Part two : Family
1.
With a deafening screech, the boeing 747 skidded to a final halt down the runway. As it turned and began to taxie towards the arrival gate, a lone figure half-jumped, half-tumbled out of th small compartment that fitted the nose-wheel. Hitting the tarmac, the figure rolled and jumped to its feet in one go; then, neatly avoiding the left back-wheel, ran across the grassy stretch towards the fence that marked the limits of the airfield, and vaulted over. On the other side, he stopped for a moment to get his breath back.
He had been travelling in this fashion for days now : he had lost count. Likely he had gone round the world more than once, hitching a ride in the hydraulic systems of the largest of planes. He had even flown Concorde.
It was not the most comfortable method of transport, but he had probably managed to throw Them off the scent this way. Possibly They were still looking for him in Japan, or else on the ships that had left since. He smiled inwardly. Would it occur to Them to check the flights out? One cannot stowaway on a plane like on a boat.
True, via the wheels one can creep up, and there is room there for one person, or, if one manages to get through to the hold, one can hide among the luggage, but in-flight, the temperatures drop to well below zero, and the air becomes very thin. Only an Ice-Saint could survive. But would They think of it? He had not thought of it himself, and had been ready to swim his way to the mainland, when an airplane roaring overhead had given him the idea.
Then again, could They really stop anyone from leaving ? After all, Japan was quite a bit bigger than the grounds of the Graad foundation, They couldn't put an electrified fence around a group of islands.
"I wouldn't have been at all surprised if They had. Do you know that within the hour of your disappearance, They had closed down all the harbours, down to the smallest fishing port? Without so much as a squeak from the Government : She had them all in Her pocket. She cracked the whip, they jumped the hoop, and if they wouldn't jump, She'd cut of their money-supply. Graad was paying for the damages done by the floods of Poseidon, which was not more than just, considering who was responsible, though I doubt that She did it out of kindness. Just another way to get people under her sway; and it worked."
"You make Her sound like some crazy, power-mad Evil Enemy from a manga. Truly, there was goodness in Her, and kindness, and a great love for Mankind."
"Amazing how you managed to keep that incredible naïvity of yours throughout. But I wouldn't want you any other way, little brother. Incidentally, have you noticed how we keep referring to her in capital letters? It runs deep, very deep."
Teleportation would have been easier, of course, but that meant linking in with the Big Will, and They would certainly be able to locate him then. Plane hopping just seemed the best way. He was tired of running, though. Besides, since he had no idea what kind of plane he was boarding, let alone its destination, he might inadvertedly turn up back in Tokyo! He grinned. "Now wouldn't that be the best of all possible hiding-places: in the woods behind the Mansion? The last place They'd look!"
He wondered if They had gotten free of the ice yet. Such fools, believing They could take him on! They knew of his ability to drop the temperature to Absolute Zero. Had he done so, They would all be dead now, even Athena.
"Now that," Shaina would say," Would have been the smart thing to do. Save us all a lot of trouble later."
"Yes, and I won't say I wasn't tempted, but it would have affected Shun and Shiryu too…and I was so tired of killing."
So he had refrained from using his ultimate weapon, the one against which no substance could resist ("Why didn't I use it on the Great Wall? Together, Camu and I could have destroyed it, and all the Gold Saints would still be alive.That just goes to show: combined action is not a Saint's forte. How stupid. How utterly stupid!")
And had merely locked them all in an ice coffin, which only an ice-Saint can break from the inside, and for an ordinary Saint, from the outside, it would take the aid of the Sword of Libra. Still, it would take Them awhile to recover, so he supposed he was safe enough for now. He could take time off frome running to…to do what?
"What is there for me to live for? They took childhood , my innocence and every hope for a normal life. Whatever that is. Guilt is with me every stinking moment for the rest of my stinking life. Death would be a relief.
So it's rather a good thing that Saints traditionally die young."
But he didn't want to die. He had missed out : Life owned him. They owned him. They owned all of them : Seiya and Shun, Ikki and Shiryu…yes, and Seika and Miho too, and even Ichi, Nachi, Geki, Ban and Jabu…all of them, twisted and turned into fighting machines, killers, assasins…and the Gold Saints, the Marinas, the Spectres…how many of them had asked for this life? It was all crystal-clear to him now. The Gods had used them…for what? Was it a game, or was their some Higher Purpose?
"If a purpose is served by violence and bloodshed, it cannot be higher. Oh Athena, Athena, who are you, what are you?What were you, before you reached the Ninth Sense and the state of Godhood? Do you still remember that time? Don't you ever regret your Humanity?"
The growling of his stomach interupted this train of thought. Even Saints have to eat, and his last meal had ben with Jakob.
Jakob. He hoped the boy would be allright.
"Likely he is. He's always been more streetwise than I. When we entered Miho's dressing-room, with all those half-naked girls, and their…things lying about, I just didn't know where to look with embarrasment, but he took it all in his stride! But a' gaijin' child is not a common sight in Tokyo…and can those girls be trusted? Wouldn't they sell him out to Graad? What if Miho sees in him the oppurtunity to get her papers and Seika's and Shunrei's….oh, these are wicked, wicked thoughts, I should trust her!"
Yet how can someone who feels betrayed by a Goddess have trust in a mere mortal woman? He tried to reassure himself with the thought that, doubtlesly, all the Saints were now on the look-out for him, the renegade, and would not bother about such small fry as Jakob.
Once more his stomach rumbled. He really had to find food, but where? And, more importantly, how? Up till now, he had always been provided for : he had never had to care for his own provisions, apart from the occasional trapping of a snowhare, when supplies ran low in winter. He looked around, and found himself walking along a traffic-filled road. Ahead, many buildings could be seen, dark blotches against the rosy sky of a rapidly sinking sun. Left of him, a bridge arched up, turning southwards, cars zooming along it. He decided to continue the forward road. After a while, he came to a signpost : a white arrow, sprouting side arrows, one left, one right, on a blue background. There were words written on it, too : he spelled out the topmost one : B-r-u-s-s-e-l / B-r-u-x-e-l-l-e-s. It left him none the wiser, but then, he supposed, he had probably misread, for though he could read greek and cyrillic fluently, and could recognise some japanese, the latin alfabet was barely familiar.
The arrow forking left indicated that that road led to places called Namen/Namur and Luik/Liege, and the one right pointed to Antwerpen/Anvers, and Mechelen/ Malines, wherever those cities - if they were cities- where.
"What strange land is this that they spell the names of their town two ways…or perhaps they are two different places alltogether?No matter, I've never heard of any of them. Sounds a like a fairly enigmatic sort of country, this, what better place to lose myself in? "
He went on, and came to the crossroads, where the road he was following was cut by a three-lane motorway.
Cars went every which way, but mostly rightways, so he thought it best to go left, to where they were coming from. As he followed the motorway, he went under a couple of bridges, and by and by entered the outskirts of the city, or so he presumed, for where there had first been trees and shrubs on either side of the road, there now appeared tall buildings, office blocks, and further off, the occasional house. There was a small brook running besides the road, and he went past a whitestone statue of a lion, guarding the entrance of a a park, with a large, ornamental pond and fountain, and a white mansion at the far end of a green , sloping lawn. It reminded him suddenly of the Kido Mansion, and he began to run, along the brook, past clumps of trees , and a wall, that ran ahead untill he arrived at an intersection with another road, again with cars going every which way, and also yellow trams, moving left and right up and down between the trees that marked the middle of that tree-lane road, along their tracks, and yellow busses, stopping to let masses of people in and out, so many cars, so many people, going about their business, not knowing what was going on, who he was, whom he was running from, nor why, stupid people, didn't they realise the danger they were in, hadn't the Poseidon Wars and its floods been a warning to them and now Athena was going to war again, perhaps with Zeus the greatest God of them all and there weren't enough Saints left and they didn't stand a chance in hell and everyone was going the die and the earth was going to be destroyed and that was all his fault …
A loud screeching of brakes, a hand that grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulling him to safety on the kerb…a harsh voice crying :
"Espèce d'imbécile,t'as envie de mourir ou quoi?"
In his panic he had crossed the road, and narrowly avoided being hit by a tram. A man had grabbed him just in time. There was a smell of burnt sand, the engine driver was shaking his fist at him, and all the people inside, rocked out of their seats, stared.
The man let go of him, and asked, in a gentler tone : "Ca va? T'as rien? Merde alors, tu m'as flanqué une de ces frousses! On t'as jamais dit de regarder avant de traverser la rue? T'aurais pu te tuer!"
French? They spoke french here? Was he in France then? Well, at least he'd be able to understand.
(Author's note : From here on the following conversation, held in french, will be directly translated into english, except for the occasional untranslatable expressions unique to the french language.)
Still shaken by what had happened, and, slightly piqued by the man's admonishing words - after all, he was a Saint, a tram was hardly likely to achieve what all the forces of Ares, Poseidon and Hades had failed to do- he replied, sharply : "So what? It's my life, I can kill myself if I want to, hein?"
"Not in front of me!"
Anger crept back in the man's voice, as he frowned, and took Hyoga by the shoulders : "Damn you, kid, who do you think you are? Think the world revolves around you, do you? What about those people?" ( he waved a long-fingered, thick-knuckled hand at the disappearing tram) "What about the scare you'd give them…and the driver! How do you think he'd feel, if he had run you over?"
"I…I never thought."
"Of course not." spat the man, "With you kids it's all me-me-me and no consideration for anybody! Oh, hell!"
He pased his hands over his face," I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions like that. I don't know the first thing about you : but, kid, if you are in real trouble you should talk to someone."
Hyoga's throat suddenly felt constricted, partly because of the unfairness of the man's earlier reproaches, and then, because of his sudden concern.
"I don't have anyone to talk to" he mumbled.
"I'm available."
"You would not believe it!" cried Hyoga, desperately, " No-one would."
"Try me."
"I wouldn't know where to start."
"The beginning is the usual place." said the man, kindly, "Though not here, in the middle of a busy road. Come, let's cross the boulevard,it's quieter over there. And then it's up to you whether you want to tell me all or not…either way, I'll be listening."
Hyoga was not sure what to make of this man, first so angry, then so nice…it was not something he was accustomed to. Saints don't do 'nice'. But he followed him, into a small parc, where a cobbled-stone lane circled
a small lake, bordered by weeping willows. Ducks and grey-black coots were resting on the water, and several white swans came drifting by, gracefully arching their long necks. There hung a smell of wetness, and freshly-mown grass, and evening sun on early autumn leaves. On one side of the lake, little blue-and -white painted row-boats were drawn up and tilted upside-down, all neatly in a row.
Slowly, side by side, they walked, untill the road hit an asphalted street, where a wire fence seperated the lake from another, larger one, with forested slopes running down towards it, and above the trees the turret of a small castle could be seen. There was a green parkbench, and the man went to sit on it, looking up at Hyoga.
"Vas-y, mon gars. Je suis à l'écoute…"
Hyoga looked his unexpected friend up and down. He was younger than his gruff voice led to suppose, twenty-five at most, and would have been extraordinarily handsome…if he had not been so extraordinarily ugly. No, ugly wasn't the word, it was…as if someone had decided that this fine model of a man was too boringly perfect, and had marred it, to make it more interesting. Though not much taller than Hyoga himself, reasonably broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, he walked on a pair of knock-kneed stork's legs, their thinness accentuated by the tight, black trousers he wore, with a jolly, red-an-purple bandana around his left tigh. Over his wide, white shirt he wore a multi-coloured vest, and a baggy fawn overcoat. He sported a shiny bowler hat on the back of his head, and a brown canvas bag was flung over one shoulder. But the most remarkable was his face : framed with longish, thinning ginger hair that ran straight but for a jaunty curl on his forehead, triangular-shaped with high cheekbones, a thin-lipped mouth, heavily-lidded, grass-green eyes that shone with intelligence, overshadowed by bushy eyebrows…and a nose that somehow had not been able to decide on becoming aquiline or ski-slope. Underneath grew a small mustache, its tips twisted up. But it were the pock-marks, leftovers from a really bad case of juvenile acne, giving his features the appearance of a lunar landscape, that finished the whole and made him plain awful. Hyoga squirmed, and didn't know where to look. Then the man took out a pair of round, wire spectacle, balanced them on the tip of that impossible nose, and, mimicking the young russian, looked him up and down with those impossibly green eyes of his… and then he smiled, and suddenly the sun broke through in Hyoga's dismal world, turning it all pearly light, for the warmth of the man's smile gave him the good feeling of having found a true friend.
The clouds drew back almost instantaneously, for how long would this man remain his friend (always supposing he was) once he learned the truth? Even with his Saint's dim notions of Right an Wrong, he knew that, in most people's eyes, what he had done was very, very Wrong.
"Whatever it is, it can't be that bad that you can't tell, and if it is , then you must tell…if you follow me."
"I do…but if you knew…"
"STOP anticipating my possible reactions an TELL me."
He told him.
He was barely halfway his tale, when the man, whose eyes had first grown wider in disbelief, and then his lips thinner from pressing them together hard, stood up, and said, in a voice filled with ill-compressed fury:
"J'aime pas quand on se paie de ma tête."
Then he added, to himself, in another language (which Hyoga recognised as english) : "That will teach me not to play the Samaritan with stray kids."
"I told you you wouldn't believe me." said Hyoga, haltingly, in the same tongue.
(note of the author : what follows is spoken in english, and no longer a translation of a french conversation)
The man's eyebrow's drew to a thick line.
"Quite the polygot, aren't we? Well, kiddo, I am not amused. I don't care if you've robbed a bank or set fire to your Headmaster's trousers, whichever you think is worst, but don't you dare cheek me into believing a cock-and-bull story like than, because I won't."
"I can prove it!"
"You've already proven yourself to be a terrible liar, don't add to it."
"I'm not a liar. I am a Saint. I can prove it! " cried Hyoga, furious in his turn.
"Stop being so childish."
"I am not a child. Don't you dare disbelieve me, don't you dare!!"
Throwing all caution to the wind, Hyoga concentrated hard on his sixth sense, and, in a gust of arctic wind and snowflakes, called his Cloth to him.The man was literaly bowled over, as the shiny box hovered overhead emanating icy energy.
"Great god!"
"No God!" the Cygnus Saint screamed, " No God, no gods, no Gods, damn them all to Hell!!!!"
In a throwing gesture, though he did not touch the object, he keeled his Cloth Box over the fence and into the water of the lake. It froze on impact. Hyoga sent a wave of energy after it, and the ice cracked up and burst in a series of gunshot-like explosions.
"Okay, okay, I'm convinced!" cried the man, scrambling to his feet, fingers groping at the wire and eyes wide in terror, "Stop it, whatever it is, you'll be deep-freezing the swans next! Stop it.Calm down! I'm sorry for not believing you. I am sorry I said!" He was trembling in shock and fear, as Hyoga, snow twirling a round him, took a step closer.
" I could deep-freeze you. Say you believe me. Say it!"
"I believe you." said the man, quietly.
"I believe that you have great, god-like powers. I believe that you can kill me in the blink of an eye. I believe that you would. What kind of person that makes you is another matter entirely."
"It makes me a murderer." whispered Hyoga
"If you are trying to scare me…" said the man, managing a weak smile, " You've succeeded."
The Ice - Saint sank to his knees, sobbing.
"I don't want people to be scared of me…I scare myself! I want to be normal!"
"I believe you." repeated the man, "However…"
The sudden sound of alarm sirens interupted him.
"…that is a problem for later ! Come on!"
He grabbed Hyoga by the hand and pulled him to his feet.
"Run! In a minute the place will be teeming with 'flikken'!"
"With what?!?"
"Police." answered the man impatiently, " It's Crowndomain on the other side of the fence, and , just to make matters worse, they are having a Council of Ministers in the Chateau over there. They probably think someone has been trying to blow up Martens!"
"Who?"
"Our Prime Minister. Now come on… or do you want to wait around for the cops to collect you? "
The man did not wait for Hyoga to reply, but started running down the asphalt road, holding his bowler hat tight with on hand. The Cygnus Saint hesitated for only a second, then ran after him.
"To the right and uphill, here!" cried tha man, panting a little. Hyoga easily overtook him, and, seeing that he would not be able to keep up speed, gathered him in one arm , swept him over his shoulder and went to Mach One. The man barely had time to scream.
They were up the hill in an instant, where four roads came together at a small, trangular square, overgrown with shrubs.
"Where to now?"
"Down. Me. Put me down! Left road…no, wait, I need to get my breath back. Over there: through the gate."
The man pointede weakly towards a white-and-green painted latticework gate, in the curve where two roads joined. It was locked : Hyoga took the chain, ready to pull off the padlock, but the man stopped him in time.
"No need for that, we can easily worm through."
Pusshing the gate till the chain was stretched to maximum, they did so. The man flopped down on the ground, ashen.
"That…was not an experience I'd care to repeat."
"I'm sorry." said Hyoga, contrite. His friend - yes! It was a friend! - looked dreadfully pale.
"Nevermind. That must have ben the fastest getaway in criminal history."
"Criminal!"
"Throwing litter in the duckpond is an offense."
Despite himself, Hyoga felt outrage.
"Litter! My Sacred Cloth-box!"
" It's still litter when you throw it away. Which you did. "No Gods!" you said, and off it went. A small gesture, but eloquent. You really hate those Gods, don't you?"
"It was silly."muttered Hyoga. "Childish. It achieves nothing."
"It's a start." said the man, soberly, " A statement : No more Gods! : good. Short, sharp and to the point : I like it.
Destroy - or in this case, throw away- a symbol of Godhood : better. One Small Throw for Man, but a Giant Leap for Mankind. We're better off without Gods. You're on the right track, kiddo! "
Hyoga leant back against the gate, suddenly breathless. That was it! No more Gods! That was what he wanted! No more Aresses and Poseidons and Hadesses, and if that meant no more Athenas, so be it! Resolve flooded back to him: he had finally made a decision. He would make a stand against the Gods who kept the world in thrall! He felt good. He felt great!
Elated, he turned to his new friend, to thank him.
The sound of a police-car siren growing louder and louder as it approached, cut him short.
The man cursed softly as they made themselves small, a row of white cars, a violent crimson bar running horizontally across their sides, zooming past.
"Potdoeme, den Gendarm!"
"Eh?"
"Sorry, I slipped into dialect. It's the police, but a special branch, military organised. The fat is really into the fire now. Allright, we'll take the back road. "
He pointed up a drive that turned right towards a somber looking house.
House? It was more like a mansion, build of red brick, huge and step-gabled, with small windows like little dark eyes staring out at them.
"Do you live there?" asked Hyoga, as they spurted up the drive.
The man did not immediately answer, but as they followed an alley to the side of the house, darkened by a group of huge pine-trees, he gave a small laugh.
" Do I look like I could afford it? It's family-land, though. A Great-uncle of mine used to own it, and when he died, his heirs have let it fall to ruin. Over the wall here."
The alley had turned out to be a dead-end, where a two meter tall wall barred them from entering the neighbour's garden.
"A good thing it's dark. We have to climb over it, go left between the shrubs, then run across the lawn at the back and over the gate: there is a small lane behind."
"You've done this before."
The man grinned.
"Many times, as a boy. Short cut from here to home."
"Home!"
Hyoga pronounced it like it was a foreign word, and indeed to him it almost was. To have a home, one needs a family. The only family he had ever had had been his mother. The brotherly feelings he had for Seiya, Shun, Shiryu and Ikki were but a poor surrogate : they had never been allowed the time to make themselves a 'fa mily' of sorts. He wondered what a home looked like. Then he wondered if he could ask the man for some food, before he went on his way. Once more his stomach growled. The man stifled a laugh.
"We'll have to do something about that! Can you keep it quiet though? We have to cross now. "
They ran across the lawn and jumped the gate, into a narrow cobbled-stone street.
"All safe! We'll be home in a jiffy."
Home. This was the second time his new friend had mentioned home, as if he meant to take Hyoga there.
The Ice-Saint stopped in his tracks.
"You are taking me to your home!"
"The man looked at him quizzically.
"You don't have to come, if you don't want to, but we're almost there, supper will be waiting, and besides, my family will be interested to hear your story."
Family! The man had a family! Suddenly Hyoga felt envious of that lucky, lucky stranger, who had all the comforts he had yearned for most of his life. Family! A mother and father perhaps? Oh, why couldn't it be him, for whom people were waiting. He remembered the small room in the house where he used to live with his mother, with its dirty, shared kitchen and dirtier bathroom and the eternal smell of overcooked cabbage, which nevertheless they had called home back in the days before they left for Japan. He recalled how mamma would be waiting for him, always, when he came back from school or the pioneers, how she would hug him and ask him how the day had been. Sometimes, she would make him blini, with delicious sour cream filling, and always there was hot, sweet tea from the samovar. Always mamma had been there for him, ready for a hug, just like the Madonna hugging the Christchild in the icon that hing next to the door, with its little red candle in front, burning merrily, always. Once, a schoolfriend had come to play, and , seeing the Madonna, had asked him if he and his mother were religiosniki. Not knowing what those were, he had asked mamma, and she had shaken her head, sadly, and explained that sometimes people were banished to Siberia for believing in the God. This Hyoga could not understand, for wasn't God nice? Then she had explained, very quietly, that in the Sovjet Union, someone known as the Chairman tolerated no other God than himself. Then she had looked furtively over her shoulder, as if afraid that someone would listen, and had forbidden Hyoga ever to talk about this. But sometimes she would tell of other lands, where people lived free, and could go to places called churches, to worship the God, and there were many different churches,for people worshipped in different ways, and even different gods, and nobody minded. That was when she had first mentioned going to such a place, they would leave Siberia and the Sovjet Union for good, and be with Hyoga's father, who was a Good Man, she said, and live Happily Ever After.
And Hyoga had believed her.
"Well, are you coming or not?"
The slight impatience in the man's voice chased the memory away. He was pointing at a flight of stone steps that led up the high sloping,earthen kerb of the lane, to a white-painted, slightly rusty ironwork garden gate. Beyond that, Hyoga could make out the shape of a log cabin.
"Is that where you live? In that izba?"
The man blinked in surprise, then grinned : " That is our garden shed. Izba, hmmm? That's a russian word.Are you russian…say, what is your name, anyway?"
"Hyoga…and I am russian, yes."
"Hyoga…" the man repeated, tasting the word, " That doesn't sound very russian, but then I'm no expert."
"It's japanese, meaning 'glacier'. I'm half japanese." Hyoga explained.
"I would never have guessed!" chuckled the man, looking meaningfully at Hyoga's blonde tatch." Well, Hyoga, I am quarter English, quarter German and half Belgian: in short, a nice european mixture."
"Belgian?" now it was Hyoga's turn to be puzzled.
"Citizen of this country extraordinaire!" laughed the man, with a comical bow, "But I suppose you have never heard of Belgium, like so many."
"I thought I was in France, because of the french you spoke earlier…." Hyoga confessed.
"Ouch! Don't say that in the presence of a full-blooded Belgian, and most certainly not a Fleming! They constitute the majority of our population, and speak flemish. "
"Flemish?"
"Kind of dutch."
"Dutch?"
The man threw his arms in the air in mock-despair. "I give up! If I have to explain the intricacies of the langage-question in this country, we'll be here till doomsday! Never mind. Let me introduce myself, rather. My name is Queer. Don't ask the obvious question."
Not being familiar enough with the english idiom to see the pun, Hyoga merely looked completely lost.
Queer cast him an enigmatic smile.
"Nevermind again. Actually, my full name is Quirinalis. Quirinalis Hubertus Field. My father has a passion for Ancient Rome, so he named all his children after the Seven Hills. In return, we call him Capitol, Cap for short, and Mother : Palatine, or Pal. Come and meet them."
Fairly dazed by all this information, Hyoga allowed himself to be led up the garden path (note of the author : in a quite literal sense, of course!)towards a square, whitepainted brick house . Though the curtains were drawn, welcoming light shone through the french windows on to the terrace in front, and Queer, sniffing the air, declared with satisfaction: " There's a fire burning. That will be cozy." He went to the left side of the house, halted before a large door, plunged his hands into his overcoat pockets, rummaged around in them, and produced a key.
"Welcome to The Villa." said he, as he put the key in the lock and opened with a flourish.
Hyoga hesitated. If he entered this house, and if ever Athena and her Saints learnt about him having been there, these people might get into trouble. Might? Surely! He was a renegade, and wanted, dead or alive, dead being the customary option, and everyone he so much as looked at was marked.
"I cannot. They will find you. They will hurt you."
"Who : they?"
Hyoga made a helpless gesture.
"The Gods. They do not forgive."
Queer's amiable, ugly face grew hard.
"Neither do I forgive Gods who play around with people's lives. Nor will my parents forgive me for not inviting you in, and abandoning you to facing them on your ownsome. Come!"
"No!" cried Hyoga, "You have no idea! They will kill you!"
"All the more reason."
"No mere mortal can defeat a God."
"But he can damn well try, and should, for the sake of all mankind."
"Please…"
A door opened from the inside of the house, and a deep man's voice growled :
"In or out, make up your mind, but close the door! There's a nasty draft coming in."
The newcomer illustrated his words with a series of mighty sneeses.
"Hullo dad. Bless you. We were just about to enter." said Queer cheerfully, taking Hyoga by the arm and pulling him in. He closed the door.
"Thank you. "
Queer's father was a man of, at a guess, fifty (though later he would turn out to be a very well preserved sixty-three), six feet tall, with a developing pot-belly which he managed to hide. He had a lean, pale face with a curly crop of short-cut ginger hair, balding at the crown, and it was obvious where Queer got the aquiline part of his nose from. Mr. Field was blowing it vigourously in a large white handkerchief, all the while keenly observing Hyoga with piercing green eyes.
"And your friend is…?"
"Hyoga…erm…Hyoga…?"
"Kido." supplied the Cygnus Saint, unwillingly. He never wanted to be associated with that family, but he had no other name to give : not his mother's, for mama had been mamma to him, he only knew her first name because other people had called her by it.
"Field. How do you do."
Hyoga stared at the outstretched hand, then at the smile with which it was being offered, and the whole world changed. This was what normal people did when they met! He took the hand and shook it, proudly.
"You cannot imagine what that moment meant for me." Hyoga would say, later, " It was ike waking up from a bad dream….no, that's not right, because the nightmare was real … more like…being released from prison."
"How would you know? " Shaina would ask, " You were never in prison." "Wasn't I? Weren't we all prisoners of our Sainthood, our faith, our Gods? The minute we put on the Cloth, we were incarcerated more securely than in a barred and guarded cell.It was a prison of the mind, and a single, simple handshake set me free."
Unaware of the momentous impact his ordinary gesture of welcome had had on the young russian, Mr. Field invited him further in.
Stepping into the Field's living room was like stepping into Paradise. Not that it was such a beautiful room :
On the contrary, it was rather sparely decorated, with worn furniture and threadbare carpets, but there was a fire burning merrily in a huge fireplace, a furry rug in front of it, and the light of the danncing flames shone on the faces of the three people seated there. From the broad, sofa, furthest from the fire, against the wall, rose a small, darkhaired woman, with a pleasantly-wrinkled, high-cheekboned face. Next to her sat a fragile-looking young woman, pale and thin, with long, silvery blond hair and such a sad, haunted look in her large, gray eyes that Hyoga averted his eyes quickly, and found himself staring a huge, curly-haired man, sitting in an equally huge, ancient-looking chair.
"Everyone, this is Hyoga. Allow me to present : my mother, my sister Vinimalis, Vinni for short…" a loud screech interrupted the introductions. "And ,of course , Sybille the Parrot, over there at the far end." said he, with casual wave at a battered bird-cage, in which a green parrot was making somersaults on a small trapeze,
" She is supposed to be able to talk, but it's all incomprehensible gobbledy-gook that comes out,quite like the sooth-sayeress of old, so she is well-named."
Suddenly the rug sprouted legs, tail and a long, slobbery tongue.
"Janiculus, our mastiff!" said Queer, not needing to stoop to pat the enormous dog's head, " She's one of the family, so she is named after the one hill of Rome that is not counted among the Seven."
So far he had pointedly ignored the huge man, who coughed to draw his attention.
"We also have a couple of cats sloping around : Pulang, Rimau and Shan…"
The cough became a growl.
"Ah yes, and the Troll in the corner is Nick, the boy-next-door, who somehow always forgets which door is his."
"Troll yourself." said Nick, good-humouredly, and winked.
"Oh, don't listen to those two!" said Mrs. Field, coming at Hyoga hands outstretched, " They are competing for the 'Mister Cleverest Wise-Cracker Award', the silly things. Do make yourself at home, Hyoga. Have you eaten?
No? I'll warm you up something."
She turned towards her son: " You were late, so we've already had supper, but there is soup and bread and cheese, oh, and some cold rosbif and pickles." Then she turned back to Hyoga, and added, hesitatingly : " But would you not first like to freshen up? Queer will show you."
"Good idea! Come on Hyoga, upstairs. Follow me."
Queer led the young russian to a bathroom with light-blue mozaïc tiles.
"I hope you understand that what my mother was tactfully implying is that you smell."
"If you had been on the run for days, you'd smell too!" said Hyoga sharply, and then blushed and stammered an apology . His friend laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder : " Hey, I deserved that! Good man, you're beginning to react to people treating you in a high-handed manner. Warn me everytime I do so : it's incredibly bad attitude. Still, a scrub will do you good. Here, soap, brush, shampoo. Laundry basket is over there, and I'll get you some clean clothes of mine.Enjoy!"
"Wait! Queer…"
"Yes?"
Hyoga hesitated. He did not want to pry in these kind people's private affairs, but he couldn't ignore what his senses told him.He had to ask.
"Queer, what is wrong with your sister? She feels…so…dead inside."
A blank look came over the man's face, as if a wall had been drawn up.
"That is a most apt discription. Vinni suffers from depressions. She is currently in one. Strange that you noticed : we try to behave as normal as possible under the circumstances."
"I am a Saint. We…have senses that ordinary mortals do not."
The blank look was replaced by a very dark one.
"This ordinary mortal would thank you not to fuck with people's minds. They are fragile enough as it is…and if I ever catch you…"
"I might be able to help…Saints have healing powers, though mine aren't so great as Mu's…It would be the least I could do to thank you for your kindness."
Queer stood still for a moment, and though he tried his best to lock out the feelings that emanated from the man, Hyoga could sense the hope in him rising. Then the wall went up again. Queer let out a deep sigh.
"Thank you, for the offer. But no. If I know anything about it, and I should, after all these years, you're on the verge of depression yourself: you might do more harm than good. You don't need to feel obliged to us, either: kindness is too small a thing to thank me for."
"To one who had almost forgotten it existed, it means the world."
Queer fell silent again. Finally he spoke :" It would, wouldn't it? It seems I am a better man than I thought I was." He shook his head. "What a day : Saints, Gods, telepathy, Queer is really a nice guy, one lives and learns.
Whatever next. Well, Hyoga, let this be between ourselves, yes? Having a mindreader around is rather terrifying…now I am willing to trust you, but I don't think the others would. So don't mention it. And if it turns out I can't trust you…" he chuckled suddenly," I just realized that there is nothing a mere mortal can threaten you with. Himmelherrgott, I've been an impulsive idiot, letting someone so dangerous into my home."
Hyoga 's heart sank. "Please, please trust me. I have never had a friend like you…" he stopped, feeling cold all over, " No…that isn't true…I had a friend, and I killed him. I cannot be trusted. I must go."
A wave of panic swept over him, and he made to rush out of the bathroom, but Queer caught him by the arm.
"Stay. I said I trusted you, and I do, now more than ever. You too are a better person than you take yourself for, Hyoga!"
He let go, and, with a grin and a nod, left the Cygnus Saint to his ablutions.
Half an hour later Hyoga sat, skin pink and glowing,dressed in faded jeans, green sweater and thick woolen socks, a clean bandage over his eye, cheese-sandwich in one hand and steaming mug of tomato soup in the other, in front of the fire.
Mr. Field was taking a pipe out of his pocket, and filled it .
"My son tells me you are in trouble, and have an incredible story to tell. "
Queer, sitting on the sofa next to his mother, nodded: " Yes, it's a really, really weird story, and I didn't believe it, untill he proved to me that all he said was true. But I didn't hear him out,and I don't know the end of it either, if there is an end. So don't interrupt, anyone. Let him speak."
He gave another, encouraging nod at Hyoga.
The Ice Saint took a deep breath, and began:
"When the Forces of Evil gather, the Saints of Athena stand to defend Earth…."
To be continued.
Note of the author: Why Brussels? Because one had best write about what one knows well,and let's be honest, who would have thought of Belgium as a hide-out?
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is NOT a coïncidence.