Author's Note:
Well here is my first Digimon fic (Hmm I think...). I've tried to keep all the Digimon members fairly in character while still manufacturing enough angst and thrill for the story to be interesting. This is sort of like an epic; I just started writing and couldn't stop. It's also a spin off of 'Gladiator' with many of the same concepts as the movie, although I have added a lot of my own elements.
Disclaimer:
I do not own 'Digimon' or the movie 'Gladiator'. I do not own any of the Digimon characters as well, only my original ones. I do not own the Empire State Building, an ice-skating rink, or the world's largest ball of yarn either. *Sighs at bad attempt at joke* O well, you get the idea.
So please read ~ review ~ enjoy!
Of Men And Heroes
By Jasmine
Chapter III:
*
"Rome is crooked and will always be crooked; nothing you can do will stop that, except in leading innocent men to their deaths!""
*
Takeru stood alone in the study, staring out the large window into the placid grey morning sky, an arm folded behind his back. The tall sandy blonde haired man seemed at peace, an inner happiness emanating from him as that of a young man in love. As he sipped his cup of hot elderberry tea a certain mysteriously veiled woman danced and spun in his thoughts and a cold glint of pale sun fractured along the surface of his pallid eyes.
Suddenly Yamato passed by and, catching sight of his sibling, cried joyfully, "So there you are brother! I see you weren't as successful with the maid from last night eh?" His older brother's face was alive with youth and arrogance, just as it always was.
Takeru averted his gaze from the window and inquired with the slight shifting of a smile, "And what makes you say that Yamato?"
"Because if you had been then you would not be standing here alone with only your thoughts, you would be in your bed sleeping by her side right now, that is why!" The young Emperor smirked and offered a jovial wink, as he walked into the study and stood close to his brother. The smell of leather musk laced the air as well as the heavy pungent scent of age- tarnished pages and the bittersweet fragrance of rain.
Takeru chuckled and shook his head, staring into his cup of dark tea for a moment. "That is all women are good for to you, Yamato. Not always is it necessary to bed with them upon the first meeting, you know," he responded, not able to hide his distaste in his tone.
Yamato mockingly pouted and glanced out the window. "You mistake me for some womanizer, I think! Have you not heard of my impending engagement, brother? Surely womanizers do not marry," he exclaimed flippantly even as he knew this was not the case at all.
The young man shook his head slightly, splaying golden tendrils across his brow, and responded, "No, then they are merely married womanizers." His comment sent a chortle of laughter from Yamato's throat and Takeru smiled as well. "So tell me, what is the name of this poor betrothed girl who is cursed to receive such a horrible husband?" he joshed lightly.
Yamato chuckled dryly and responded, "The Egyptian Pharaoh's youngest daughter, Mimi."
Takeru's eyes undulated wide and he spoke, "O good fortune to you! I hear she is a beauty, the purest of desert rose. She will make an excellent wife and give you beautiful children." Takeru patted his brother upon the back in congratulations.
Yamato smiled slightly yet his tidal eyes were awash with forlorn. "Yes, I am sure she will make a wonderful wife. Yet will I make a proper husband? I think not. Can you imagine me going to bed with the same woman night after night? I do not think I am cut out for that sort of life, brother. Look at me," he protested and held his lengthy arms spread out by his side. "I am in my prime! What a waste of a good male specimen!" he exclaimed, a part joke and the other serious; he hesitation towards marriage and settling down fracturing along the blue of his irisis with the gilded sunlight.
Takeru laughed and rolled his eyes, "Brother, you certainly have a taste for theatrics. I am sure it will not be as such a horror as you believe it to be. And I am sure the world will manage to survive without one less bachelor on the prowl."
Yamato sighed, turning his gaze slightly to the window and letting his thoughts overwhelm him for a moment. Then he heard offset footsteps coming down the corridor, the thwacking of a dead leg clouting upon marble as it rose and fell askew from the rest of his body. It was Erasmois, seeming a bit agitated. Yamato, in his classic cheerful and overconfident way, shouted out to his friend, "Erasmois wait! Come in for a bit will you?"
The man paused before the door and seemed to take a moment to shake off his upset haze, before turning to the Emperor with a taut strained smile. "Why, yes of course, your Highness," he soothed in mock pleasantry and walked in to stand some feet beside the tall blonde haired man. The medium length man with the ashen skin and darkest hair watched them with his gaze, always calculating, as if one might be able to see the hundreds of fevered thoughts darting beyond his opalescent jade eyes. Takeru glared with icy daggers at Erasmois, never had he trusted him; the young man had always been a keener judge of character more so than his overzealous brother, and could see the possibilities for betrayal in the senator.
"Good. Now that my two closest friends are here I can tell you of my arrangements," beamed Yamato, placing an arm around each of their shoulders and pulling them in closer. "I want to greet my new bride with a grand celebration and at the heart of this joyous occasion will be the entertaining gladiator fights, equivalent to nothing this fair city has ever seen!"
Takeru looked at his brother in confusion, as if he'd just spoken to him words of overwhelming discernment, and gasped, "But Yamato, our own father put an end to gladiator battles and closed down the large Coliseum for all of time. How can you speak of such things, undoing the lasting deeds of our father?"
The lanky blonde was hurt and dismayed to find his brother not accepting his proposal. "What father did as Emperor was his deciding and I will not make such a disobedient deed as to argue against them. Yet when he closed down our Coliseum he himself admitted to putting many citizens out of employment and into the streets, never mind halting a huge revenue of money being poured into Rome," the young man spoke.
Takeru could not believe his ears, what his brother was suggesting was insolence! "Father saw it as a moral evil, Yamato, and he would go to any lengths to shut it down! He was a man of his convictions..." the young boy began to speak in defense for his father, a man who was much like himself, thoughtful and less given to acts of show. Their father had lived his days as a shadowy figure that guided Rome with a hard hand and a keen mind, he rarely stepped out to bathe in the glamors his position offered. He was strict with them, most of all Yamato was his first of kin and destined to take the throne; he was always judging, always harsh, and eternily disapproving.
"Father is no longer ruler!" the young man blurted out angrily and with spite in his tone. His eyes were fiery for a moment, flickering with jealousy and remorse, it became clear to Takeru that Yamato felt as if he was always trying to live up to his father and his expectations of him as a ruler, never was he good enough. Never was he the strong, brilliant young man his father had hoped for, he was just an immature playboy and unfortunately the first-born. Yet no longer would he live in that man's reflection, or so he feigned his belief; yet little did he know that even the dead can cast shadows. Calming himself slightly, he continued in a grave voice, "I am, Takeru, I am the only one seated on that throne, whether you like it or not. I will govern this land as I see fit, even if it means hearing father's rumblings from the halls of Olympus."
Takeru pushed his face nearer to his brother with a pleading gaze, unable to hold back the shock in his features at this idea even being considered. Why did his brother let his jealousy towards his father fuel his every decision? Why, when he had hated father's governing over him while still alive, did he allow his memories to still dictate him now? "Brother, it is a blood sport, play only for those uncivilized. Even if it does generate capital, it is a barbaric form of amusement. Is it worth having a lavish, wealthy city if all in it are destined for the Underworld?" he questioned, his pale eyes both beseeching and outraged.
Yamato had regained himself again and tried to force the moment into a lighter mood. He laughed, curt and strained, at Takeru's objections and put a hand on his shoulder. "O brother, now you are the one performing the theatrics! Gladiators are just a form of sport, a way for my people to come together in a common love for Rome. Even the great Julius Caesar held a massive gladiatorial celebration with more than three hundred dueling pairs in 65 BC! Why end such a wondrous tradition just because a few conservatives and old farts believe it wrong?"
"Here, here Yamato! I agree full-heartily to your proposal! It is a very suiting way to impress the fair eyes of your soon-to-be wife," Erasmois chimed in, previously watching the brothers argue and biting back his smile of mirth.
Takeru glared at both of them, his disgust evident in his voice, "If you two wish to bathe this land, our father's empire, in blood then do so on your own. I will take no part in such crude and boorish acts." Takeru leveled his burning, solemn gaze with Yamatos' and spoke softly, his voice grated, "But know this now brother, I have made it quit apparent I have no wish to succeed you to the throne, yet I have no wish to see you sitting upon it either. In my eyes, never will this Empire be yours, Yamato. Never." Then the young man turned and stormed from the study, his knuckles turning into white fists by his sides.
Yamato watched his brother leave, his mouth agape at their fall from each other's graces. "He has certainly been acting temperamental lately," the Emperor finally remarked quietly.
Erasmois got a wicked glint in his deep forest green eyes and answered, "Aye I see that too. His mood has soured, perhaps much like his intentions?"
Yamato sharply looked up between a fringing of flaxen strands and spoke harshly, "Just what are you implying Erasmois? He speaks without thinking, in fits of rage, that is all."
"O but of course, my Emperor. It is just that at this time all, no matter how trustworthy you believe them to be, can turn out to be a wolf in sheep's clothing. He speaks of a desire never to be ruler yet how are we to know what truly burns within his breast? It is best to keep an eye out for such things..." Erasmois said and he let his words trail off affectively.
The Emperor's cerulean eyes narrowed into jagged slits and he curtly said, "Thank you for your advice Erasmois but the next time I need it I will ask for it, understood? Now leave me be."
"Of course, my Highness. Have a good day." Erasmois nodded his head towards his ruler, lowering his gaze, before looking up and stealing a glance at Yamato, his face ashen and shaken, the perfect desired affect. Then he turned around and a cunning smile danced over his face as he left the study.
Yamato looked out at the calm morning and muttered to himself, "Foolish man and his ghosts that haunt him..." Yet even as much as he thought he believed not a word of what Erasmois spoke of, Yamato could not get the thought out of his head, his brother had been furious with him, and who did not want a chance to be Emperor? Turning to stare at the delicate porcelain cup filled with cold tea, the Emperor spoke to it as if it were a living object, "Imagine my brother against me? Preposterous! Wolf in sheep's clothing indeed! I think Erasmois has been reading too many children's fables!"
The thought of Takeru painfully stabbing him in the back with heresy would not leave the Emperor's mind, drifting along in the back of skull, a laughing ghost that taunted him, and suddenly he knocked over the cup with the back of his hand. The cold elderberry tea splattered on the stone ground and the fragments of pretty porcelain shattered, slivers of creamy china speckling the marble. Yamato looked at it angrily, a loathing suddenly for his position rising in him; this throne was fating him to an arranged marriage and now it was tarring his from good terms with his brother. He growled in anger, "Damn this Empire!"
*
Sora stood by the man's bedside, the gilded sunrays parting through the billowing cloth curtains to outline her well-formed silhouette, and she studied his quiet features. Flaming red hair, a calm looking appearance that seemed to exude wisdom and tranquility, and hands worn only by the pages of texts; the stranger looked like a gentleman city dweller. He also wasn't the young boy she had first thought him to be, partially because he was short in stature and his face held a youthful quality to it, but rather a man only a bit less in years then she.
Suddenly his brown eyes fluttered open, the morning light dappling his pale flesh in undulating designs, and he quickly accessed the situation in that witty mind of his. "Wh... Where might I be?" he asked and tried to sit up.
"At The Boar Tusk Tavern. Please sir, lay back and do not strain yourself," the strawberry blonde smiled softly and soothed.
The man ignored the woman's request, throwing off the blankets and swinging his legs over the side of his bed. He said eagerly and without a moment to waste, "The Boar Tusk Tavern you say? And just exactly in what province is that?"
Sora put her hand on her hip; strands of pale crimson tinged hair splaying loose from the silver clasp and into her frustrated cinnamon eyes. She remarked a bit crossly, "Listen, it is best you rest, you came here practically dead of chill and lack of water. I am thankful of how you saved me last night but not so thankful that I will take kindly to you ignoring my hospitality!"
For the first time the red haired man, stopping temporarily from searching for his boots, looked up at Sora and smiled politely. "And for that I am certainly grateful. I mean not to tarnish your generosity, miss, but I have some personal matters I must attend to."
The young tavern maid sighed and then returned the grin, her heart shaped face luminescent. "Well, if you must jump out of bed before even getting a proper rest, at least I can fix you up a meal to take on your travels. By the way, my name is Sora," the woman introduced herself.
The man nodded and spoke in such a gracious manner Sora was unfamiliar with hearing, "And I, madam, am Koushiro."
The two shook hands and Sora then asked, her curiosity peaking, "So tell me Koushiro, what is a well-bred gentleman like yourself doing in dreary Quarry Valley, home to only farmers and the lowest of Empire scum?"
Koushiro was sliding his mud caked boots over his sore welt-ridden feet with a wince and he answered, "I don't think I should tell you... But after all that you have aided me in, I at least owe you the truth..." He finished lacing up the worn leather ties; the edges frayed, and glanced up at the young woman with an amused laugh. "And I can assume you would take no less," he added with a chuckle at Sora's brazen spirit.
The scarlet haired young statesman continued with a sigh, "I am in bad favor with our Emperor and his ninny minions."
Sora immediately took interest, her crimson eyes going wide, somehow she had expected as much though, one of such fine nobility did not come to the Valley unless in dire need of a place to conceal away in. She breathed in confusion, "Why are you going back then?"
The young man looked out the window, into the morning unfurling upon the quiet vivid hills and he half wondered what was keeping him from living out the rest of his days here in peace. "To make right what others have made wrong. I suppose it is rather naive of me to believe my presence may change the whole course of history but I find it impossible to turn away from the plights of my fellow man," Koushiro explained as he stood and pulled over himself his thick robe, the air was laced with a sweet balminess but he'd have to wear the heavy cloak as guise.
"I am going with you." Sora's words were so shocking and abrupt that they cut through the room like a sical through a field of ripe flaxen hay. She stood by his side; her spine erect and her eyes glanced at him with a mix of determination and pleading.
Koushiro was surprised and he shook his head in reply quickly, "No... No, that is not possible miss. It is far too dangerous for a woman like your self to get involved in such back-handed ordeals."
Sora only seemed to become more defiant and rebutted, "Excuse me, Mr. Koushiro, but you do not know me at all. Do not for one minute think you have me branded as some weak bar mistress, for then you will certainly be at a loss when you see all that I am capable of. Now either you let me aid you or else I'll head into this treacherous Rome you speak of on my own." The petite young woman raised her chin and set her jaw, looking at the Speaker with challenge flickering in her ember eyes.
Koushiro smiled within at the girl's willpower and stubbornness. "Why are you so bent on helping me end the corruption in Rome?" he asked.
Sora appeared to hesitate, choking on her own voice and her thoughts were almost visible as they churned within her brain. Then she looked at him, tucking back a strand of fine red-blonde hair, and replied, "No one wants to stay in Quarry their whole life."
Koushiro felt Sora was holding something back from him but decided not to push the subject further. He paused for a moment in contemplation before finally relinquishing, "Fine, we will leave at noon."
Sora broke her stony demeanor with a smile and said, "Alright I'll busy myself preparing until then." She walked out the door; her creamy cotton skirt brushing against her ankles, and Koushiro watched her before slouching back onto the stiff straw mattress of the bed. The young man ran a hand through the mass of thick scarlet locks and stared out the window, the warm light making patterns along his solemn face and sending the curtain into a methodical sluggish dance, somewhere close by a beaten tin wind chime was tickling with delicate twittering music. Alone with only his thoughts, Koushiro wondered what he was doing, how many lives would be altered because of his almost blatantly illogical decision to return.
*
Erasmois strode down into the jail, his expensive leather shoes avoiding the filthy puddles gathering. He held a satin cloth to his nose to prevent the putrid smell of rancid death from reaching his nostrils and walked with long purposeful strides. As he strode past the constable, leaning back on his chair and gradually drifting into a light nap, the large man jumped up with his beating stick in hand.
"Hey you! Stop right there, you have to show me authorization papers first," shouted the constable, his eyes wide and still glazed with slumber.
Erasmois spun around on his heels and struck the man like a rapid serpent, knocking him down on his back with the flat of his hand. His face was contorted in a snarl and his flickering green eyes burned with anger.
The constable recognized Erasmois and immediately coward back, groveling like a beggar at the man's feet. "I'm so sorry, sir! I had no idea it was you! You can enter any time you like, excuse me for my ignorance," the man whimpered, his feverish pulse climbing and throbbing in his eardrums, his cheeks smeared with hot crimson.
Erasmois kicked the man directly in the face with the hard toe of his shoe and blood spurted forth from the constable's nose. He cried out in pain and placed a hand over his tender face, tears welling in his eyes. "Damn right I can, insolent fool," the politician growled before reaching foreword and snatching the set of keys from the man's pocket with ease. Then Erasmois resumed walking down the aisle of the prison, the rage dissipating from him.
Strangely, all the prisoners were quiet as the poisonous man strode by their jails. He seemed to radiate evil and all could feel the thickness in the air, even the most hardened of criminals staid silent in waiting among the deepest blue shadows and followed the man with their gaze. Erasmois stepped out in front of a particular cell and he peered within it. There were two men sitting upon the cold gritty floor, awakened from sleep and now staring out of the shadowy darkness that surrounded them, twin sets of opalescent eyes staring at him. One was emaciatingly skinny and grubby, with a big tuft of knotted blond hair on his small head. The other was a man of tan skin, aligned with muscles and warrior like; his body covered in bruises and contaminated etching cuts. His deep brown eyes seemed especially heavy with a loathing and mix of courage that Erasmois could not help but feel slightly frightened of.
"I assume you are the great General Taichi?" Erasmois finally spoke, a slithering smile snaking over his ivory features; he spoke his name like a secret inside jibe.
The man with the piercing brown eyes regarded the gloating pail-faced man with intensity and then said softly in his raucous, gritty voice, "Erasmois, I was waiting for you. Vultures always come back to pick the flesh off of corpses." His voice never wavered above that of a whisper yet it filled the void of silence, commanding the attention of all ears.
Erasmois smiled smugly yet made sure to keep his distance from the iron bars, holding his weight on his one good leg and trying to conceal the other in the folds of his cloak. "True, General, and you are a corpse if I ever saw one. My men did their job well wouldn't you say? I imagine you are close to death and as weak as a little girl. No matter, the job I intend for you does not require you to be alive for very long anyway," he sniggered.
Taichi watched him, squinting against the burning glow of the torches that bled into the quiet darkness of his cell with a smudged gilded glow, and Erasmois felt him studying him. The blinking of his long feathered eyelashes, flicking over the rises of his cheeks, the weak leg that was cumbersome to his gait, it was as if Taichi was making mental details of Erasmois, a battle strategy he had come to gain while in military service. The slow movements of his breath, quickening now, growing more fervent with each steely glance the warrior shot the politician. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale... "Strong enough to kill you," replied the man flatly. It was true what Erasmois had spoke of though, his head was pounding and a fever raged through his system, yet Taichi held his head high and kept his deep luster.
Inhale...
"Tell me," the man with the sun-kissed body began, his throat dry and raucous. "What do you think people will do when they find out you've had me imprisoned?" He was testing him with his gaze, seeing how far he could bend him before he snapped, and watched the tiny tremors quake and shiver along his jade eyes, inside Erasmois wasn't as powerful as he seemed.
Exhale...
He went on grittily, intimidating the man, "They'll come after you, the soldiers will travel to the Underworld for me and they will not spare you. You will be tarred down bit by bit when they get to you, Erasmois." Taichi never wavered above a whisper yet his dark gaze was piercing and shattered the man's resolve like dissipating sea spray.
Inhale...
The politician seemed shaken; so much that Taichi began to believe other events as well had caused him to feel such a sudden irresolution. There were doubts beginning to quake through him, the man with so much cunning now appeared hesitant. Finally the torches shivered gilded bands along the verdant irises of his eyes and the dark haired politician regained his smugness, or rather feigned it. "Fighting words from a man behind bars, at my mercy," he quipped and held his gaze for only a moment before averting them uncertainly, "You think the army knows you are missing? That anyone knows you are missing? Taichi, for one so supposedly wise you certainly are naïve; people are murdered every day, men such as yourself mysteriously disappear without a trace. You are no different, you are just another faceless shadow that has dissappeared without a trace along these city streets."
Taichi narrowed his dark eyes and did not hesitate in his cold demeanor. "Then you will keep me here until my death," he said raggedly. "I do not mind death yet rotting away is not the way of a soldier." The belief that he would end up dead did not shake the man, it did not even register on the stone chiseled face. Yet he recalled his father, how they hauled him off to jail to spend his last days decaying in a dank corner, this was a deep fear of his.
The man's jade eyes flickered like twin precious gems in the wafting torch light. "No," he spoke with a soft coneyving smile, "No, you will not stay here much longer."
"Hold up, chum," butted in Hang Nail suddenly, the thought of finally leaving this jail thick in his brain, "Wherever he goes, I go. I'm like his representative, ya know?"
Erasmois gazed at the tiny man and a sinister smile was on his face. "Fine. You can certainly join Taichi's side in the ring and share his bloody fate as a gladiator."
Hang Nail's eyes went wide and he cried, "No way! I have changed my mind! Besides, I don't know if you've noticed, Era, but I'm not exactly fighter material."
Deep burnt golden streaks fell along the jagged curves of the man's face and he murmured, "I do not expect for you to fight, dear boy. I expect you to die."
*
A long caravan hitched down the cobblestone road and a large entourage of personal guards, servants, and white horses followed. People crowded all around the sides of the street, children running to keep up with the moving wagon and the curious looking camel tied in the back, clomping along. The lining of houses echoed with the rattle of clattering pots, paced hoof beats, and spirited laughter. Mothers bowed their heads and fathers stuck their thumbs under the binding cords of their tunics, all unable to decide whether this new arrival would doom them all.
A man stood in the group of onlookers and was almost completely camouflaged for he wore a black cloak over his small sturdy frame and was shorter then most men. He looked up at the caravan and his eyes regarded it with a quiet melancholy. A strawberry blonde woman soon saddled up to his side, hidden in a similar cloak, and also watched the wagon. "Who is that?" she questioned curiously, amazed by the parade of riches.
"An Egyptian Princess and yet another play-thing for our Emperor," sighed the red haired man, unable to harness his frustration.
The woman glanced all around at the gathering crowd and inquired, "They are all so solemn, it is very clear this is not a joyous event."
Koushiro nodded his head. "Our Emperor takes to him a wife and yet disgards the well-being of his citizens. This Princess will prove to be yet another obstruction in the naïve young man's judgements, of this I am most certain," he responded and then added cryptcally, "Absorb this peace for I fear we will not have it for long."
"A calm before a storm?" the strawberry blonde remarked as her shielded scarlet eyes followed the pretty, lavish caravan.
Koushiro's features were grim as he stared at the excess of wealth surrounded by a sea of tattered cloth adorned peasants. "Aye, this isn't just a storm approaching however, it's the gates of the Underworld opening up. By the time these royals have a chance to react it will be too late. We all may be swallowed whole in the flames."
The two figures stood within the throng of the silent sober crowd and watched as the caravan disappeared down the road.
The little wagon and procession moved towards a vast whitewashed palace that looked to be erected from the finest marble and gilded with gold. Statues of the Gods decorated the outside yet were meek in standing next to the beautifully carved figures of the gigantic stone Emperors, all decked out in their most glorious garb and striking their most heroic poses. The caravan came to a halt just within a small walking distance of the door and immediately servants rushed about collecting goods, tending to the horses and camel, and unfurling a long satin red rug from the wagon's door to the Palace's entrance.
A lovely vision of exquisite royalty and exotic beauty stepped gingerly from the wagon's door into the rather mild morn, the first day of April. Her long dress of vivid pink silk and soft purple gathered at her ankles; even her feet were adorned in wealth, jingling gold bracelets and small expensive sandals covered her delicate soles. The young Princess of Egypt regarded the Palace in shock that this grand place was to be her home, it was so very different from the rambling, collapsing Egyptian estates. Mimi tread upon the satin rug quietly up to the decadent wooden doors, each as big as a bull and decorated with golden lion head doorknockers, eyes of deep red gems piercing from above their sneared mouths.
The heavy doors swung open and two maidens draped in silk gently began to dance as rich harp music poured forth. Mimi looked about and immediately was in awe of the large Palace and its high marble and gold spires. A young boy with a cheery round face stood up on the banister and emptied the contents of his basket; small dark crimson rose petals fluttered down like autumn leaves on the wind and weaved within Mimi's long light brown hair and floor-length gown of feminine beauty. The sun shivered into the large windows and gave the room an eerie quality, as if it were a floating castle up on the peaks of Mt. Olympus.
A door, that led to another one of the corridors, which twisted and wreathed within the inner depths of the Palace, opened up to reveal a most divine creature. He was tall, yet not too tall; slender, yet still retained his manly appeal, perfect in almost every physical aspect. This man wore an outfit of the finest cloths and he had a soft glimmering head of touseled flaxen hair. A lively smile crossed his face, however Mimi thought she saw just a hint of melancholy in it. The man spread his arms wide as if welcoming the Princess and exclaimed joyously, "You have arrived, my Princess! I trust your travels were not as horrendous as expected?"
"Not at all, milord. It was actually quite pleasant. I had never been outside my homeland's sandy borders before so I enjoyed every moment of the beautiful rolling sea and the glorious cascading hills of your kingdom. Your cities' tall skyscraping marble structures are too a splendid sight," Mimi spoke eloquently to appease her future husband.
The Princess started to bow down yet Yamato caught her chin with the cradle of his palm and brought her hazel eyes up to meet his piercing azure ones. "You must not bow down nor call me milord. I am to be your future husband and thus we should share equal power," he said yet he was distracted with her angelic face, her long lashes that framed those lovely pools of soft green and brown. Yamato said breathily, "You certainly live up to your nickname 'The Desert Rose'. You are indeed more beautiful then I had expected, Mimi." He offered her a charming smile and began to assume the familiar role of charmer, she appeared for the moment yet just another pretty maid that he would say anything to in an attempt to get her into his bed.
The Princess flushed a bit and she tried to turn her gaze downward yet found it impossible to do so. Her mind was captivated by his perfect reflection and graceful speech, the way his hand almost made love to her skin. "You are certainly more handsome then any dream I have had, Yamato," she purred, her voice rich with his intoxication.
The Emperor laughed lightly and beamed, "So then you dreamed of me eh? I trust not an erotic one in nature?" Yet his gaze was seductive as if he wished she had, thrusting into her thoughts.
Mimi's mind suddenly turned to Jyou, standing with tears caught in the corners of his eyes against a background of bursting night stars. Pulling back sharply from Yamato's touch she apologized hurriedly, "No!" There was a brief pause and she regained her composure somewhat although the rouge would not leave her well-defined cheekbones. "I meant I am sorry for saying such ill-mannered things. I do not know what possessed me to say that, perhaps it was the long travels," she excused quickly.
Yamato appeared surprised at Mimi's change in mood yet he took it all in stride and again grinned. "Yes of course. Why don't you get some rest? I have more celebrations planned to ring in your stay by my side," he chimed in his usual good spirits. Then the Emperor called forth a small handmaiden and she eagerly accepted the offer to escort Princess Mimi to her new bedchamber.
Mimi followed the girl down the long hall and the sun flickered across her skin, cast in undulating willowy designs. However all she could think of was Jyou then, in this wonderful hall and with the scent of rose swimming in her head. A sheen of tears pooled in her eyes at the thought of never escaping his haunting ghost that always lingered there in her mind; forget him as she tried she knew then she never would be able to, the memory of her only love would pain her to her death.
*
Hakari sat by the small fire and stirred her charred cauldron of hot, bubbling soup. Rabbit stew; she'd found it yesterday on the city green and it nearly broke her heart to have to club the furry little creature to death but she was starving and it was either her life or the rabbits. In hard times the young woman had come to be able to do anything to get by, sacrifices might sometimes have to be made for survival. Still, she'd whisper a prayer of thanks before eating it.
The small room was shabby and drafty, wood from the walls had chinks between them where they met and whole pieces of lumber were missing. The smoke from the fire flew up the flue to be swept away by the evening wind. One mattress lay upon the grimy floor a few feet from the fireplace and a small table set with beaten silverware for one person sat against the far wall. This was all Hakari could afford, even if she did make good wage singing for the likes of tavern customers and royalty, it all went into paying the apartment's fat and greedy landlady. These were hard times indeed.
There came a knock at the door, which echoed within the little room, and Hakari's nerves immediately went on edge. She ran over to her mattress and dug underneath it to retrieve a small, sharpened knife. Clutching her weapon with numb white knuckles, the young girl neared closer to the door and called with a trembling voice, "If you have come searching for Taichi, well then you have sniffed up the wrong tree. He isn't here, you awful blood hounds!"
"I expected he wouldn't. But alas I came not in search of him; it is you I wish to speak to Hakari."
Hakari's fright swelling at the fact that this person knew her name, she raised her blade a little higher. "I don't damn well care! Unless you are a trusted friend, you best step away from my thresh hold or else face the consequences."
"I am Koushiro, speaker of the Senate and good friend to your brother, Taichi. I come bearing no ill will, I assure you, young miss."
Hakari remembered her brother spoke of a Koushiro several times. If her memory was correct then this Koushiro fellow was knee high in all this corruption business, fighting a battle Taichi was known also to devote himself to. With a hint of hesitation, the young woman slipped the chain free and opened the door a wedge. Standing there in the bright scarlet sunset was a short red haired man covered in a heavy cloak and by his side a young woman with pretty crimson eyes and an angelic, youthful face. "Who is she?" Hakari asked.
The woman spoke for herself. "I am Sora, a bar waitress from Quarry Valley. I come to aid Koushiro and your brother in their fight against the Empire's misdeeds."
Hakari could not help but snort at the girl. She was so naïve, so devoid of any knowledge of what 'fighting against the Empire's misdeeds' really meant, of all the sacrifices involved. She gave out a slight, grating giggle, remarking dryly, "A bar waitress? My, you are certainly not selective with your recruits." Then, still alert, Hakari opened the door farther and invited them, "Come in."
The young man entered first and smiled appreciatively. "Thank you, Hakari. I see now why your brother was always so proud of you and your apparent generosity."
Hakari blushed faintly at the complement but, quickly remembering these were the people who had dragged her brother into his insane fight for good, she turned curt again. "Surely this is not a social call. Have you any word of Taichi?" she asked.
Koushiro's gaze was downcast and his expression turned grim. He said sadly, "I am sorry to inform you, Hakari, that General Taichi was captured by the Emperor's guards."
The young girl's brown eyes went wide and her hands began to quake. "No..." she whispered softly and a crystallized tear rolled down her cheek like a shard of lustorous glass, glistening a track of slick against her peach flesh map.
Sora stepped foreword and raised a hand to the girl's shaking shoulder. In a comforting voice she began, "I know it must seem horrible right now, but Taichi sacrificed for a cause..."
Hakari's face was damp with tears and turned molten in the ebbing firelight. She snapped her burning gaze up to meet Sora's crimson orbs. "The cause? The cause! You sound like an echo of my brother; with him it was too always about the damn cause! Well, I spit on your cause, I dance with lively feet upon your Gods-forsaken cause! Let me ask you, will your cause put food in the peoples' stomachs? Will it give relief to the agonizing screams of the children and women dying in the lane, afflicted with the horrible black disease? Will your precious cause bring my brother back to me?"
Sora reared back from the grief-stricken girl and stammered, "I-I meant no menace by my words..."
"I care not if you meant menace, for you brought it nonetheless! All of you! With your pretty lies of freedom you lead people into your open jaws and crush their bones with your promises of triumph! You people honestly think you can make a difference? Rome is crooked and will always be crooked; nothing you can do will stop that, except in leading innocent men to their deaths!" Hakari screamed in torment.
The room was silent for a long moment until Koushiro spoke up, "Hakari, what happened to Taichi was of his own choosing. Nothing you or I could have done would have changed his fate. I will not speak to you of his reasons for that is not of my right, but of it comforts you, know that he did so with pride in his heart."
"Comfort?" she snorted morosely and shook like a hued Autumn leaf being tossed by a chilled wind. Hakari fell onto her little wooden chair and her voice was gravely and hoarse as she said, "Get out of my home." Then looking up at Koushiro she said again, this time with a deep willpower and bitterness, "Leave."
Koushiro stared at the misfortuned, tortured soul and then turned around and left, followed close behind by Sora.
Hakari sat there and her body shook with sobs as the tears flooded her face, an onslaught of trembling despondency. Her brother's soft promise rang in her ears like a pebble being thrown from the lip of a deep chasm, "Never ever will I forget you."
A small ember of determination glittered in her moist chocolate eyes. She was raised on the streets, she knew long before she learned how to walk the gory truth: All actions have a reaction. The people who had taken her brother to an almost certain death in the dungeons would pay dearly, even in her wretched of hearts she felt this resolve and rage.
*
Closing Notes: This is chapter III! Took me awhile but its finally here! What is the fate of Taichi? What have Koushiro and Sora devised as plan for a rebellion? How is Hakari determined to ruin the ones who have sentenced her brother to death; and how will this affect her relations with Takeru?
O yes and P.S.! Does anyone have any idea how to download a layout to geocity? I've had a layout made to put all my fanfictions and art on the web but I am such a computer dummy, I have no idea how to load it and everything! Can anyone help me? E-mail me at picperfect85@aol.com. I'll be so grateful! 3
Well here is my first Digimon fic (Hmm I think...). I've tried to keep all the Digimon members fairly in character while still manufacturing enough angst and thrill for the story to be interesting. This is sort of like an epic; I just started writing and couldn't stop. It's also a spin off of 'Gladiator' with many of the same concepts as the movie, although I have added a lot of my own elements.
Disclaimer:
I do not own 'Digimon' or the movie 'Gladiator'. I do not own any of the Digimon characters as well, only my original ones. I do not own the Empire State Building, an ice-skating rink, or the world's largest ball of yarn either. *Sighs at bad attempt at joke* O well, you get the idea.
So please read ~ review ~ enjoy!
Of Men And Heroes
By Jasmine
Chapter III:
*
"Rome is crooked and will always be crooked; nothing you can do will stop that, except in leading innocent men to their deaths!""
*
Takeru stood alone in the study, staring out the large window into the placid grey morning sky, an arm folded behind his back. The tall sandy blonde haired man seemed at peace, an inner happiness emanating from him as that of a young man in love. As he sipped his cup of hot elderberry tea a certain mysteriously veiled woman danced and spun in his thoughts and a cold glint of pale sun fractured along the surface of his pallid eyes.
Suddenly Yamato passed by and, catching sight of his sibling, cried joyfully, "So there you are brother! I see you weren't as successful with the maid from last night eh?" His older brother's face was alive with youth and arrogance, just as it always was.
Takeru averted his gaze from the window and inquired with the slight shifting of a smile, "And what makes you say that Yamato?"
"Because if you had been then you would not be standing here alone with only your thoughts, you would be in your bed sleeping by her side right now, that is why!" The young Emperor smirked and offered a jovial wink, as he walked into the study and stood close to his brother. The smell of leather musk laced the air as well as the heavy pungent scent of age- tarnished pages and the bittersweet fragrance of rain.
Takeru chuckled and shook his head, staring into his cup of dark tea for a moment. "That is all women are good for to you, Yamato. Not always is it necessary to bed with them upon the first meeting, you know," he responded, not able to hide his distaste in his tone.
Yamato mockingly pouted and glanced out the window. "You mistake me for some womanizer, I think! Have you not heard of my impending engagement, brother? Surely womanizers do not marry," he exclaimed flippantly even as he knew this was not the case at all.
The young man shook his head slightly, splaying golden tendrils across his brow, and responded, "No, then they are merely married womanizers." His comment sent a chortle of laughter from Yamato's throat and Takeru smiled as well. "So tell me, what is the name of this poor betrothed girl who is cursed to receive such a horrible husband?" he joshed lightly.
Yamato chuckled dryly and responded, "The Egyptian Pharaoh's youngest daughter, Mimi."
Takeru's eyes undulated wide and he spoke, "O good fortune to you! I hear she is a beauty, the purest of desert rose. She will make an excellent wife and give you beautiful children." Takeru patted his brother upon the back in congratulations.
Yamato smiled slightly yet his tidal eyes were awash with forlorn. "Yes, I am sure she will make a wonderful wife. Yet will I make a proper husband? I think not. Can you imagine me going to bed with the same woman night after night? I do not think I am cut out for that sort of life, brother. Look at me," he protested and held his lengthy arms spread out by his side. "I am in my prime! What a waste of a good male specimen!" he exclaimed, a part joke and the other serious; he hesitation towards marriage and settling down fracturing along the blue of his irisis with the gilded sunlight.
Takeru laughed and rolled his eyes, "Brother, you certainly have a taste for theatrics. I am sure it will not be as such a horror as you believe it to be. And I am sure the world will manage to survive without one less bachelor on the prowl."
Yamato sighed, turning his gaze slightly to the window and letting his thoughts overwhelm him for a moment. Then he heard offset footsteps coming down the corridor, the thwacking of a dead leg clouting upon marble as it rose and fell askew from the rest of his body. It was Erasmois, seeming a bit agitated. Yamato, in his classic cheerful and overconfident way, shouted out to his friend, "Erasmois wait! Come in for a bit will you?"
The man paused before the door and seemed to take a moment to shake off his upset haze, before turning to the Emperor with a taut strained smile. "Why, yes of course, your Highness," he soothed in mock pleasantry and walked in to stand some feet beside the tall blonde haired man. The medium length man with the ashen skin and darkest hair watched them with his gaze, always calculating, as if one might be able to see the hundreds of fevered thoughts darting beyond his opalescent jade eyes. Takeru glared with icy daggers at Erasmois, never had he trusted him; the young man had always been a keener judge of character more so than his overzealous brother, and could see the possibilities for betrayal in the senator.
"Good. Now that my two closest friends are here I can tell you of my arrangements," beamed Yamato, placing an arm around each of their shoulders and pulling them in closer. "I want to greet my new bride with a grand celebration and at the heart of this joyous occasion will be the entertaining gladiator fights, equivalent to nothing this fair city has ever seen!"
Takeru looked at his brother in confusion, as if he'd just spoken to him words of overwhelming discernment, and gasped, "But Yamato, our own father put an end to gladiator battles and closed down the large Coliseum for all of time. How can you speak of such things, undoing the lasting deeds of our father?"
The lanky blonde was hurt and dismayed to find his brother not accepting his proposal. "What father did as Emperor was his deciding and I will not make such a disobedient deed as to argue against them. Yet when he closed down our Coliseum he himself admitted to putting many citizens out of employment and into the streets, never mind halting a huge revenue of money being poured into Rome," the young man spoke.
Takeru could not believe his ears, what his brother was suggesting was insolence! "Father saw it as a moral evil, Yamato, and he would go to any lengths to shut it down! He was a man of his convictions..." the young boy began to speak in defense for his father, a man who was much like himself, thoughtful and less given to acts of show. Their father had lived his days as a shadowy figure that guided Rome with a hard hand and a keen mind, he rarely stepped out to bathe in the glamors his position offered. He was strict with them, most of all Yamato was his first of kin and destined to take the throne; he was always judging, always harsh, and eternily disapproving.
"Father is no longer ruler!" the young man blurted out angrily and with spite in his tone. His eyes were fiery for a moment, flickering with jealousy and remorse, it became clear to Takeru that Yamato felt as if he was always trying to live up to his father and his expectations of him as a ruler, never was he good enough. Never was he the strong, brilliant young man his father had hoped for, he was just an immature playboy and unfortunately the first-born. Yet no longer would he live in that man's reflection, or so he feigned his belief; yet little did he know that even the dead can cast shadows. Calming himself slightly, he continued in a grave voice, "I am, Takeru, I am the only one seated on that throne, whether you like it or not. I will govern this land as I see fit, even if it means hearing father's rumblings from the halls of Olympus."
Takeru pushed his face nearer to his brother with a pleading gaze, unable to hold back the shock in his features at this idea even being considered. Why did his brother let his jealousy towards his father fuel his every decision? Why, when he had hated father's governing over him while still alive, did he allow his memories to still dictate him now? "Brother, it is a blood sport, play only for those uncivilized. Even if it does generate capital, it is a barbaric form of amusement. Is it worth having a lavish, wealthy city if all in it are destined for the Underworld?" he questioned, his pale eyes both beseeching and outraged.
Yamato had regained himself again and tried to force the moment into a lighter mood. He laughed, curt and strained, at Takeru's objections and put a hand on his shoulder. "O brother, now you are the one performing the theatrics! Gladiators are just a form of sport, a way for my people to come together in a common love for Rome. Even the great Julius Caesar held a massive gladiatorial celebration with more than three hundred dueling pairs in 65 BC! Why end such a wondrous tradition just because a few conservatives and old farts believe it wrong?"
"Here, here Yamato! I agree full-heartily to your proposal! It is a very suiting way to impress the fair eyes of your soon-to-be wife," Erasmois chimed in, previously watching the brothers argue and biting back his smile of mirth.
Takeru glared at both of them, his disgust evident in his voice, "If you two wish to bathe this land, our father's empire, in blood then do so on your own. I will take no part in such crude and boorish acts." Takeru leveled his burning, solemn gaze with Yamatos' and spoke softly, his voice grated, "But know this now brother, I have made it quit apparent I have no wish to succeed you to the throne, yet I have no wish to see you sitting upon it either. In my eyes, never will this Empire be yours, Yamato. Never." Then the young man turned and stormed from the study, his knuckles turning into white fists by his sides.
Yamato watched his brother leave, his mouth agape at their fall from each other's graces. "He has certainly been acting temperamental lately," the Emperor finally remarked quietly.
Erasmois got a wicked glint in his deep forest green eyes and answered, "Aye I see that too. His mood has soured, perhaps much like his intentions?"
Yamato sharply looked up between a fringing of flaxen strands and spoke harshly, "Just what are you implying Erasmois? He speaks without thinking, in fits of rage, that is all."
"O but of course, my Emperor. It is just that at this time all, no matter how trustworthy you believe them to be, can turn out to be a wolf in sheep's clothing. He speaks of a desire never to be ruler yet how are we to know what truly burns within his breast? It is best to keep an eye out for such things..." Erasmois said and he let his words trail off affectively.
The Emperor's cerulean eyes narrowed into jagged slits and he curtly said, "Thank you for your advice Erasmois but the next time I need it I will ask for it, understood? Now leave me be."
"Of course, my Highness. Have a good day." Erasmois nodded his head towards his ruler, lowering his gaze, before looking up and stealing a glance at Yamato, his face ashen and shaken, the perfect desired affect. Then he turned around and a cunning smile danced over his face as he left the study.
Yamato looked out at the calm morning and muttered to himself, "Foolish man and his ghosts that haunt him..." Yet even as much as he thought he believed not a word of what Erasmois spoke of, Yamato could not get the thought out of his head, his brother had been furious with him, and who did not want a chance to be Emperor? Turning to stare at the delicate porcelain cup filled with cold tea, the Emperor spoke to it as if it were a living object, "Imagine my brother against me? Preposterous! Wolf in sheep's clothing indeed! I think Erasmois has been reading too many children's fables!"
The thought of Takeru painfully stabbing him in the back with heresy would not leave the Emperor's mind, drifting along in the back of skull, a laughing ghost that taunted him, and suddenly he knocked over the cup with the back of his hand. The cold elderberry tea splattered on the stone ground and the fragments of pretty porcelain shattered, slivers of creamy china speckling the marble. Yamato looked at it angrily, a loathing suddenly for his position rising in him; this throne was fating him to an arranged marriage and now it was tarring his from good terms with his brother. He growled in anger, "Damn this Empire!"
*
Sora stood by the man's bedside, the gilded sunrays parting through the billowing cloth curtains to outline her well-formed silhouette, and she studied his quiet features. Flaming red hair, a calm looking appearance that seemed to exude wisdom and tranquility, and hands worn only by the pages of texts; the stranger looked like a gentleman city dweller. He also wasn't the young boy she had first thought him to be, partially because he was short in stature and his face held a youthful quality to it, but rather a man only a bit less in years then she.
Suddenly his brown eyes fluttered open, the morning light dappling his pale flesh in undulating designs, and he quickly accessed the situation in that witty mind of his. "Wh... Where might I be?" he asked and tried to sit up.
"At The Boar Tusk Tavern. Please sir, lay back and do not strain yourself," the strawberry blonde smiled softly and soothed.
The man ignored the woman's request, throwing off the blankets and swinging his legs over the side of his bed. He said eagerly and without a moment to waste, "The Boar Tusk Tavern you say? And just exactly in what province is that?"
Sora put her hand on her hip; strands of pale crimson tinged hair splaying loose from the silver clasp and into her frustrated cinnamon eyes. She remarked a bit crossly, "Listen, it is best you rest, you came here practically dead of chill and lack of water. I am thankful of how you saved me last night but not so thankful that I will take kindly to you ignoring my hospitality!"
For the first time the red haired man, stopping temporarily from searching for his boots, looked up at Sora and smiled politely. "And for that I am certainly grateful. I mean not to tarnish your generosity, miss, but I have some personal matters I must attend to."
The young tavern maid sighed and then returned the grin, her heart shaped face luminescent. "Well, if you must jump out of bed before even getting a proper rest, at least I can fix you up a meal to take on your travels. By the way, my name is Sora," the woman introduced herself.
The man nodded and spoke in such a gracious manner Sora was unfamiliar with hearing, "And I, madam, am Koushiro."
The two shook hands and Sora then asked, her curiosity peaking, "So tell me Koushiro, what is a well-bred gentleman like yourself doing in dreary Quarry Valley, home to only farmers and the lowest of Empire scum?"
Koushiro was sliding his mud caked boots over his sore welt-ridden feet with a wince and he answered, "I don't think I should tell you... But after all that you have aided me in, I at least owe you the truth..." He finished lacing up the worn leather ties; the edges frayed, and glanced up at the young woman with an amused laugh. "And I can assume you would take no less," he added with a chuckle at Sora's brazen spirit.
The scarlet haired young statesman continued with a sigh, "I am in bad favor with our Emperor and his ninny minions."
Sora immediately took interest, her crimson eyes going wide, somehow she had expected as much though, one of such fine nobility did not come to the Valley unless in dire need of a place to conceal away in. She breathed in confusion, "Why are you going back then?"
The young man looked out the window, into the morning unfurling upon the quiet vivid hills and he half wondered what was keeping him from living out the rest of his days here in peace. "To make right what others have made wrong. I suppose it is rather naive of me to believe my presence may change the whole course of history but I find it impossible to turn away from the plights of my fellow man," Koushiro explained as he stood and pulled over himself his thick robe, the air was laced with a sweet balminess but he'd have to wear the heavy cloak as guise.
"I am going with you." Sora's words were so shocking and abrupt that they cut through the room like a sical through a field of ripe flaxen hay. She stood by his side; her spine erect and her eyes glanced at him with a mix of determination and pleading.
Koushiro was surprised and he shook his head in reply quickly, "No... No, that is not possible miss. It is far too dangerous for a woman like your self to get involved in such back-handed ordeals."
Sora only seemed to become more defiant and rebutted, "Excuse me, Mr. Koushiro, but you do not know me at all. Do not for one minute think you have me branded as some weak bar mistress, for then you will certainly be at a loss when you see all that I am capable of. Now either you let me aid you or else I'll head into this treacherous Rome you speak of on my own." The petite young woman raised her chin and set her jaw, looking at the Speaker with challenge flickering in her ember eyes.
Koushiro smiled within at the girl's willpower and stubbornness. "Why are you so bent on helping me end the corruption in Rome?" he asked.
Sora appeared to hesitate, choking on her own voice and her thoughts were almost visible as they churned within her brain. Then she looked at him, tucking back a strand of fine red-blonde hair, and replied, "No one wants to stay in Quarry their whole life."
Koushiro felt Sora was holding something back from him but decided not to push the subject further. He paused for a moment in contemplation before finally relinquishing, "Fine, we will leave at noon."
Sora broke her stony demeanor with a smile and said, "Alright I'll busy myself preparing until then." She walked out the door; her creamy cotton skirt brushing against her ankles, and Koushiro watched her before slouching back onto the stiff straw mattress of the bed. The young man ran a hand through the mass of thick scarlet locks and stared out the window, the warm light making patterns along his solemn face and sending the curtain into a methodical sluggish dance, somewhere close by a beaten tin wind chime was tickling with delicate twittering music. Alone with only his thoughts, Koushiro wondered what he was doing, how many lives would be altered because of his almost blatantly illogical decision to return.
*
Erasmois strode down into the jail, his expensive leather shoes avoiding the filthy puddles gathering. He held a satin cloth to his nose to prevent the putrid smell of rancid death from reaching his nostrils and walked with long purposeful strides. As he strode past the constable, leaning back on his chair and gradually drifting into a light nap, the large man jumped up with his beating stick in hand.
"Hey you! Stop right there, you have to show me authorization papers first," shouted the constable, his eyes wide and still glazed with slumber.
Erasmois spun around on his heels and struck the man like a rapid serpent, knocking him down on his back with the flat of his hand. His face was contorted in a snarl and his flickering green eyes burned with anger.
The constable recognized Erasmois and immediately coward back, groveling like a beggar at the man's feet. "I'm so sorry, sir! I had no idea it was you! You can enter any time you like, excuse me for my ignorance," the man whimpered, his feverish pulse climbing and throbbing in his eardrums, his cheeks smeared with hot crimson.
Erasmois kicked the man directly in the face with the hard toe of his shoe and blood spurted forth from the constable's nose. He cried out in pain and placed a hand over his tender face, tears welling in his eyes. "Damn right I can, insolent fool," the politician growled before reaching foreword and snatching the set of keys from the man's pocket with ease. Then Erasmois resumed walking down the aisle of the prison, the rage dissipating from him.
Strangely, all the prisoners were quiet as the poisonous man strode by their jails. He seemed to radiate evil and all could feel the thickness in the air, even the most hardened of criminals staid silent in waiting among the deepest blue shadows and followed the man with their gaze. Erasmois stepped out in front of a particular cell and he peered within it. There were two men sitting upon the cold gritty floor, awakened from sleep and now staring out of the shadowy darkness that surrounded them, twin sets of opalescent eyes staring at him. One was emaciatingly skinny and grubby, with a big tuft of knotted blond hair on his small head. The other was a man of tan skin, aligned with muscles and warrior like; his body covered in bruises and contaminated etching cuts. His deep brown eyes seemed especially heavy with a loathing and mix of courage that Erasmois could not help but feel slightly frightened of.
"I assume you are the great General Taichi?" Erasmois finally spoke, a slithering smile snaking over his ivory features; he spoke his name like a secret inside jibe.
The man with the piercing brown eyes regarded the gloating pail-faced man with intensity and then said softly in his raucous, gritty voice, "Erasmois, I was waiting for you. Vultures always come back to pick the flesh off of corpses." His voice never wavered above that of a whisper yet it filled the void of silence, commanding the attention of all ears.
Erasmois smiled smugly yet made sure to keep his distance from the iron bars, holding his weight on his one good leg and trying to conceal the other in the folds of his cloak. "True, General, and you are a corpse if I ever saw one. My men did their job well wouldn't you say? I imagine you are close to death and as weak as a little girl. No matter, the job I intend for you does not require you to be alive for very long anyway," he sniggered.
Taichi watched him, squinting against the burning glow of the torches that bled into the quiet darkness of his cell with a smudged gilded glow, and Erasmois felt him studying him. The blinking of his long feathered eyelashes, flicking over the rises of his cheeks, the weak leg that was cumbersome to his gait, it was as if Taichi was making mental details of Erasmois, a battle strategy he had come to gain while in military service. The slow movements of his breath, quickening now, growing more fervent with each steely glance the warrior shot the politician. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale... "Strong enough to kill you," replied the man flatly. It was true what Erasmois had spoke of though, his head was pounding and a fever raged through his system, yet Taichi held his head high and kept his deep luster.
Inhale...
"Tell me," the man with the sun-kissed body began, his throat dry and raucous. "What do you think people will do when they find out you've had me imprisoned?" He was testing him with his gaze, seeing how far he could bend him before he snapped, and watched the tiny tremors quake and shiver along his jade eyes, inside Erasmois wasn't as powerful as he seemed.
Exhale...
He went on grittily, intimidating the man, "They'll come after you, the soldiers will travel to the Underworld for me and they will not spare you. You will be tarred down bit by bit when they get to you, Erasmois." Taichi never wavered above a whisper yet his dark gaze was piercing and shattered the man's resolve like dissipating sea spray.
Inhale...
The politician seemed shaken; so much that Taichi began to believe other events as well had caused him to feel such a sudden irresolution. There were doubts beginning to quake through him, the man with so much cunning now appeared hesitant. Finally the torches shivered gilded bands along the verdant irises of his eyes and the dark haired politician regained his smugness, or rather feigned it. "Fighting words from a man behind bars, at my mercy," he quipped and held his gaze for only a moment before averting them uncertainly, "You think the army knows you are missing? That anyone knows you are missing? Taichi, for one so supposedly wise you certainly are naïve; people are murdered every day, men such as yourself mysteriously disappear without a trace. You are no different, you are just another faceless shadow that has dissappeared without a trace along these city streets."
Taichi narrowed his dark eyes and did not hesitate in his cold demeanor. "Then you will keep me here until my death," he said raggedly. "I do not mind death yet rotting away is not the way of a soldier." The belief that he would end up dead did not shake the man, it did not even register on the stone chiseled face. Yet he recalled his father, how they hauled him off to jail to spend his last days decaying in a dank corner, this was a deep fear of his.
The man's jade eyes flickered like twin precious gems in the wafting torch light. "No," he spoke with a soft coneyving smile, "No, you will not stay here much longer."
"Hold up, chum," butted in Hang Nail suddenly, the thought of finally leaving this jail thick in his brain, "Wherever he goes, I go. I'm like his representative, ya know?"
Erasmois gazed at the tiny man and a sinister smile was on his face. "Fine. You can certainly join Taichi's side in the ring and share his bloody fate as a gladiator."
Hang Nail's eyes went wide and he cried, "No way! I have changed my mind! Besides, I don't know if you've noticed, Era, but I'm not exactly fighter material."
Deep burnt golden streaks fell along the jagged curves of the man's face and he murmured, "I do not expect for you to fight, dear boy. I expect you to die."
*
A long caravan hitched down the cobblestone road and a large entourage of personal guards, servants, and white horses followed. People crowded all around the sides of the street, children running to keep up with the moving wagon and the curious looking camel tied in the back, clomping along. The lining of houses echoed with the rattle of clattering pots, paced hoof beats, and spirited laughter. Mothers bowed their heads and fathers stuck their thumbs under the binding cords of their tunics, all unable to decide whether this new arrival would doom them all.
A man stood in the group of onlookers and was almost completely camouflaged for he wore a black cloak over his small sturdy frame and was shorter then most men. He looked up at the caravan and his eyes regarded it with a quiet melancholy. A strawberry blonde woman soon saddled up to his side, hidden in a similar cloak, and also watched the wagon. "Who is that?" she questioned curiously, amazed by the parade of riches.
"An Egyptian Princess and yet another play-thing for our Emperor," sighed the red haired man, unable to harness his frustration.
The woman glanced all around at the gathering crowd and inquired, "They are all so solemn, it is very clear this is not a joyous event."
Koushiro nodded his head. "Our Emperor takes to him a wife and yet disgards the well-being of his citizens. This Princess will prove to be yet another obstruction in the naïve young man's judgements, of this I am most certain," he responded and then added cryptcally, "Absorb this peace for I fear we will not have it for long."
"A calm before a storm?" the strawberry blonde remarked as her shielded scarlet eyes followed the pretty, lavish caravan.
Koushiro's features were grim as he stared at the excess of wealth surrounded by a sea of tattered cloth adorned peasants. "Aye, this isn't just a storm approaching however, it's the gates of the Underworld opening up. By the time these royals have a chance to react it will be too late. We all may be swallowed whole in the flames."
The two figures stood within the throng of the silent sober crowd and watched as the caravan disappeared down the road.
The little wagon and procession moved towards a vast whitewashed palace that looked to be erected from the finest marble and gilded with gold. Statues of the Gods decorated the outside yet were meek in standing next to the beautifully carved figures of the gigantic stone Emperors, all decked out in their most glorious garb and striking their most heroic poses. The caravan came to a halt just within a small walking distance of the door and immediately servants rushed about collecting goods, tending to the horses and camel, and unfurling a long satin red rug from the wagon's door to the Palace's entrance.
A lovely vision of exquisite royalty and exotic beauty stepped gingerly from the wagon's door into the rather mild morn, the first day of April. Her long dress of vivid pink silk and soft purple gathered at her ankles; even her feet were adorned in wealth, jingling gold bracelets and small expensive sandals covered her delicate soles. The young Princess of Egypt regarded the Palace in shock that this grand place was to be her home, it was so very different from the rambling, collapsing Egyptian estates. Mimi tread upon the satin rug quietly up to the decadent wooden doors, each as big as a bull and decorated with golden lion head doorknockers, eyes of deep red gems piercing from above their sneared mouths.
The heavy doors swung open and two maidens draped in silk gently began to dance as rich harp music poured forth. Mimi looked about and immediately was in awe of the large Palace and its high marble and gold spires. A young boy with a cheery round face stood up on the banister and emptied the contents of his basket; small dark crimson rose petals fluttered down like autumn leaves on the wind and weaved within Mimi's long light brown hair and floor-length gown of feminine beauty. The sun shivered into the large windows and gave the room an eerie quality, as if it were a floating castle up on the peaks of Mt. Olympus.
A door, that led to another one of the corridors, which twisted and wreathed within the inner depths of the Palace, opened up to reveal a most divine creature. He was tall, yet not too tall; slender, yet still retained his manly appeal, perfect in almost every physical aspect. This man wore an outfit of the finest cloths and he had a soft glimmering head of touseled flaxen hair. A lively smile crossed his face, however Mimi thought she saw just a hint of melancholy in it. The man spread his arms wide as if welcoming the Princess and exclaimed joyously, "You have arrived, my Princess! I trust your travels were not as horrendous as expected?"
"Not at all, milord. It was actually quite pleasant. I had never been outside my homeland's sandy borders before so I enjoyed every moment of the beautiful rolling sea and the glorious cascading hills of your kingdom. Your cities' tall skyscraping marble structures are too a splendid sight," Mimi spoke eloquently to appease her future husband.
The Princess started to bow down yet Yamato caught her chin with the cradle of his palm and brought her hazel eyes up to meet his piercing azure ones. "You must not bow down nor call me milord. I am to be your future husband and thus we should share equal power," he said yet he was distracted with her angelic face, her long lashes that framed those lovely pools of soft green and brown. Yamato said breathily, "You certainly live up to your nickname 'The Desert Rose'. You are indeed more beautiful then I had expected, Mimi." He offered her a charming smile and began to assume the familiar role of charmer, she appeared for the moment yet just another pretty maid that he would say anything to in an attempt to get her into his bed.
The Princess flushed a bit and she tried to turn her gaze downward yet found it impossible to do so. Her mind was captivated by his perfect reflection and graceful speech, the way his hand almost made love to her skin. "You are certainly more handsome then any dream I have had, Yamato," she purred, her voice rich with his intoxication.
The Emperor laughed lightly and beamed, "So then you dreamed of me eh? I trust not an erotic one in nature?" Yet his gaze was seductive as if he wished she had, thrusting into her thoughts.
Mimi's mind suddenly turned to Jyou, standing with tears caught in the corners of his eyes against a background of bursting night stars. Pulling back sharply from Yamato's touch she apologized hurriedly, "No!" There was a brief pause and she regained her composure somewhat although the rouge would not leave her well-defined cheekbones. "I meant I am sorry for saying such ill-mannered things. I do not know what possessed me to say that, perhaps it was the long travels," she excused quickly.
Yamato appeared surprised at Mimi's change in mood yet he took it all in stride and again grinned. "Yes of course. Why don't you get some rest? I have more celebrations planned to ring in your stay by my side," he chimed in his usual good spirits. Then the Emperor called forth a small handmaiden and she eagerly accepted the offer to escort Princess Mimi to her new bedchamber.
Mimi followed the girl down the long hall and the sun flickered across her skin, cast in undulating willowy designs. However all she could think of was Jyou then, in this wonderful hall and with the scent of rose swimming in her head. A sheen of tears pooled in her eyes at the thought of never escaping his haunting ghost that always lingered there in her mind; forget him as she tried she knew then she never would be able to, the memory of her only love would pain her to her death.
*
Hakari sat by the small fire and stirred her charred cauldron of hot, bubbling soup. Rabbit stew; she'd found it yesterday on the city green and it nearly broke her heart to have to club the furry little creature to death but she was starving and it was either her life or the rabbits. In hard times the young woman had come to be able to do anything to get by, sacrifices might sometimes have to be made for survival. Still, she'd whisper a prayer of thanks before eating it.
The small room was shabby and drafty, wood from the walls had chinks between them where they met and whole pieces of lumber were missing. The smoke from the fire flew up the flue to be swept away by the evening wind. One mattress lay upon the grimy floor a few feet from the fireplace and a small table set with beaten silverware for one person sat against the far wall. This was all Hakari could afford, even if she did make good wage singing for the likes of tavern customers and royalty, it all went into paying the apartment's fat and greedy landlady. These were hard times indeed.
There came a knock at the door, which echoed within the little room, and Hakari's nerves immediately went on edge. She ran over to her mattress and dug underneath it to retrieve a small, sharpened knife. Clutching her weapon with numb white knuckles, the young girl neared closer to the door and called with a trembling voice, "If you have come searching for Taichi, well then you have sniffed up the wrong tree. He isn't here, you awful blood hounds!"
"I expected he wouldn't. But alas I came not in search of him; it is you I wish to speak to Hakari."
Hakari's fright swelling at the fact that this person knew her name, she raised her blade a little higher. "I don't damn well care! Unless you are a trusted friend, you best step away from my thresh hold or else face the consequences."
"I am Koushiro, speaker of the Senate and good friend to your brother, Taichi. I come bearing no ill will, I assure you, young miss."
Hakari remembered her brother spoke of a Koushiro several times. If her memory was correct then this Koushiro fellow was knee high in all this corruption business, fighting a battle Taichi was known also to devote himself to. With a hint of hesitation, the young woman slipped the chain free and opened the door a wedge. Standing there in the bright scarlet sunset was a short red haired man covered in a heavy cloak and by his side a young woman with pretty crimson eyes and an angelic, youthful face. "Who is she?" Hakari asked.
The woman spoke for herself. "I am Sora, a bar waitress from Quarry Valley. I come to aid Koushiro and your brother in their fight against the Empire's misdeeds."
Hakari could not help but snort at the girl. She was so naïve, so devoid of any knowledge of what 'fighting against the Empire's misdeeds' really meant, of all the sacrifices involved. She gave out a slight, grating giggle, remarking dryly, "A bar waitress? My, you are certainly not selective with your recruits." Then, still alert, Hakari opened the door farther and invited them, "Come in."
The young man entered first and smiled appreciatively. "Thank you, Hakari. I see now why your brother was always so proud of you and your apparent generosity."
Hakari blushed faintly at the complement but, quickly remembering these were the people who had dragged her brother into his insane fight for good, she turned curt again. "Surely this is not a social call. Have you any word of Taichi?" she asked.
Koushiro's gaze was downcast and his expression turned grim. He said sadly, "I am sorry to inform you, Hakari, that General Taichi was captured by the Emperor's guards."
The young girl's brown eyes went wide and her hands began to quake. "No..." she whispered softly and a crystallized tear rolled down her cheek like a shard of lustorous glass, glistening a track of slick against her peach flesh map.
Sora stepped foreword and raised a hand to the girl's shaking shoulder. In a comforting voice she began, "I know it must seem horrible right now, but Taichi sacrificed for a cause..."
Hakari's face was damp with tears and turned molten in the ebbing firelight. She snapped her burning gaze up to meet Sora's crimson orbs. "The cause? The cause! You sound like an echo of my brother; with him it was too always about the damn cause! Well, I spit on your cause, I dance with lively feet upon your Gods-forsaken cause! Let me ask you, will your cause put food in the peoples' stomachs? Will it give relief to the agonizing screams of the children and women dying in the lane, afflicted with the horrible black disease? Will your precious cause bring my brother back to me?"
Sora reared back from the grief-stricken girl and stammered, "I-I meant no menace by my words..."
"I care not if you meant menace, for you brought it nonetheless! All of you! With your pretty lies of freedom you lead people into your open jaws and crush their bones with your promises of triumph! You people honestly think you can make a difference? Rome is crooked and will always be crooked; nothing you can do will stop that, except in leading innocent men to their deaths!" Hakari screamed in torment.
The room was silent for a long moment until Koushiro spoke up, "Hakari, what happened to Taichi was of his own choosing. Nothing you or I could have done would have changed his fate. I will not speak to you of his reasons for that is not of my right, but of it comforts you, know that he did so with pride in his heart."
"Comfort?" she snorted morosely and shook like a hued Autumn leaf being tossed by a chilled wind. Hakari fell onto her little wooden chair and her voice was gravely and hoarse as she said, "Get out of my home." Then looking up at Koushiro she said again, this time with a deep willpower and bitterness, "Leave."
Koushiro stared at the misfortuned, tortured soul and then turned around and left, followed close behind by Sora.
Hakari sat there and her body shook with sobs as the tears flooded her face, an onslaught of trembling despondency. Her brother's soft promise rang in her ears like a pebble being thrown from the lip of a deep chasm, "Never ever will I forget you."
A small ember of determination glittered in her moist chocolate eyes. She was raised on the streets, she knew long before she learned how to walk the gory truth: All actions have a reaction. The people who had taken her brother to an almost certain death in the dungeons would pay dearly, even in her wretched of hearts she felt this resolve and rage.
*
Closing Notes: This is chapter III! Took me awhile but its finally here! What is the fate of Taichi? What have Koushiro and Sora devised as plan for a rebellion? How is Hakari determined to ruin the ones who have sentenced her brother to death; and how will this affect her relations with Takeru?
O yes and P.S.! Does anyone have any idea how to download a layout to geocity? I've had a layout made to put all my fanfictions and art on the web but I am such a computer dummy, I have no idea how to load it and everything! Can anyone help me? E-mail me at picperfect85@aol.com. I'll be so grateful! 3