Author's Note: I recently came back to the Arcana after almost four years away, and decided that I wanted to complete my old fanfic, "Borrowed Time", which I started but never finished. Unfortunately several of the first chapters got lost, so I had to rewrite them, and while doing that I thought it would be fun to write some of the chapters from Julian's POV... and now we're here.
I guess this is essentially a rewrite of Julian's route, told from his perspective. Some of the chapters will be from the POV of other characters, including my Apprentice, Marena, and I'll be incorporating elements from pretty much all the routes as well as adding a few original characters. It's going to be a monster of a fic, but hopefully the story won't collapse under the weight of its own ambition. That said, I have no idea what I'm doing and am just happy to be writing about these characters in this world again.
She was the last person Julian expected to find in this part of Vesuvia, much less that she would run into him for… what was this, the third time? Fourth? He'd lost track of their seemingly random chance encounters over the past few days.
Observing her from the other end of the bridge, he thought she looked a little lost—in more ways than one. She wore a rich red silk gown, no doubt straight from Countess Nadia's armoire, but seemed out of place in it. Uncomfortable in her own skin. The long draping fabric pooled around her like blood as she peered over the edge, where scarlet-tinged water flowed into the city's aqueduct.
"Marena?" Julian called out to her.
She jumped, whirling around to face him. The long braid of her black hair swung with the movement like a tightly coiled rope, and she flinched slightly when it whipped against the side of her head. The palace servants must've plaited her hair too, he thought, for she seemed unused to the style.
"Julian?" Marena whispered.
"Fancy seeing you here, hm? Out for a night walk?" he asked. He felt faintly exposed with her gaze upon him.
He watched her throat bob as she swallowed. "Yes. I mean, well… I went back to the shop to get something. But…"
She pointed down toward the red-tinged water. Julian followed her finger, frowning.
"What, this? It's harmless, Marena. Or as harmless as it can be. It won't do anything to anyone anymore." He shrugged. "Sure, a few people might get sick if they go for a swim, but…"
"That still doesn't sound very safe," Marena protested.
"Oh, it's much safer than it used to be." He smiled. "Isn't it a miracle? They went and figured it out. Or outlasted it. The plague is over."
"... Are you sure?" she asked.
"Yes. Yes, I'm sure it's over. And so is my career, just like that. Who needs a plague doctor if there's no plague?" He pulled out the long-beaked mask of a plague doctor, which he had concealed beneath his cape. "So here I am. Throwing away the last piece of a past I can't reclaim."
"Aren't you glad that the plague is all but gone?" she asked. "Besides, can't you be a doctor in other ways than just curing the plague?"
"Yeah, right," he said, a grin cutting across his angular face. "If I wasn't a fugitive wanted for murder, sure, I could keep being a doctor. But those days are over." He held up the plague mask, gave it a last lingering look, then let it drop down into the water below.
Marena watched him do it, then remarked, "That's littering, you know. That thing will probably clog up the pipes."
Julian couldn't help but chuckle. "It's less sturdy than you think. Trust me."
Pale slithering shapes in the water rapidly surrounded the mask. Marena's eyes grew wide. "Julian, what—"
The shriek of a raven cut her off.
"Guards afoot, Marena!" Julian hissed, still grinning. "Look lively, we'd best make tracks."
He took off running across the bridge and along the edge of the aqueduct. Only once did he pause and turn back to glance at her—just in time to witness her slipping on a wet stone and tumbling backwards into the reservoir below.
Part of him wanted to just keep going, saving himself from the encroaching guards. But another part, one that had always been much louder and stronger, knew that he couldn't abandon her. He raced over to the spot where she had fallen, not bothering to think twice before he plunged his arm into the cold depths, seized her wrist, and yanked her out of the water.
She let out a sputtering whimper of pain as he pulled her onto the bank. An undulating creature—a vampire eel—was attached to her side. Blood moved through its translucent innards as it feasted. Julian gripped the eel behind its head, forcing it to release her, and tossed it back into the water.
"Easy now, up you go…" Julian helped her to her feet again, half-dragging her away. Sopping wet, she stumbled over the cobblestones.
"Making tracks…" he heard her mumbling. "I'm leaving… a trail of blood…"
"Can you stand?" Julian asked, his tone laced with concern.
Growing lightheaded, Marena staggered, falling on her knees in the shadow of a building. Julian crouched down beside her, seeing a stain growing upon her bodice. It was a much darker shade of red than the cloth. "Right. Foolish question..."
He scooped her up, carrying her the rest of the way. That is, he fled with her until he reached a narrow, deserted alleyway, where he could take shelter from the pursuing guards.
"Let me see that bite," he said breathlessly, collapsing to his knees on the ground.
Marena hung limp and unresponsive in his arms, barely conscious as he laid her down and carefully slid her torn garments away from the wound. The bite was nasty, a jagged chunk of flesh torn away at the site of a major artery. His practiced hands worked over her abdomen, trying to stanch the bleeding, to no avail.
"Damn." He frantically peeled off his gloves, then laid his right hand over her open wound. "Hold still," he said, though he wasn't sure if she could hear him anymore. "Deep breaths. This will only take a minute or two."
His marked left hand slipped under her head, where he found a little round cap pinned in place at the base of her braid. Heavy with water, it came away easily, allowing him to cradle her skull. Wake up, he silently willed her eyes to open. I'd rather not have more blood on my hands…
Finally, her eyes fluttered open. She blinked up at him, but didn't speak. All she did was stare.
"I'm surprised you happened to be in the neighborhood, much less you ran into me," he said, filling the awkward silence with nervous commentary. "You've got some luck."
The look on her face was strange, her lips parted and eyes wide in confusion. He realized she must've been looking at the mark on his throat, stark and glowing beneath the skin. "Ah. Do you recognize your master's handiwork?" he asked, grinning.
A red stain was spreading across the fabric of his shirt. Marena suddenly sat up, eyes wide. "You're bleeding—"
Julian squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "This was his parting gift to me. A curse… I'm able to take away bodily wounds, as you can see. And in return, I get to experience them for myself… ugh."
He swayed forward, blood running freely down his torso. She reached out to steady him, her green eyes filled with fear.
"It won't last," he reassured her. "It never does."
"Asra gave you this power?" she asked. "Why?"
His lips curled in a smirk. "A curse from a witch who fears commitment."
"For a doctor, the ability to heal sounds like it would be a great gift."
He snorted. "A gift to some… a curse to others."
Her brow furrowed. No doubt she didn't understand. But rather than continuing to question him, she said, "Thank you."
Julian blinked owlishly at her, stunned that she would show him gratitude. "Don't mention it," he said, casting his eyes down. His face felt warm. "That is, well, circumstances being what they are… I'm just glad you're all right."
At the sound of stomping boots and the rattle of armor and swords, Julian gave a start. The guards were coming. Staggering to his feet, he ushered Marena into yet another alley. It was even narrower than the last one, forcing them to stand together with their bodies touching just to fit into the gap.
Julian could feel Marena's heart hammering against her ribs as they waited for the Countess' guards to pass them by. His own heart beat just as fast. For several moments they both stared at each other.
What is she thinking? he wondered, searching her green eyes. He knew so very little about her. Only that she was Asra's apprentice, and that the Countess had brought her in to investigate Lucio's murder. Judging by the way she quivered against him like a leaf in the wind, she wasn't used to this sort of danger.
"Marena—" he whispered, an apology on his tongue. Before he could say more, there was a thud from the entrance to the alley. Grabbing her hand, he tugged her in the opposite direction, breaking into a run.
At some point he felt her tug on his hand, pulling him toward a padlocked gate. The gate was set in a walled-off garden, from the looks of it—it would make for a good hiding place. He helped her over the bricks, then climbed nimbly after her, dropping down with light feet upon a bundle of fallen leaves… just in time to listen to the guards passing them by on the other side of the wall.
Julian offered Marena his hand, helping her to her feet. He even started to dust off her clothes before noticing the confused, wide-eyed look on her face at his touch.
"Uh, sorry," he said, looking away to hide his blush.
The garden was quiet and still. It seemed to have been abandoned for years, the plants left to fend for themselves. Ivy covered every structure within the walls, obscuring wise marble faces and savage stone beasts.
Stepping over roots that had overtaken the cracked stone floor, the two of them naturally gravitated toward a dilapidated fountain at the center of the garden.
"Look at this place!" he whispered, awestruck by the garden's wild beauty. "Ha, that was some quick thinking on your part."
But Marena seemed distracted, her gaze wandering as if in a daze. Her feet shuffled aimlessly, until she bumped into the rim of the fountain. The sensation seemed to bring her back to the present, as if she were waking from a dream. "I feel like I've been here before," she said.
"Oh?" He looked around. "I can believe it. You knew this would make for a good place to hide from the guards." He spread his arms. "I wonder how many parts of the city have fallen to neglect like this, hm?"
He made his way over to one of the grotesque statues, stepping over the errant vines that blocked his path. Marena meanwhile sat on the rim of the fountain, looking oddly forlorn as she watched him throw an arm around the shoulders of the statue.
"Look at this brute. Hello there, handsome." He glanced back at her, the delight in his eyes slowly fading. "Is something wrong?"
She was clutching her head, as though in pain—and judging by the tremble in her shoulders, she was crying too.
"Are you worried they'll find us?" Julian released his hold on the statue. "You needn't be. No one can see us here." As he approached, she rose to her feet, reaching toward him with a trembling hand. Her cheeks shone with tears.
"Really, it's fine," he insisted. "As for me, I'm all right too. What I took from you was just a little bite, nothing I can't handle. There are more dangerous things out there than eels."
As he took her hand, she seemed to collapse against him, burying her face against his chest. More concerned now than ever, he wrapped an arm around her, holding her close.
"Memory," he heard her say, her voice muffled. "I remember…"
She suddenly collapsed in his arms.
"Marena?" He shook her a little and slapped her cheek lightly, trying to rouse her. But she had fainted.
A glowing blue flower fell from the luminous trees above, drifting down on the breeze to land upon her shoulder. Julian heard loud footsteps swiftly approaching and scowled. The guards were coming back.
For the second time that night, he picked her up and carried her back out onto the streets again.
Had Asra been in town, Julian would've brought her back to the magic shop, guards and old grudges be damned. But since the magician was off on another one of his mysterious journeys, and the shop was on the opposite side of the city anyway, Julian settled for someone he knew he could trust.
He eased the two of them through the window of Mazelinka's hut, scraping past the set of brass bells hanging above it just enough to make them hum. The hut was wide and the ceiling was low. The top of his head brushed the ceiling, showering his shoulders with dirt.
"Mazelinka?" he called out. "Sorry to drop in like this. It's the guards…" A beat passed before he raised his voice as loud as he dared. "Mazelinka!"
She wasn't home. Shifting Marena's weight in his tired arms, he glanced back at the dragon's breath sprouting from the windowsill, the curly tendrils of yellow flowers now looking ragged where he'd stepped on them.
"I'm in for an earful," he muttered to himself.
He was just looking for a place to lay Marena down when the door began to rattle. There was a grunt from outside as it was shaken free from the crooked frame. In stepped Mazelinka, a stout old woman swathed in a blue shawl.
"Ilya!" she exclaimed. "Did you come through the window again, you slippery boy?"
Julian straightened too quickly, striking the top of his head against the ceiling with a wince. But he plastered another one of his grins upon his face as he turned toward her. "Ah, Mazelinka, aren't you a sight for the sore eye! Love the shawl, is it new?"
"You know it isn't," she retorted, but gave him a fond half-smile. "I thought you might be about when I saw the guards, and…" Stepping closer, Mazelinka noticed Marena in Julian's grasp and hesitated. "What's going on here?"
"This is Marena. A… new friend of mine." By now his arms were shaking from the strain. "She's ill."
"A sick friend, eh?" Mazelinka smiled thinly. "Well, put her in the bed."
As Mazelinka moved past him into the kitchen, he expected to hear her squawking at the state of the flowers in the window. But she was silent.
Laying Marena on the bed, he decided he had better 'fess up now. "Ah, Mazelinka, about the dragon's breath, I take full responsibility for that, I wasn't thinking, and I—"
"Don't fit through the door, I know," Mazelinka grumbled. "Fetch the round pot for me, would you?"
"In a minute, dear. I've got to get her out of these wet clothes." With clinical efficiency, Julian stripped off Marena's gown and undergarments and laid her underneath the warm, dry blankets. He even undid her braid, spreading her long black hair over the pillow so it would dry faster.
Once he was finished, he moved to a cupboard set in the dirt wall behind him. There was a sway in his step, though he fought the wave of exhaustion that had brought it on and dragged the well-used cauldron from the shelf.
"Her sickness—do you have any idea what caused it?" Mazelinka asked.
Dropping the pot over the fire, he stared into the flames, wracking his brain for answers. Something he had missed, a detail or sign. "She fell into one of the aqueducts and was bitten by a vampire eel..." His eye widened. The water in the centrifuge had been tainted. Did she have the plague?
It was possible, and yet… something in his gut told him that wasn't the case. Perhaps it was his extensive experience handling victims of the plague which allowed him to tell the difference.
Well, that and he had already checked her temperature. She wasn't running a fever, which was the first telltale sign of the red death.
"But I used my curse to help her. I took away her wound." Perhaps it was blood loss, aggravated by all the excitement that followed. Yes, that seemed plausible.
Mazelinka made a disapproving noise. "No wonder you can barely stand up." Rolling a sprig of worrywort between her fingers, she sniffed it. "Ech, it's gone stale. I'll just be a minute—you keep an eye on your friend."
With that, she disappeared out into the garden. The moment she left, Julian slumped against the counter, leaning heavily on one arm. Though he had faith in the power of his curse, vampire eel bites were not to be trifled with. He'd treated quite a few cases, and none of them had survived. None except Marena and himself, now.
Making his way over to her bedside, he peered down at her. She was still fast asleep, her pale lids twitching faintly. He laid the back of his hand lightly against her brow, just to be absolutely certain she wasn't feverish. Satisfied, he sank into a nearby chair with a weary sigh, watching her face. His gaze was soft in the flickering light, until a shadow crossed his brow, and he looked away.
When he glanced at her again, her eyes were open.
"Ah, you're awake." Julian sat up a little straighter. "You fainted, so I brought you here. Don't worry, we're not alone—this place belongs to a good friend of mine. She takes good care of her guests."
Marena's brow furrowed. "I fainted?"
"Yes. We were hiding from the guards in this abandoned, overgrown garden, and you said something about it looking familiar to you…" He trailed off, seeing no signs of recognition in her features.
"I don't remember that," she said, scratching her head.
"What do you remember, then?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Running from the guards, and your magic…" She started to sit up, then quickly covered herself with the sheets. Her face was beet red. "Where are my clothes?"
"I put them over there to dry." He gestured. "Don't worry, it was just so that you wouldn't catch cold."
During the time of the plague, Julian had trained himself to think of people as patients, not objects of desire. Many of the plague victims had been attractive, some even more beautiful than Marena, but he couldn't gawk at them while he was peeling their clothes away from clammy, feverish skin.
Marena seemed to relax a bit. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"I'm fine, why? More importantly, how are you?" He regarded her curiously, a spark of interest in his hazy eye. "Do you feel strange in any way right now? Experiencing any tingling? Some people have described a tingling sensation after."
"I feel fine," she said.
"And your wound?" He peeked covertly toward Marena's belly where the wound used to be, rearing back when Mazelinka suddenly stepped between them.
"You're awake, hm? I am Mazelinka, and this here is my home. You're welcome to stay here as long as you need. How are you feeling?"
"Much better, thank you," Marena replied shyly.
"Good, good. You should rest." Turning to Julian, Mazelinka rested her hands on her hips. "Ilya, when was the last time you slept?"
"Ah, well, ever since the curse I don't really need it the way I used to, dear," he replied, still a bit startled. "How—how did you do that? I didn't even hear you come in…"
"It's called being quiet. And your eye is rolling. Curse shmurse."
He looked down at the floor, feeling like a child again beneath her stern gaze. "I'm fine, really. Haven't felt this good in a while."
Mazelinka sighed and went over to her pot, tossing a handful of sand into the cauldron and stirring it with a wooden spoon. "I'll be very happy for you after you've rested. Go on. Shoo."
With Marena taking the bed, where exactly was he going to… oh. Mazelinka must've thought he and Marena were… Julian felt the blood rush to his face at the notion. "What are you making, anyway?" he asked, trying to dance around the subject. "Is it that soup stuff?"
"You'll see soon enough. Now rest."
He glanced surreptitiously toward Marena. Her face had gone scarlet, seemingly so embarrassed she could hardly speak. "Mazelinka, I think you're mistaken about—"
"In the hiding hole, then."
"... Not until the soup is done," he bargained. "I'm already sitting down."
"As soon as the soup is done," she echoed, then busied herself with her cooking.
Peeling off his coat and unbuttoning his shirt, Julian relaxed, sinking back in the chair.
"Why did you come back?" Marena suddenly asked.
He was thrown by her question, or perhaps just by the honesty of her tone. Pursing his lips, he studied her. "I need answers," he replied at last. "If I don't find the truth here, I'll lose my mind looking for it. Don't worry about me. I'll be all right."
She didn't look convinced. Sighing, he leaned forward. "As you may have guessed, I have some questions for your master. If you knew… The years, the, the distance I've gone to find him…" His scowl faded into a reluctant smile. "Ah, what does it matter. It's not like there's anywhere else I'd rather be."
Marena continued to look at him with concern, but had lapsed into silence again. She didn't seem to talk much, and when she did, she was so soft-spoken he had to strain to hear her at times.
"It was too much, wasn't it?" he muttered. "Too much excitement for one night."
Raising an eyebrow, she shook her head. "No, I don't mind excitement. Or danger, for that matter. But you said I fainted in a place that seemed familiar to me?"
"Yes." In his mind's eye, he saw her sitting on the edge of the fountain, clutching her head and sobbing.
"I don't remember anything that happened more than three years ago," she explained. "Whenever I'm reminded of something from before then, I get headaches and I pass out."
Julian stared at her in shock. "You… get those kinds of headaches too?" he said.
She nodded. "So does Countess Nadia. Hers are so bad, they leave her bedridden all day long."
"So I've heard." He leaned his chin on his hand thoughtfully. "Three years ago, hm?"
"Yes. That's when Asra found me. He taught me everything I know. Even how to walk and talk again, as if I were a newborn baby."
Julian's brow furrowed. What on earth could've reduced her to such a pitiful state? His medical training told him a traumatic brain injury could cause amnesia, but his gut told him this probably had something to do with magic. Asra's magic, to be exact.
"I assume you don't remember what caused your amnesia," he said, stroking his chin.
"I don't remember anything except waking up in Asra's arms." She looked away, then said, "I know I thanked you, but it doesn't feel like enough. You got hurt because of me."
Unexpected warmth spread through him, a pleasant feeling of appreciation. "Trust me, Marena," he said. "Better I hurt in your stead." He found his old, easy lopsided smile again. "Besides, you're much more fragile than I."
She laughed at the unexpected jab. He had never heard her laugh before, or even seen her smile that he could remember. She was gorgeous when she smiled.
"What I mean is, I'll take the hiding hole, and you can have the bed." Tucking the bed sheet around her for modesty's sake, she rose to her feet. Julian instinctively leaned forward, ready to catch her if she fell again, but her movements were steady as she made her way past him.
"Well, it's a nice hole. Cozy. You'll like it," he murmured as she disappeared from his field of vision. He heard Mazelinka speaking in hushed tones behind him, the whisper of fabric as the rug which covered the hatch was lifted, and the creak of the hiding hole's hinges. Then Mazelinka arrived to press a bowl of soup into his hands, making him drink, and he was out like a light not long after.
When next he awoke, it was from a nightmare. He felt the floor against his arms—he had fallen halfway out of the bed, with his lower half still on the mattress and his long legs tangled up in the sheets. An awkward position, to be sure.
Opening his eye, he found Marena standing over him. She was wearing her shift, the thin fabric having dried first, and using an old blanket as a shawl about her shoulders. It was barely dawn, judging by the faint light creeping through the window. Mazelinka was nowhere to be seen.
"Did I wake you?" he asked, groggily trying to free himself.
"No," she replied.
He was ready to apologize, and couldn't quite stop himself in time. "I… sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."
To his surprise, she bent down to help disentangle him from the sheets. He realized he was trembling and endeavored to stay still, trying to hide it from her.
"It sounded like you were having a nightmare," she said.
"Did it? That would be… because I was. Having a nightmare, that is." Freed from the sheets, Julian rose to his feet, then dropped down on the edge of the bed in a slump. "Seems silly in the light of day. Or, er, dawn. It wasn't real… Was it?" He rested his elbows on his knees and looked up at her. She regarded him mildly, her black hair falling in loose curls about her shoulders.
"Ahem. Why were you out of bed?" he asked.
"You're trying to change the subject," she said. "I heard you talking in your sleep. And you're still shaking."
Oh, no. "What, shaking?" he snorted. "Nonsense, I'm a doctor. My hands are as sure as death and taxes."
She reached out, taking one of his hands in hers. Though he tried to steady it, it shook even worse upon contact with her warm fingers. Ashamed of himself, he tried to tug his hand away, but she wouldn't let go.
"I told you, it's nothing," he protested, jumping a little as she settled down beside him. "It wasn't real. I have no reason to be upset."
She sidled closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her body. He watched as she traced the outline of his murderer's mark with her thumb, until she raised her head and her eyes met his. Her gaze was piercing. He felt exposed.
"Were you dreaming about killing the Count?" she whispered.
He tensed, again trying to pull away, but she held fast.
"Did you really do it?" she pressed.
His gaze fell to the floor, pulse jumping in his temple. Then up to the ceiling—anywhere but her. His chest began to shake with low, nervous laughter.
"I'm sorry, it's just that I'm always asking myself that question. When you say it… It's much less irritating." And far more difficult to ignore. "Did I really do it… if I told you the truth, would you believe me? I know I wouldn't. But I'll let you decide for yourself, Marena."
He steepled his fingers, leaning over to finally look her in the eye. "Did I do it… did I murder him, the Count? What if I told you I don't remember, just like you don't remember anything from before three years ago?"
Her eyebrows rose. "Then all three of us have missing memories. You, the Countess, and me."
"And headaches, too." Julian brooded over this new revelation for a few moments, then asked, "...Do you believe in forgiveness?"
"Forgiveness?"
"Do you think… that even truly heinous things can be forgiven?" He smirked grimly. "Or are there some things you don't get to come back from?"
"You can come back," she said. "You can always come back."
She sounded quite convinced. He sighed. "If I could just remember… then I would know. If what I've done is something unforgivable."
"What will you do if it is?"
"I—" The rest of what he intended to say died in his throat. He shook his head. "If I can't make it right… then I'll take whatever punishment I deserve. Without question."
In other words, he would be hanged by the neck until dead. His fingertips brushed lightly at his throat, wondering vaguely how it would feel, and how long it would take to kill him, given the nature of his curse…
Pushing those thoughts from his mind, he stretched. "Well isn't this a dour conversation. Ahh, don't mind me, Marena. It's just the sleep deprivation talking. Five cups of coffee and I'll get the pep back in my step."
Thankfully, she didn't try to force him to keep talking. Instead, to his astonishment, she slid over until she was sitting against the wall at the head of the bed, and tugged him into her lap.
"Oh, erm—are you… is this what we're doing now?" he sputtered. "Well, alright..."
He found it surprisingly easy to relax, dropping his head back against her chest and closing his eyes. She began to idly stroke his hair, and despite everything he felt his muscles shift, loosening just a fraction. Then a little more.
He shifted, opening his mouth to speak, but she laid a finger against his lips. "You need to sleep."
He slumped again, lips twitching up as he gazed up at her through messy bangs. "...Thank you."
"Thank me after you get some sleep."
And sleep he did.