Part 19 ^_^
Murder.
No word captivated the mind and heart like it.
Charles' heart siezed in dread. Kurt? A murderer? It just didn't fit
with the quiet and gentle boy he knew. How could *Kurt*, who tried his
best to look up instead of down, commit something so heinous? What could
possibly drive him to *do* such a thing?
The first question from Charles' lips was, "What?" Not who or how or
why, but a disbelieving what.
"Murder, Professor. M-U-R-D-E-R. Murder." A single tear slid down his
face. "My brother Stefan died... because of me."
Now he was just plain confused. "But - Kurt... I thought your parents
only had girls..."
"Ach... Aussenseiter..." Kurt sighed. "His name was Stefan Szardos. He
- we were more than friends. In a different Universe... maybe we *were*
brothers. But he *was* my brother, anyway."
The whirlwind of memories made Charles wince. Summers in the circus,
seasons flying like leaves. Trying to be the Three Muskateers whilst
various sisters wanted to play Princess. Sharing experiences of a
lifetime in a few seconds. "What happened?" he asked.
The crying child. The knife. Falling. The pain. "He slowly went mad.
He had the Sight, mein Herr. The ability to See the unseen. The future,
the past, spirits both good and evil... But it came to him too young..."
Walks in the mountains, and Jimi picking flowers and smiling. "He could
See, but he couldn't understand. The things he Saw... they were as real
to him as a chair or a table. He'd attack them, and wonder why he
couldn't touch them. He was - confused. Sometimes, he'd even See things
that Margali - Frau Szardos - couldn't See."
Charles put his hand on Kurt's arm. "Take your time," he urged.
"Whatever you feel comfortable in telling me... that's fine."
"He got a knife. He wanted to kill a baby," said Kurt. "He said it was
a demon." The crying child. The feeling of falling. The stench of
brimstone. "We fought. I got him out of there. I guess I teleported, but
it was too much for me... we were knocked out by the trip." The storm.
The mad look in Stefan's eyes as he told the young Kurt that *he* was
the real demon. A glimpse of brightly-coloured cloth in the
underbrush... "He wanted to send me to Hell. He had the knife. We
fought. And fell." Fear. Pure fear. "I killed him. My brother. Her twin.
And Jimaine means to see I pay."
"How?" asked Charles. Whether he meant how Kurt could do such a thing,
or how Jimaine meant to seek revenge, he didn't know.
"That's why you must *not* get involved," he said. "*Any* of you. If
you do, she'll start with *you* - and I'll have to watch." Kurt sobbed.
"You can't beat a sorceress, mein Herr. You can't even hope to beat
one..." The feel of a ghost hanging on to his shoulder. Dark and
malevolent. Digging its claws in. "You can only pray for mercy."
Jimaine scratched the back of her hand. So. Someone was talking about
her. No matter. She'd caught Kurt in her spell long ago. His mouth and
his mind wouldn't agree for as long as he felt guilty for Stefan's
death, and his mouth would forever damn him, and make him look guiltier
than he was.
She'd tie him to her deeper every day, tangling him up like a spider
tangles a fly, until he'd be helpless to resist her. Eager for the
opportunity to gain her favour.
She'd show them. She'd show them all...
Especially *Mother*.
For Kurt, it had been one dreadful day, but Jimaine had been
manipulating events for *years*...
It had started innocently enough, as a field trip with Mother,
gathering herbs. She'd bought Mother a pretty flower and asked her what
it was.
"That's Freude Des Sommers, it likes the high ground and the hotter
part of the year. An odd little flower. It can bring out a Seer's
potential, but only when they're old enough. Fifteen at the youngest,
and even then, they're at risk of madness. Don't you *dare* eat or drink
any of this plant's leaves until you're Seventeen or I say so. Whichever
comes first."
Her mouth said, "Yes, Mama," but her mind started ticking things over.
Mother's magic was the Winding Way, where a practitioner could be all-
powerful one moment, and magically as weak as a kitten the next. The
struggle, of course, was to eliminate or incapacitate those ahead on the
Winding Way, because being first meant dictating the path of all that
followed.
Jimi looked at Stefan, who was also gathering plants for Mama. As the
eldest, he was immediately ahead of her on the Way. He had it easier,
since he was first-born. Jimi had to struggle with *everything*, she had
to *fight* for what was rightfully hers.
Some who walked the Winding Way start their killing awful young.
Jimi was five.
She gathered a posy of Freude Des Sommers in secret, hiding it in her
bodice, and tying it under her bed (bottom bunk, of course, for the
second-born) to dry. Then, ever-so-carefully, she'd slip a leaf or two
into Stefan's food.
In a year, he was making predictions. Accurate ones.
When he was nine, he started Seeing ghosts. Most notably, Kurti's Opa
watching over him; but there were others.
On his tenth birthday, Margali started giving him a special tea,
designed to inhibit his Sight until the time was right.
Jimaine just doubled her efforts, and whispered poison into her
brother's ear while Mother slept.
True, Margali could See; but Jimi could Block the Sight when she
wanted to. It was her gift. The little leaves of Freude Des Sommers were
invisible to Stefan and Margali alike.
Then one night, Stefan woke up screaming, and swore blind that Death
was coming after him.
That was a year before he hung himself with Kurti's tail, mad as a
march hare. Perhaps madder. Maybe he thought that killing himself would
satisfy his visions of Death. Maybe he was right.
Jimaine didn't care. She'd watched, hidden, as they fought and he
died. She'd laughed in the rain at the feel of the power coming to her.
One little leap ahead in the Way.
And next in the Way, her mother.
It would take more than just leaves to get rid of her, but Jimaine had
been doing her research, during her hobby-work of eliminating her
brother. There was an infallible recipe for an unbeatable warrior who
would protect her, and eliminate each of her rivals in the Way.
All she needed to do was bear the child of a demon who swore himself
to her.
And what do you know. There was a demon handy. Her brother had said
so.
And Stefan had never been wrong.
"You're - staying with her... to *protect* us?"
"Ja." Kurt was bleak. "I'm starting to think she's as mad as her
brother, only far more subtle. I'm her focus. Gott forbid she ever
changes it. You have no idea what a sorceress is capable of." The
horrible whispers about what happend to Jakob Weiss. The mysterious
affliction of ulcers in the mouth of the Statleindorf's chief gossip,
that sprang up whenever she told a lie. The letter that said that the
General had a fine case of heamorrhoids ever since he started changing
the Heirelgart circus and irritating the troupe that stayed with him.
The perfect weather that surrounded a certain camped wagon in
Heirelgart.
Charles nodded. He knew well the havoc that magic could wreak. "I
promise I'll tread carefully, but I have to warn the others to do so as
well."
"Yes," said Kurt. "That would be for the best."
The minute he got back to the institute, Charles was running an
archive search. So much time had passed... Four years, maybe a little
more. It was truly a good thing that a telepath could learn quickly,
sometimes to the point of simply borrowing the understanding of the
teacher.
There, he'd found the archives of the newspaper that served
Heirelgart, Statleindorf, and a few other villages. Stefan Szardos'
death got a full-page write-up, owing to almost seven years' worth of
notoriety in the area beforehand. Pictures of the twelve-year-old
Jimaine showed a stoic, almost passive face. Reporters characterised her
as 'brave'. Kurt had refused to be photographed, but the reporters had
said he was 'devestated'.
Charles could swear that Jimaine's images showed a hint of a smile.
Going back, he detected a growing pattern of madness and visions. The
classic signs of poisoning by a certain mountain herb - one never given
to anyone under the age of fifteen, and even then, with severe
misgivings against it.
Mystics used it sparingly in order to bring on what they called 'the
Sight'.
It was murder, definitely; but Charles was almost sure that Kurt
wasn't the murderer.
The question was, did he truly blame himself? Or was he protecting the
guilty party?
Murder.
No word captivated the mind and heart like it.
Charles' heart siezed in dread. Kurt? A murderer? It just didn't fit
with the quiet and gentle boy he knew. How could *Kurt*, who tried his
best to look up instead of down, commit something so heinous? What could
possibly drive him to *do* such a thing?
The first question from Charles' lips was, "What?" Not who or how or
why, but a disbelieving what.
"Murder, Professor. M-U-R-D-E-R. Murder." A single tear slid down his
face. "My brother Stefan died... because of me."
Now he was just plain confused. "But - Kurt... I thought your parents
only had girls..."
"Ach... Aussenseiter..." Kurt sighed. "His name was Stefan Szardos. He
- we were more than friends. In a different Universe... maybe we *were*
brothers. But he *was* my brother, anyway."
The whirlwind of memories made Charles wince. Summers in the circus,
seasons flying like leaves. Trying to be the Three Muskateers whilst
various sisters wanted to play Princess. Sharing experiences of a
lifetime in a few seconds. "What happened?" he asked.
The crying child. The knife. Falling. The pain. "He slowly went mad.
He had the Sight, mein Herr. The ability to See the unseen. The future,
the past, spirits both good and evil... But it came to him too young..."
Walks in the mountains, and Jimi picking flowers and smiling. "He could
See, but he couldn't understand. The things he Saw... they were as real
to him as a chair or a table. He'd attack them, and wonder why he
couldn't touch them. He was - confused. Sometimes, he'd even See things
that Margali - Frau Szardos - couldn't See."
Charles put his hand on Kurt's arm. "Take your time," he urged.
"Whatever you feel comfortable in telling me... that's fine."
"He got a knife. He wanted to kill a baby," said Kurt. "He said it was
a demon." The crying child. The feeling of falling. The stench of
brimstone. "We fought. I got him out of there. I guess I teleported, but
it was too much for me... we were knocked out by the trip." The storm.
The mad look in Stefan's eyes as he told the young Kurt that *he* was
the real demon. A glimpse of brightly-coloured cloth in the
underbrush... "He wanted to send me to Hell. He had the knife. We
fought. And fell." Fear. Pure fear. "I killed him. My brother. Her twin.
And Jimaine means to see I pay."
"How?" asked Charles. Whether he meant how Kurt could do such a thing,
or how Jimaine meant to seek revenge, he didn't know.
"That's why you must *not* get involved," he said. "*Any* of you. If
you do, she'll start with *you* - and I'll have to watch." Kurt sobbed.
"You can't beat a sorceress, mein Herr. You can't even hope to beat
one..." The feel of a ghost hanging on to his shoulder. Dark and
malevolent. Digging its claws in. "You can only pray for mercy."
Jimaine scratched the back of her hand. So. Someone was talking about
her. No matter. She'd caught Kurt in her spell long ago. His mouth and
his mind wouldn't agree for as long as he felt guilty for Stefan's
death, and his mouth would forever damn him, and make him look guiltier
than he was.
She'd tie him to her deeper every day, tangling him up like a spider
tangles a fly, until he'd be helpless to resist her. Eager for the
opportunity to gain her favour.
She'd show them. She'd show them all...
Especially *Mother*.
For Kurt, it had been one dreadful day, but Jimaine had been
manipulating events for *years*...
It had started innocently enough, as a field trip with Mother,
gathering herbs. She'd bought Mother a pretty flower and asked her what
it was.
"That's Freude Des Sommers, it likes the high ground and the hotter
part of the year. An odd little flower. It can bring out a Seer's
potential, but only when they're old enough. Fifteen at the youngest,
and even then, they're at risk of madness. Don't you *dare* eat or drink
any of this plant's leaves until you're Seventeen or I say so. Whichever
comes first."
Her mouth said, "Yes, Mama," but her mind started ticking things over.
Mother's magic was the Winding Way, where a practitioner could be all-
powerful one moment, and magically as weak as a kitten the next. The
struggle, of course, was to eliminate or incapacitate those ahead on the
Winding Way, because being first meant dictating the path of all that
followed.
Jimi looked at Stefan, who was also gathering plants for Mama. As the
eldest, he was immediately ahead of her on the Way. He had it easier,
since he was first-born. Jimi had to struggle with *everything*, she had
to *fight* for what was rightfully hers.
Some who walked the Winding Way start their killing awful young.
Jimi was five.
She gathered a posy of Freude Des Sommers in secret, hiding it in her
bodice, and tying it under her bed (bottom bunk, of course, for the
second-born) to dry. Then, ever-so-carefully, she'd slip a leaf or two
into Stefan's food.
In a year, he was making predictions. Accurate ones.
When he was nine, he started Seeing ghosts. Most notably, Kurti's Opa
watching over him; but there were others.
On his tenth birthday, Margali started giving him a special tea,
designed to inhibit his Sight until the time was right.
Jimaine just doubled her efforts, and whispered poison into her
brother's ear while Mother slept.
True, Margali could See; but Jimi could Block the Sight when she
wanted to. It was her gift. The little leaves of Freude Des Sommers were
invisible to Stefan and Margali alike.
Then one night, Stefan woke up screaming, and swore blind that Death
was coming after him.
That was a year before he hung himself with Kurti's tail, mad as a
march hare. Perhaps madder. Maybe he thought that killing himself would
satisfy his visions of Death. Maybe he was right.
Jimaine didn't care. She'd watched, hidden, as they fought and he
died. She'd laughed in the rain at the feel of the power coming to her.
One little leap ahead in the Way.
And next in the Way, her mother.
It would take more than just leaves to get rid of her, but Jimaine had
been doing her research, during her hobby-work of eliminating her
brother. There was an infallible recipe for an unbeatable warrior who
would protect her, and eliminate each of her rivals in the Way.
All she needed to do was bear the child of a demon who swore himself
to her.
And what do you know. There was a demon handy. Her brother had said
so.
And Stefan had never been wrong.
"You're - staying with her... to *protect* us?"
"Ja." Kurt was bleak. "I'm starting to think she's as mad as her
brother, only far more subtle. I'm her focus. Gott forbid she ever
changes it. You have no idea what a sorceress is capable of." The
horrible whispers about what happend to Jakob Weiss. The mysterious
affliction of ulcers in the mouth of the Statleindorf's chief gossip,
that sprang up whenever she told a lie. The letter that said that the
General had a fine case of heamorrhoids ever since he started changing
the Heirelgart circus and irritating the troupe that stayed with him.
The perfect weather that surrounded a certain camped wagon in
Heirelgart.
Charles nodded. He knew well the havoc that magic could wreak. "I
promise I'll tread carefully, but I have to warn the others to do so as
well."
"Yes," said Kurt. "That would be for the best."
The minute he got back to the institute, Charles was running an
archive search. So much time had passed... Four years, maybe a little
more. It was truly a good thing that a telepath could learn quickly,
sometimes to the point of simply borrowing the understanding of the
teacher.
There, he'd found the archives of the newspaper that served
Heirelgart, Statleindorf, and a few other villages. Stefan Szardos'
death got a full-page write-up, owing to almost seven years' worth of
notoriety in the area beforehand. Pictures of the twelve-year-old
Jimaine showed a stoic, almost passive face. Reporters characterised her
as 'brave'. Kurt had refused to be photographed, but the reporters had
said he was 'devestated'.
Charles could swear that Jimaine's images showed a hint of a smile.
Going back, he detected a growing pattern of madness and visions. The
classic signs of poisoning by a certain mountain herb - one never given
to anyone under the age of fifteen, and even then, with severe
misgivings against it.
Mystics used it sparingly in order to bring on what they called 'the
Sight'.
It was murder, definitely; but Charles was almost sure that Kurt
wasn't the murderer.
The question was, did he truly blame himself? Or was he protecting the
guilty party?