Speak No Evil -- Ch.8 (the final chapter)
By: Remalna
Notes: I wrote most of this chapter in 2002. Dropped it. Then finished it off in the last days of 2004. Thank you for reading this; it was my first piece of creative fiction.
The moon hung over the countryside of Palas, illuminating the abandoned roadside. None of the peasants were foolish enough to be out and about at this time of night. Yet a single carriage flew down the road, scattering loose stones under its wheels, leaving a dusty trail in its wake.
Safely ensconced in the carriage box, Celena stared at the unconscious young man sprawled across the opposite seat. He was still out cold from the blow to the head. Even in the dim moon light, she could see a patch of drying blood in his fine, dark hair. She watched the gentle rise and fall of his breathing and let her gaze sweep across his face. How dare he look so peaceful when he inspired such rage in her heart? She let out a sharp kick to his leg with her booted foot. No response. Impatiently, Celena kicked him even harder, in the shin this time. At last, he stirred a little. Sooty lashes flickered open and a pair of smoky caramel eyes blinked blurrily into her icy blue ones.
"Pleasant dreams?" She drawled, sounding every inch the bored aristocrat. Van blinked again into alertness. His eyes were gritty, his head hurt, and further, he had lost all feelings to his hands because of the tight ropes that bound them. He struggled to sit upright despite the rocking of the carriage and shot an incredulous look to the girl sitting across from him.
"My Lady, do you realize what you have done?" He asked her carefully.
Celena gave a delicate shrug of her small shoulders, "My Lord, do you realize what a silly question that is? If I didn't know what I was doing, then I wouldn't be doing it in the first place."
Van shook his head in disbelief. "Even Allen won't be able to save your neck this time." Van told her softly. The silver-haired girl tilted her head back and laughed. It was one of the most chilling sounds he had ever heard: he heard Dilandau behind that laugh.
"I hope you'll still be laughing when they lead you to be hanged." He ground out angrily.
"'Hanged?'" She rolled the word around in her mouth.
"Release me!" He commanded her. Celena shook her head, tumbling her silvery hair about her face.
"This isn't a game, Celena!"
"Really." She replied dryly.
"Where are you taking me?" Van demanded.
Her lips twiched.
"Do you realize the dishonour you bring to the Schezar name--."
"Oh shut up, and stop being so silly. Dear Allen will never know about tonight's little adventure. No one will. There will be a lengthy investigation, I think. Perhaps, there will even be some political backlash from the Fanelians. But the brouhaha will pass with time, and next year, you will all have been…forgotten as yet another King of Fanelia to die prematurely."
Van snorted. "You're mad."
"No," Celena replied evenly, "I'm not."
"Yes you are," he shot back, "at least Dilandau was honest in his hatred. He was a crazy bastard, but at least he fought me like a man." Van informed her acidly.
Celena's eyes glistened in the darkness. Tears? Was it possible that his words had struck a chord in her?
"If…if you're acting against your will," Van began softly, "…if you're being controlled, somehow--" She moved lightening swift to yank him forward, by the hair, bringing his face inches from her own. Her eyes were wide and hungry. Her pupils were dilated wide, as if she was heavily drugged. "You stupid backward village idiot. You don't understand after all I hate you. I, Celena Schezar, hate you. Leave Dilandau out of this!"
Abruptly, she pushed him away. His head hit the hard back-board with a dull crack.
Celena inhaled sharply with barely suppressed fury. How had she lost control of the situation so fast? Van was too dangerous, even tied up and at her mercy, he could slither his way in her head…and if she wasn't careful…he could ruin everything.
"Well. It doesn't matter what you think of me. Before the night is done, you'll have nothing further to worry about, your majesty." She managed to regain a semblance of composure before settling once more in her seat, mentally struggling to shut Van's voice out from her head. 'Mad…' his words permeated her mind, "mad."
- - - - -
Migel walked swiftly down the dark streets, keeping to the shadows. The night wind whipped at his face, tearing his eyes and chilling his face. He was tired. Tired of pretending to believe that Celena's revenge would release him from the guilt he felt from the Dragonslayers' deaths. Tired of believing in Celena. Dilandau was irreplaceable … Dilandau was dead. Migel knew now that he was the only surviving Dragonslayer. He'd been too cowardly to admit the truth to himself, because it felt terrible to be all alone. Perhaps he could just disappear. Go to Egzardia, anywhere far away from Asturia. No one could trace him there; and he'd never have the chance to hurt anyone again. He could leave all his mistakes behind him, abandon his former life, and start a new one afresh. Migel stopped walking.
Running away? A Dragonslayer never runs away when the heat is on.
"Damned legacy." Migel muttered into the silent night. He shot a swift, wistful glance toward the direction of the harbour…but he felt compelled to tie up the loose ends before he left. Afterwards, he reasoned, he would truly be free to pursue this new life. He was supposed to meet up with Celena in less than an hour's time, in the orchard of the ruins of an old church. He'd better get walking if he was to be on time.
- - - - -
Many historic houses had collapsed under the fighting strain of the Great War. The little stone church, just past the city's outskirts had once been the place where the town folks had traveled to for those special religious holidays. But in the three years since the War, it had become dilapidated and abandoned. The roof had caved in, and the stain-glass windowpanes were broken and muddy, a place once of sanctity was now dirtied. The crescent moon illuminated the broken path to the church, casting creeping shadows across the stone-paved path.
Celena didn't like waiting for Migel here. She'd never liked the darkness. Suddenly, she remembered something: Dilandau had been convinced that, should he ever die, he would die bathed in the light of the moon. She shivered as the chilly night air penetrated her traveling dress. Strangely, Van's presence abated some of her fears of the night.
She stole a quick glance in his direction, to make sure he would not try to escape—she told herself. Celena tossed a wayward curl over her shoulder and to pace, back and forth, back and forth. The hard heels of her boots clicked on the stone path. The forest was silent.
Van pretended not to notice her gaze, and slowly, painfully slowly, began to work at the ropes that bound his hands. Van twisted at his bonds, he could feel them loosening, there. His hands were nearly free.
"So. Who are we waiting for?" Van asked her out of curiosity, still keeping his hands behind himself. She jumped at the sound of his voice. Breathing out slowly, Celena told him not to talk. Van noted the slight quiver in her voice. She was losing her nerve.
"Don't you think I have a right to know who my executioner is?" He demanded haughtily.
"Why do you assume that I will not kill you myself?" She snapped back.
Van grinned, "what? Her ladyship soiling her pristine, court gloves? I don't think so."
Celena laughed and held up her hands. She was not wearing any gloves.
Unimpressed, Van asked, "he's late, isn't he."
"Why don't you shut up?"
"Why would he be late? Unless he double-crossed you, took the money and left you for the authorities…?"
"Gods, how you do chatter!" She didn't know what was wrong, but Migel should have been here a while ago. She needed him here. She could feel her focus abandoning her with each passing moment.
"Ridiculous, why is that women are as dumb as a cows when it comes to planning anything other than dinner seating?"
Celena's eyes blazed. She gritted her teeth and stalked to where he was sitting. She raised her hand and brought it down with such force across Van's cheek that she knocked him to the ground. Van wasted no time. He quickly hooked his foot around her ankle and tripped her. Celena instinctively reached her hands to grasp for support, her fingers found only air: she toppled backwards. The impact with the solid, stony ground knocked the breath out of her. But she tried to get up. Too fast.
Van watched impassively as Celena lost the struggle to stay conscious. He did not feel satisfaction. He hoped the knock was not too bad. Awkwardly, Van rolled to his knees, then to his feet. He knelt beside Celena, uncertain of what to do now. It was the perhaps the first time he had been in a fight with a woman before. Irrationally, he was struck by a wave of self-loathing and guilt.
"My God, what did you do to her?"
Van swirled around at the sound of the new voice. Directly behind him, only meters away, stood a tall young man dressed in black. It was too dark to make out his face, but from the long sword he had at his belt, Van knew that this must be Celena's accomplice.
"You're late. Sorry you had to miss the action," Van said, dark humour tinged his voice.
"Did you kill her? Did you murder her?" Migel demanded harshly. Without ceremony, he withdrew his sword. Van stiffened and rose to his feet. He was unarmed, of course. Celena had seen to that detail.
The edge of the sword gleamed wickedly in the moonlight.
"Answer me!" Migel spat out.
The King of Fanelia answered quietly; contemptuously, "you fool, of course I didn't kill her. I doubt a fall like that could have snuffed out the likes of Celena Schezar." Van pointed vaguely to Celena's fallen form. Migel pushed past the other man and rushed to the girl's side. He knelt, on his knees, beside her body. Hesitantly, he reached out his free hand and gently felt her head the wound. Sure enough, his fingers soon felt the beginnings of a lump forming at the back of her head. Next, he pressed two fingers to the side of her throat. The pulse was faint, but steady. He was more concerned about the possibility of a concussion.
"So you are attacking girls now." Still kneeling, Migel threw a venomous glance at the Van.
Van blew out an exasperated sigh. "I had an opening. I took it. Forgive me if I lack the desire to be part of your little assassination game. You must be her tardy accomplice, what took you so long to get here anyway?"
The hot surge of anger burst like a bubble, leaving a strange dead calm in its wake. Instead of answering, Migel swiftly bundled his jacket into a make-shift pillow for Celena.
"So, why are you late?" Van persisted.
"Traffic. Too many farmers clogging up the streets at two in the morning." Migel replied. He drew his cloak over Celena's body, and pulled at the corners until the black fabric covered her like a blanket. The silver in her hair fanned across the inky grass like strands of light. In her unconscious state, her features were softened. The normally sharp cheekbones were rounded by the shadows, and her closed eyes shut out the hard glint that constantly lurked in those chilly gray-blue depths.
Migel heard the crunch of footsteps.
"She looks…" Van cleared his throat.
"Innocent." The former Dragonslayer finished, his eyes caressed the unconscious girl's features.
"Ah. You're in love with her."
Migel smiled grimly and tilted his head at an angle to look at the other man. "Why do say that?"
Van shrugged. "Either you're a madman, following her half-cooked plan out of fanatical devotion…or you're madly in love with her to have followed her daft orders to attempt to assassinate me. You don't look crazy to me."
He had to give Fanel the credit, Migel thought; despite his roughness, the Fanelian king was not a fool.
Migel rose to his full height, a full head taller than the other young man. "You don't recognize me, I'm not surprised. Do you remember Dilandau's Dragonslayers unit?" Migel asked.
"Gods. How could I forget them?" The most powerful weapon Zaibach that had thrown at them, Van still had dreams that replayed in excruciating detail the brilliant efficiency of the those methodic killers. The nightmares used to come often. Escaflowne's broadsword slicing mercilessly through steel melefs with liquid strokes. The screams as they died under his blade.
"There were fifteen of us altogether, all 'fanatically devoted' to Dilandau. We were too young to have distinguished the difference between loyalty and stupidity. We were too blinded by Zaibach—Dilandau, the Strategos, the Emperor—to sieve through the shit that they fed us. We thought that being a Dragonslayer was to be elite. To be better than your average soldier. Actually, we were mere sacrificial lambs for the generals."
Van inhaled sharply. "You're a Dragonslayer. Which one are you? Gatti?"
"Migel. Migel Labariel."
"I…thought you died in Freid."
"By some twisted hand of Fate, I was allowed to live."
"You seek revenge, of course."
To Van's surprise, the Dragonslayer shook his head. He fell silent, as if uncertain of what to say. At length, he said, "my father argued bitterly against my enlistment. He reminded me that I was the son of a stone mason—a commoner—not a knight. Why should I involve myself in the war? But my heart was set on it. Every night, I went to bed with only one thought in mind: to join the Zaibach army and exterminate all who would destroy my homeland. Three years ago, I would have killed you without hesitation…"
Migel looked Van straight in the eye, do you understand, King of Fanelia? That I have lost that passion—that red hot rage—
Van nodded.
Migel eyes briefly closed, then he tossed his sword to the ground. The metal struck the pebbled ground just as the morning bells began to toll. The sweet music rang throughout the countryside. Van held out his hand out. The former Dragonslayer looked at the hand, then said without rancor: "don't be silly. Just because I'm not going to kill you, doesn't mean I want to be your friend."
"Fair enough," Van replied. "What will you do now?"
Migel looked at his hands; he noted the elegant strength of the wrists. What skills had he besides the art of war?
"I'll go away." Migel said quietly, "I'm never going to return to these lands again."
"What do you want me to tell Celena when she wakes up?"
Migel stuck the hands in his pockets, and gazed at the town at the bottom of the hill. A ship was pulling into port; the grocers were setting up their wares: Palas was waking up.
And beyond it all, the green sea stretched endlessly in the western horizon.
"Tell her nothing." Migel said. "Tell her everything. Tell her that I will say a prayer for her. Tell her—that Migel Labariel says 'goodnight.'"
His eyes were bright, as he walked away towards the harbour.
---
The End