for us," Lavi answered, his back to Bookman. "Luckily everyone around here doesn't remember anything or anyone past five minutes. And everyone else who might remember doesn't take kindly to Catholics." Debrecen was a major Protestant area, and the rift between the Vatican and that sect of Christianity clashed on numerous occasions, so hostility from the locals had probably not led the man to suspect anyone harboring the two Bookmen. "Magdolna helped me hide in the cupboard under the bar until he left." Lavi turned over to face him, green eye studying Bookman through long strands of red hair. "Why are they after us?"
"They aren't after us," Bookman replied.
"Then why are we hiding?" Lavi asked.
"We aren't hiding," Bookman said.
"Then what are we doing?" Lavi inquired.
Bookman looked toward the window where the rain was streaming down over the gray glass.
"We're running."
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Between the whores doing their business next door and Lavi's stomach, Bookman barely got any sleep at all. Lavi's stomach growled all night to the point where Bookman shoved him out of bed and told him to eat something or he'd kill him.
"The kitchen's closed…" Lavi told him, quietly after he had gone downstairs in search of sustenance, only to come back empty handed. The two of them hadn't gotten any food upon arriving in the city because of the incident the previous day, so their packs were empty as well. It was some early hour of the morning, and the rain was letting up, so Bookman shoved his head under the pillow and told Lavi to go out to find something, but to be back by dawn. Lavi was so quick to do so that Bookman didn't even hear him leave.
During the span of time between night and gray-dawn, Bookman had a strange dream about the end of the world. Everything had become its opposite so it was like walking in the sky, tiptoeing on planets, watching as the earth above him slowly drowned, the most beautiful colors of cerulean and indigo swirling before him making it so easy to not hear the screams…And then the blue bled into red, harsh and so vivid that it was startling to look at: a sky (or was it earth or sea?) of blood.
Beautiful, isn't it?
Unlike the last time Bookman had dreamed about a voice, this time, it was something different. More malicious, deeper, darker, masculine. Bookman knew that voice, although the identity remained out of reach.
Isn't it so easy to watch, Bookman?
A hand reached out of the bloody mass of space and swirling screams before him, reaching out toward Bookman with long fingers, stained with something dark, like ink.
After all, isn't it all just ink on paper to you?
Bookman awoke with a start to a weak sunlit day that filtered in dimly through dirty windows. The room was silent and still, Lavi's bag missing, all indicators of his presence, gone. It was past dawn, that was for sure, a few hours after, in fact, and his apprentice was nowhere in sight. Cursing, Bookman hurried awake, getting dressed and ready, packing the few things he had taken out the night before back into his bag, before getting up to leave. He left one thing behind, which was a piece of parchment on the bed: Noitats it read, in case Lavi came back looking for him. It would take a person a few moments to figure out the simple code of a word spelled backwards, but that few moments could prove essential. Maybe if they were truly lucky, the Order, if they sent anyone after them, would have sent an imbecile.
After making sure Lavi wasn't hiding in some broom cupboard with more prostitutes, Bookman paid a shady-looking man for the room and left out into the drizzling back streets of Debrecen. There was only one place Bookman could think of that Lavi would be, which was the one place the two of them should have been avoiding. That church was just too intriguing not to investigate, but now that Bookman knew it was Innocence and not something else, and not a main determinant of an historical event, he could really care less about it. If it meant sacrificing a rather interesting log in exchange for both his and his apprentice's safety, then Bookman was prepared to do it. Because once one was shackled to that silver cross rose, there was no way out but death. And Bookman already had a life-long job, thank you very much, and he didn't need another one added to that. The worse case scenario, however, would be only one of them becoming an accommodator. What would happen then?
Outside the Nagytemplom, Bookman ducked into an alley, keeping a close eye on where he saw movement outside the church. There were many men in tan uniform, among them one person in black, an Exorcist. It was too far away for Bookman to be able to discern distinguishing features about the Exorcist, but he knew that it was an older man judging from the color of his hair.
"What a beautiful building," the older man mused aloud for everyone to hear as he stared at the intricate architecture of the church.
"Is it true that this boy is an accommodator for that Innocence?" asked one of the aids to the Exorcist.
"Yes, it resonates soundly with him," replied the old Exorcist. The colors of his coat were different from the contrasting black and white they normally wore. It was the same color as the coat he had seen back in Qandahar. Gold and black: the sign of a General. "We are most fortunate."
"And the nonexistent akuma activity you believe has something to do with this Innocence?" asked another.
"Listen, can you hear it?" asked the General, bringing a hand to cup around his ear. He was indicating the sound of the organ that still played from within the church. It was obvious from the other men's faces that they couldn't. "That melody is poisonous to akuma. They can't get near here. This city is perhaps safer now than it will be once we remove the Innocence."
"So this boy…?" began another, looking at someone to the Exorcist's right; someone Bookman could not see from the current angle. He moved slightly to catch a glimpse of a boy touching his early to mid-teens, who stood obediently off to the side by the carriage, his eyes closed as if he were enjoying the music.
"Is the new addition to our family," the Exorcist finished. Bookman couldn't help but think that family wasn't the right word used when referring to an organization that enslaved its soldiers.
"And the others we came across yesterday?" inquired one of the other men.
"Could they not be found?" asked the General, sounding disappointed.
"No. There is no trace of them, General."
"Now that is unfortunate," the Exorcist sighed. "Only those capable of wielding Innocence would be able to hear this…most unfortunate they've gone…but I'm sure our paths will cross again. After all, it's God's plan that brought us and will continue to bring us all together for this Cause." Bookman saw that the Exorcist's attention diverted slightly to the left, where he saw a flash of red disappear behind a brick wall. "In the meantime, let us finish what we came to do and welcome our new addition."
And with that, the Exorcist turned to the blind boy and said: "Welcome to the Black Order, Marie."
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"Whoa, shit," Lavi muttered, almost slipping into a nearby puddle. "That was close."
"Indeed it was," Bookman answered, pulling him by the sleeve of his cloak through the throngs of people crowding the street as he directed them toward the train station. "And don't swear; it makes me look irresponsible."
"That guy almost saw me. Did you see that? He looked right at me…" Lavi kept talking to himself, allowing Bookman to drag him around without complaint.
"We'll have to work on a handy quality called stealth," Bookman said upon the time they entered the crowded archway outside the train station. Rain was threatening to fall harder from the gray sky and people were huddled under overhangs to keep out of the eventual downpour.
"I'm pretty stealthy. I'm a stealth master," Lavi replied, mostly under his breath, so it was almost lost under the barrage of sound, but Bookman still heard it.
"Except for the fact you were almost seen and apprehended," Bookman answered, moving toward the ticket counter. The train that was leaving within the next few minutes was headed south towards Serbia. Any train out of town was the right one, in Bookman's opinion. Besides, he had some business to see to in Athens, so they were at least traveling in the right direction.
"Well, yeah. There was that…" Lavi admitted, looking at the signs as they walked by platforms. The light drizzle had increased, melting into a gentle rain by the time they reached their train, which was already boarding. They hopped onto the transport at the back and found an empty compartment. Lavi got up on the seat and sat on his knees so he could look out the fogged window at the people walking by on the platform. "So why are we running again?" he asked, glancing over at Bookman as he slid the door shut and took a seat on the bench across from his apprentice.
"Those people represent something—an organization—that wishes to fight a devastating war," Bookman answered.
"A war," Lavi repeated, something like disappointment ringing in his voice.
"A war that will lead to many deaths," Bookman said, lighting a cigarette.
"Who are they?" Lavi asked, looking back out the window. Bookman could see his reflection in the glass and had to wonder what was lurking underneath such an intense expression.
"An organization known as the Black Order, a sect of the Vatican," Bookman answered. "Just as it is our duty to collect the hidden history of the world, it is their duty to fight a secret war no one will ever know about."
"Except us?" Lavi prompted, tilting his head slightly to the side with something akin to interest.
"Except us," Bookman said, flicking his used ashes into the tray that he pulled open from the wall.
"Well, then shouldn't we be with them? To…" Lavi asked, stopping for a moment as if he were trying to think of the correct English word, "…observe?"
"The smartest thing for us to do is to stay away from them," Bookman answered.
"Why?" Lavi inquired, so full of questions.
"Because I said so," Bookman replied, which earned a pout from Lavi. It would have been adorable to any other person besides Bookman. But finally his pathetic look made the old man relent. Lavi would have to learn sooner or later exactly what forces would drive the world into chaos. "Because the Black Order is notorious for being cruel to children."
"What?" Lavi asked, obviously not expecting that answer.
"There was a series of experiments that the Black Order conducted on children to force them into becoming soldiers for their cause," Bookman said, watching as Lavi paled somewhat.
"How?" he wondered aloud.
"The members of the Black Order are equipped with a substance called Innocence, which is a repellant of dark matter," Bookman explained. "According to records, the Innocence was broken during the Great Flood and its pieces scattered throughout the world. The Black Order is attempting to find these pieces of Innocence to have people wield them as weapons in their war.
"There are few people who can use Innocence as a weapon. The records refer to them as accommodators. Because of the dearth of these people in the world, the Organization is small and fragile. It is doubtful that they will win the war they pursue. That is why they began experimenting, using the offspring of those that could use Innocence in hopes that it was a genetic ability. But when they realized that the Innocence was such a random selection, they began using anyone they could find. Mostly they were children without homes or families. The records are vague, but it is apparently one of the most traumatic things a body can go through: attempting to assimilate with Innocence when not an accommodator. It makes a person fall into Fault."
"Fault?" Lavi repeated.
"A rejection of Innocence. It is unclear exactly what this state truly is, but it is a painful process," Bookman answered. Lavi sat down on the seat with his knees to his chest and his head leaning against the glass. The train had prepared for departure and was beginning to pick up speed down the tracks, the gray Hungarian city of Debrecen rushing by them as they began heading south.
"They would have taken you with them," Bookman said, not knowing why he had such an impulsion to inform his apprentice of this fact.
"Why?" Lavi asked, his gaze focused downward, far, far away.
"Because you might be an accommodator," Bookman answered. "And they need Exorcists. They don't care how old you are. If you can wield Innocence, you become a soldier." Lavi looked up at him, staring straight at him with such a searching stare it was almost an invasion of privacy.
"But you heard it, too," Lavi said, his green eye steady and dark in the dimly lit cabin. "And back in Qandahar, we both heard it there, too. So it wouldn't be just me."
"And that's also an issue," Bookman said, flicking more ashes into the tray. "Because becoming an Exorcist is a life-long occupation: you wear it until you die, or until this war is over. And by that time, you'll most likely be dead."
"That sounds…like a good reason to run away…" Lavi said, his stare finally dropping. They fell into silence, only the clattering of the train as it made its way down the tracks reaching their ears. Bookman's cigarette had burned itself out by the time Lavi decided to break the quiet:
"Hey, gramps."
"Hay is for horses, brat," Bookman replied and he could have sworn Lavi rolled his only eye with his long-suffering sigh.
"Ne, gramps," he corrected himself, but stopped suddenly, as if he were thinking or debating on exactly what to say next. The time it was taking was too long, in Bookman's opinion.
"Think before you speak," Bookman said, although not harshly.
"I…" Lavi continued, "wouldn't have gone with them."
"They would have dragged you."
"I would have fought them."
"They would have bound you."
"I would have gotten away."
"It would be impossible."
"I would make it possible."
"Is there any reason behind your adamancy?" Bookman asked, because he hadn't heard such a determined tone since back when they first met and Lavi had been trying to prove something without seeming he was attempting to do so.
"Because I want to be a Bookman," Lavi answered, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. His gaze was somewhere else, directed far beyond the countryside passing by them through the glass, but his words were there, anchored in that compartment.
And that was as good a reason as any.
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Sorry about the long wait again. I had a writer's block for a while and then college got in the way and everything, so…yeah. A lot of people have been all "Why does this take you so long to update?" and everything, and it's because I'm pathetic and do an insane amount of historical research for this fic. I'm also going back through the DGM chapters/episodes to find even the slightest hints that were dropped about other characters or about the Bookman Clan. There's very little, so a lot of it has to be made up, but with enough room to make sense if something should be thrown in later. So that's why it seems like forever in between updates. I just felt like defending myself for that one…
But, have no fear! I've been writing backwards, so I have the next few chapters pretty much solidly done so there won't be such a big wait, I promise.
Sneak Peak, Chapter 26: Bookman and Lavi run into an old associate of Bookman's, and there are some interesting consequences...
Give me love, peeps. God knows I need some after those midterms screwed me over D:
Dhampir72