Warning: AU, Fantasy, R rated, Death and Violence to children, Ran/Ken eventually, but you'll have to wait for it.
Apology: Sorry! I wasn't paying attention to when was updating. I knew they were, but I forgot when and that's why this wasn't up on Monday. All my fault! Sorry again!
Author's Note: Well, here's my second fantasy (the first is still being written...as is this one actually) which I started writing Dec. 26, 2003. I wanted to explore the characteristics of Ken's personality that hadn't been present in my other story. Mainly, his quick temper, sarcasm, and his manner of speech. And I was trying to write something my husband would enjoy reading, so the yaoi is almost non-existent. In this story at least. As with my other series there is a planned sequel. Anyway, here's the first part of part one which is all Ken. The others come in in part two. I hope people like it, but it is very different from my other stories. Thanks for reading, and please review!
Disclaimer: Weiss belongs to Takehito Koyasu and Project Weiss.
First Born of the Thirteenth House
Part 1: Ken (a)
Ken ceased his struggles against the man carrying him. At only five years of age he was far too small and weak to have any effect against the solid arms which held him, and he was only succeeding in wearing himself out.
"That's it, boy. Quiet now. There's danger," the words were repeated in his ear.
He wasn't able to cry out anyway, with that large hand clamped over his mouth. He wondered what the danger was and why he'd been taken from his bed in the darkest hours of the night. Could it have anything to do with the celebration of his father's Assention tomorrow? Or did it have to do with those strange looks he'd been getting? No, Tris had explained those.
Thinking of his friend reminded Ken that he wasn't the only one carried from his room. Excitement over the coming celebration and his secret surprise had prevented him from sleeping and he'd snuck Tris into his room. He squirmed around to try to get a look behind the man carrying him and received a severe shake for his troubles. The next few seconds he saw nothing but stars.
"I've warned 'ya for the last time," whispered the harsh voice in his ear. "Try it again and I'll knock 'ya cold."
Ken went stiff with recognition. He knew that voice. The inflection was unmistakable. He was being carried by the man recently hired to be his father's footman. He'd overheard a brief conversation between his father and uncle about the man. His father didn't trust him. Before his uncle had returned to the First House he'd entreated Ken's father to give the man a few more weeks, and a chance to prove himself, before deciding against him. His father had cautiously agreed. But Ken knew his father would never trust this man.
With that realization Ken renewed his struggles with vigor. His father's new footman swore loudly. He set Ken roughly on the floor of the hall, and slapped him back handed. The sound rang in Ken's ears. Stars exploded behind the boy's eyes before everything spun into darkness.
Ken wasn't sure how much time had passed. He was still being carried, but had been thrown over the footman's shoulder like a sack of grain. He could hear Tris crying and turned his head toward the sound, but it was too dark to see him clearly.
They seemed to be traveling down a set of wide steps. It was very dark and the mens' footsteps echoed. From somewhere below them came a terrible cry followed by loud cussing and more cries. Ken shivered as a chill went down his spine. The yelling voice sounded like his father.
The man carrying Tris stopped walking at the sounds coming from below. After a moment his father's footman noticed and turned to look back at his companion.
"What's wrong with 'ya?" he demanded harshly.
Ken peeked up at the other man. He could only see part of the man's right leg and hip. He was shifting uneasily on the steps. The sounds were obviously upsetting him.
"No one said nuthin 'bout torture," hissed the other man's voice.
"Ya knew what we had to do when 'ya agreed to it," the footman spat out.
There was another loud cry followed by what sounded like begging. Tris squealed and the man holding him shifted uncomfortably. Ken felt himself go cold inside. Although he couldn't understand what was being said he knew that was his father's voice. His father was begging.
"But they're only children. They're innocent," the other man argued.
A final pained cry died accompanied by a choking sob. Without thinking Ken straightened up against the footman's shoulder.
"Otosan!" he cried as loudly as he could.
The footman swore again and pulled Ken against his chest once more. Covering the boy's mouth as he did so.
"Ken? Ken!!" he heard his father cry from below before something or someone cut him off.
An eerie silence descended upon the staircase.
"I won' torture no children," persisted the other man.
"Fine," the footman said tightly. "Its probably better to end this quickly."
They began descending the staircase again, but after a few steps took a turn into a side tunnel. It was short and led to another set of stairs, steeper and more narrow than the others.
Ken continued to struggle in a near panic to get away. He was completely ineffective and received several harsh shakes which left him dizzy. Tris's crying had become hysterical and was punctuated by strangled moans and muffled hiccups.
They came to the bottom of the stairs. Ken blinked as the odd, soft light that'd been guiding their way illuminated a choice of several tunnels leading from the tiny room at the foot of the stairs. He suddenly wondered how it was that the footman, new to the House, knew his way so easily through all the dark tunnels which were supposed to be a secret. Sometime ago Ken had realized that they must be in the dungeons. A place he'd wanted to explore but wasn't allowed to. His father insisted that they were dangerous, and the knowledge of them was something only the family knew. So how...?
The light moved through the second door on the left and the men followed without hesitation. The corridor beyond was short. It opened out into a large cavern. The light barely cut the darkness.
The two men carried the small boys into the great darkness, only the small area around them illuminated. Ken gasped as the strange light condensed before them and took on a familiar shape. The figure stood on the edge of a large circular hole in the floor. The dark of the cavern seemed light compared to the impenetrable black of the pit. As the men drew nearer Ken began to squirm and struggle to get free again.
The figure of the boy made of light turned from the edge of the pit. He was slightly taller than Ken and wearing a night shirt identical to his. And he was smiling. His cold eyes bore into Ken's wide frightened ones.
"Now you'll see," he said in a voice only Ken and Tris could hear. "Now you'll lose everything and die just like I did."
The men stopped on the edge of the pit.
"Are you sure we have to?" asked the man holding Tris.
"Yes," answered the footman.
"And it'll be quick?"
The footman sighed in impatience.
"Yes, do it," he commanded.
The other man shoved Tris forward and released him. Before Ken could blink his friend had disappeared over the pit's edge. Tris's high pitched scream faded rapidly until it was suddenly, sharply interrupted. Ken jerked as if he'd felt the impact. Tears stung his eyes as he stared at the spot where his friend had disappeared. Inside him he felt something awaken. Power was loosed as if an unseen chain had been broken.
"It should've been me," Kase's voice whispered in his ear and then he too was falling.
"And what have you been up to today, my darling boy?" asked his mother's light voice from her place near the window.
He could hardly make her out against the invading sunlight. She seemed to be part of the glowing beams falling into the room through the large open panes. She was sitting in her favorite chair working some embroidery which was stretched on a frame before her. She was wearing yellow, her favorite color, and seemed to glow in the golden light.
He ran up to her wanting to be part of her brightness. She beamed a radiant smile down on him and he felt nothing but love and joy.
"Well?" she demanded again teasingly. "Aren't you going to tell me?"
He smiled up at her and leaned into her long, many layered skirts. The material was slippery, and warm from the sun. He often wondered how she could sit there without getting hot.
"Have you been naughty? Is that why you won't tell me? Shall I ask Tristan?"
"No, Okasan, we're not naughty," he said turning to watch her nimble fingers work the needle through the stretched linen.
He was always amazed by the intricate colorful patterns that emerged on the plain creamy material. Almost like magic.
"Oh!" cried his mother suddenly, startling him.
She removed her hand from behind the embroidery to reveal a small pearl of blood forming at the tip of one finger.
"Oh, dear. I shall have to bind it until your father gets home," she said sighing. "Such a bother."
He watched her place her finger into her mouth with concern.
"If I had magic I'd heal it for you, Okasan."
"I know, Ken love. Someday, perhaps, but until then I'll have to settle for binding my fingers," she said patting his hair and smiling gently.
He pouted and exhaled a long sigh. Resolutely, he held out a small hand, demanding her injured finger. She patted his hair again and gently laid her bleeding digit in his small palm. He covered it with his other hand and shut his eyes.
They'd done this before on numerous occasions. He would shut his eyes and look deep within himself, following his mother's quietly spoken instructions. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to find, but so far he hadn't found anything.
However, this day there was something. A peculiar stirring from deep inside. His mother sat quietly. The sun shown down. And deep inside of him there was a spark. He reached for it and it came. He sent it into his mother's finger with a wish for healing. There was a tiny flash behind his eyes and a pop inside his ears. His mother gasped.
He opened his eyes and blinked down at her finger. The blood was gone. No mark remained of the tiny wound.
"Ken, my love," his mother said breathlessly. "Ken, my love, you did it."
When he looked into her eyes he found them shining with pride. She cupped his face tenderly. She kissed his brow and his cheeks. He smiled at her.
"Let's keep this a secret," she said, her eyes suddenly twinkling with mischief. "We'll surprise your Otosan at the celebration. What do you say?"
He felt his smile broaden into a grin.
"Yes, Okasan."
Ken felt the impact with the ground at the same instant the power erupted from his body. A brilliant white light flashed behind his eyes and his ears rang with a loud report. Then he lay still. Seeing nothing but darkness, hearing only his own ragged breathing.
Slowly his breathing calmed and he became aware of his surroundings. He could feel the cold solid earth under him and the damp chill of the air cooling him through his nightshirt. Cautiously he wiggled his fingers and toes, then moved his arms and legs. He was alive and unhurt.
He sat up quickly and began feeling around for Tris. He had to find him and heal him as he had himself. He couldn't let his friend die. He couldn't be alone.
His hand landed on something warm. It was Tris's arm. Ken pounced on his friend. He reached deep inside himself for the power. There was more now, a lot more. Plenty to heal Tris too. He summoned it and pushed it at Tris. It wouldn't go. Ken tried again and failed again. The magic wouldn't go into Tris and heal him. It was too late.
"No!" Ken cried. "No, Tris, no! Tris! Tris!!"
He fell forward, resting his head against his friend's unmoving chest. Ken could feel the warmth slipping from Tris's body. How long had he lain there before getting up? Were those men still there? Had they heard him? What of his parents? He struggled to stop crying and be brave.
"Tris," he moaned. "Tris...I'm sorry. I have to try and climb out. I have to leave you."
Ken sat up and determinedly wiped at his face. Standing he felt his way over to the wall of the pit and ran his hands over it. It was constructed of loosely fitted stones. They were rough hewn and clumsily stacked. There were plenty of chinks and holes to fit his hands and feet into, but it would be a long climb.
Ken raised his foot and set it into a crack, but paused. He wasn't wearing anything but a nightshirt. It was going to be hard to climb in, and what would he do once he reached the top? He'd have to run for help.
Ken set his foot back down and felt his way back to Tris. He knelt beside his friend and gulped. Tris never left his room without getting dressed. He always said he'd feel funny wandering around half dressed like Ken did.
"Tris," he whispered starting to cry again. "Tris, I need to borrow your clothes. I'm sorry, but I can't climb out in my nightshirt."
Ken continued to cry softly as he undid his friend's clothes and began pulling them from his body. He flinched when Tris's limbs moved in unnatural ways, and stifled a sob at the sticky warmth on Tris's collar.
"I'll leave you mine, so you won't be cold," he choked, carefully covering his friend's body with his discarded night shirt. "I'm sorry, Tris."
Ken climbed to his feet once more. He moved to the wall and began climbing. He was not a tall child, but by carefully placing his hands and feet he made slow, steady progress. He had more determination than strength, but the thought of his parents coupled with the memory of those terrible cries kept him moving.
When he reached the top he felt as though he'd been climbing for hours. All of his muscles hurt, and he collapsed just over the edge from exhaustion. His mind jarred him awake moments later. Convinced it was an illusion and he had to keep climbing or fall, he clutched at the floor. For several long moments he did nothing but lay there digging in with his fingers and toes. At last his rational mind realized that he was clutching at cobblestones and not at the larger stones of the pit's walls.
Ken shuddered and took long deep breaths to calm himself. He crawled from the pit's edge through the dark of the cavern. He crawled until he found the wall, then he slid along it until he found the door.
Slowly and steadily, as he had in the pit, he crawled his way back up the way they'd come. Along the corridor, up the steep steps and down the tunnel to the wide stairs. There he paused. Huddled in the dark against the cold wall of the tunnel.
There were voices below, loud and angry. After a moment they grew louder and several men carrying lanterns passed by headed back up the steps. When they'd gone far enough that their voices had faded Ken crept from the tunnel and moved cautiously down the steps. He remembered hearing his father's voice from down there.
He descended the long, wide steps like a frightened rabbit, pausing every few minutes to listen. His eyes straining to see into the darkness before moving on. He could feel the beating of his heart thumping in his chest. He thought it was too loud. The men would surely hear it and come looking for him.
Ahead of him the steps descended into some sort of chamber before ending. There was a torch set into a sconce just outside the door above the steps. It cast a light which flickered and made the shadows move. Ken paused just outside its reach to look and listen.
No sound reached him and he saw no movement save the swaying of the shadows. Swallowing his fear he dashed forward down the steps. Past the torch and into the room where he hid behind a wagon wheel.
He sat still, watching the steps for signs of pursuit for several moments while he calmed his breathing once again. When no one appeared he glanced up at the object he was hiding behind. It wasn't a wagon wheel, at least it didn't look like one. It had straps fixed to it which were wet with sweat and blood. He could smell it. It was all around him.
Ken turned to look around at the room. Terrible instruments of torture, things he'd never imagined existed, were everywhere. He looked at them dumbly, unable to comprehend their meaning through the dizzying haze of exhaustion which was quickly over taking him.
He stumbled in a circle, looking at the room. Almost directly behind him he found his father. He was slumped in a chair, held in place by chains. Ken's focus returned and he moved to stand before his father.
He was breathing, though shallowly, and he appeared badly beaten. One eye was swollen shut. There was blood running down his chest from several wounds, one in his stomach looked deep.
Ken placed his small hands against his father's slumped shoulders and pushed. The man was heavy and Ken couldn't shake him easily but he tried. After several moments his father grunted and stirred. He slowly lifted his head and blinked his uninjured eye at his son.
"Ken?"
His father's voice was dry and brittle like old parchment. Not the rich booming voice he was used to, and it was full of disbelief.
"Tris is dead," Ken said, his own voice sounded small.
He wanted his father to get up and make everything all right again. He wanted Tris alive again. He wanted his mother.
"Ken, you-you're alive. How?" his father shook his head and his face softened. "I'm sorry about Tris. How did you get here?"
"They threw us in a pit, these men, and Tris died and I climbed out."
Ken felt his throat tighten and he started crying again. He was so very tired.
"Ken, listen to me, Musuko," his father said. "You have to run."
"And get help?" he sniffled.
"No, don't get help, just run. Run and hide."
"But what about Tris? And you? And Okasan?" he cried, his breath hitching.
"Its too late, son. Listen-"
"No! I want Okasan!" Ken gulped huge lungfulls of air as he felt himself losing control.
"Ken!" the loud, stern command stopped him cold.
He stood staring at his father.
"Tristan and your mother are gone," his father said gently. "They have gone from here to a place where they will always be safe and happy, and soon...soon I shall join them."
"Noooo," Ken whined, dissolving into tears again. "I don't want you to go."
"I know."
"I can heal you. I have magic now," he sobbed holding forth his small hands.
His father looked at him searchingly for a moment. His good eye widening.
"You do," he said in wonder. "But not enough. I'm bound, Ken. Do you hear me? I'm bound to this chair. Even if you did heal me I couldn't get free. And the people who did this are strong. They're dangerous. Do you hear?"
Although still crying Ken looked at the chair. Chains held his father's body securely in the seat. Heavy manacles bound his wrists and ankles. There were wicked looking spikes inside them which pierced his father's skin.
"You see?" his father asked sadly. "Listen, Ken, you have to run. Run as far from here as you can go. You have to hide. You have to be safe. You must never, never tell anyone who you are or where you're from. Your name will mean your death. Do you understand?"
Ken nodded. He felt numb with despair. He threw himself against his father's chest wanting nothing more than to be cradled and comforted in his strong arms.
"Listen to me, Ken," his father said softly. "As long as you live part of us will live too. As long as you carry our memory we'll be with you. We'll always love you, my bright boy. Do you hear me? Always."
Ken nodded against his father's shirt, his tears wetting the already blood soaked material.
"You remember our picnic? How Okasan laughed at us? You and Tris caught that flutter bug?" his father's voice sounded soothing as it conjured the image for him.
He nodded again.
"Hold onto that, Ken. Remember us like that. Now run. Run, and don't look back," his father commanded.
"But the men...," he started to object, clutching his father's shirt.
"They've gone to get bricks to wall up this chamber. Now is your only chance. Run!"
His father's shout startled him. He jerked back and spun around. Before he realized it he was running as fast as he could back up the steps. Past the torch and the tunnel to the pit. Past other tunnels. When he heard voices above him he ducked into one of them and kept running through the dark. Up and up until he fell against an old wooden door. He threw it open and fell out into a pile of straw. The door shut behind him.
For a moment he panicked. He wanted to go back and be with his father even if it meant his death. He wanted to stay with him. But his father had commanded him to run. His mother always told him to listen and obey his father. He pictured them in the field on that picnic. He wanted to be happy with them, but he had to run.
Pulling himself from the straw he found himself in the stables. The light was gray and he realized it must be just after dawn. He snuck to the door and peeked out. Everything was quiet. No one in the yard. He scanned the sky above the House where he knew the magical gate to be. It wasn't visible and the sky was empty. Nothing out of place. But Ken didn't trust it.
He crept from the stables and fled the yard. He slipped out the gates and within minutes was in the woods headed away from the House, his home, as fast as his tired body could take him.
Ken made it as far as the tiny woodland stream before collapsing. He slept, curled up in a small grotto, all through the day and into the evening. When he woke he was hungry and confused. It didn't take long for memories of the previous night's events to awaken however, and he was filled with dread and sorrow. Tris wasn't with him. Would never be with him again. His parents were dead. He was alone.
Ken curled back up and silently cried himself back to sleep. He dreamed that his parents and Tris were on a picnic behind a wall of glass. He could see them but he couldn't reach them. No matter how loud he cried or banged on the glass they didn't appear to notice him. He woke suddenly with a growling stomach and a pounding head ache. It was light again.
He drank from the stream and followed it to a berry patch. Luck was with him and the patch was full of ripe juicy berries. He ate until he was full then moved on.
Not long after he heard a horseman pass on the nearby road while he was relieving himself. He hid quickly in the bushes and stayed there for long minutes after the horseman had gone, then fled in panic heedless of his direction.
On the evening of the second night he came stumbling out of the woods into a clearing. Not far off was a farmhouse with lit windows. Behind it were several barns, and just over the hillside behind those the woods opened up to plowed fields. In the yard outside the house were several children of varying ages playing some sort of game. They stopped when they caught sight of him and one of the eldest ran into the house. Seconds later she reemerged followed by a man and a woman who moved rapidly to intercept him.
Ken wanted to run, but he was too physically tired and emotionally drained. He couldn't make his feet move, and so just stood there silently watching their approach. They stopped a few feet from him and exchanged a glance before continuing. Absently, Ken noted their care worn faces and hands. Their clothing was threadbare.
"Hey, boy," the man said genially.
When Ken didn't answer the farmers looked at each other again briefly before crouching down before him. He swayed on his feet and the woman reached out to steady him.
"You from the Big House, boy?" the man asked.
Ken considered the question before shaking his head in denial. When he did so he lost his balance completely. The woman caught and held him. She was harder than his mother and she smelled different, but he didn't care. He wrapped his arms around her neck and buried his face in her hair. He heard her say something to the man, but he didn't hear what. The man rumbled an answer. The next thing he was aware of was being lifted and carried, but he was too tired to care about where or why.
The woman carried Ken into the farmhouse where she sat down at a long table and settled him on her lap. The man sat down at the other end of the table, and the children from the yard came in and took their places. Two older children were at a large fireplace along the interior wall. As everyone sat they placed pots of stew, vegetables, and trays of rolls on the table before they too sat. After a brief word of thanks the food was distributed and everyone began eating.
Ken sat on the woman's lap staring blankly at the fire. He was numb inside and out. Unaware and uncaring about the stares he was receiving from the other children.
The woman collected some stew in a spoon, blew on it to cool it, and held the spoon to Ken's lips. Automatically he opened his mouth and swallowed the stew. After he'd had several spoonfuls of stew the woman broke a corner off a roll and fed that to him. As his belly began to fill his eyes began to droop.
"Mummy, why are you feeding that boy?" asked a little girl with pink cheeks and a high voice.
"Margaret," the man called from the other end of the table, "see to your own dinner, hear?"
"Yes, Da," she answered tucking her spoon into her mouth.
By the end of the meal Ken was sound asleep. Still seated on the woman's lap, his head resting against her shoulder. The children quietly cleared the table of dishes. Three of them carried the dishes to the sink at one end of the room where they preceded to wash them. The other children returned to the table with books, writing tablets, and bowls of clay beads for counting. The man rose and came to sit beside his wife. He studied the sleeping child. Gently he lifted one of Ken's small hands and studied the cut and blistered palm and fingers. He sighed.
"Tell me what you think," he said quietly.
"He's from the Big House," she answered softly. "His clothes are fine or were. His hands never saw a day's work. There were no callouses to protect them from whatever caused that damage."
"Do you thing he knows something about the attack on Lord Hidaka and his family?" the man asked.
"Something drove him into the woods. He was in shock and half starved," she tenderly stroked the boy's hair as she spoke. "We can't just turn him back over to them."
"It may not be safe for us to keep him," the man said sighing again. "Its unheard of. Assassins gaining entrance to a Great House. Dragging the family from their beds and into oblivion before anyone's the wiser. With not a trace left but some bloody clothing found near the cliffs. There's some dark magic at work here."
Ken stirred in his sleep, whimpering deep in his throat. The woman shushed him and smoothed his furrowed brow.
"If that's true then its even more important for us to act," she whispered.
"How? What can we do?"
"Burn his clothes. Give him a place here. He can work in the barns. You're always complaining about lack of hands."
"He's too small for that," the man said shaking his head.
"He's small, but strong. He survived at least two days in the woods. He'll learn. He serves us and in exchange we give him food, shelter and safety."
The man studied the boy in his wife's arms. The idea made him uneasy, but he could see the sense in it. His conscience didn't sit well with the thought of bringing the child to the Big House.
"Very well," he said. "We'll burn his clothes, wash and dress him. Once he's recovered from his time in the woods and his hands are healed I'll begin to teach him to work in the barns. We'll have to create a story for him and teach it to the children." The man gently rested a hand on Ken's head. "Life won't be easy, little one, but at least you'll be safe."
AN: Well, that's the start. Leave a review and let me know what you think. Please? Pretty please? Thanks for reading!
