Chapter 16
A/N: I don't own Shadow Hearts, Shadow Hearts II or Koudelka.
A little more Yuri angst as we prepare for the next stage in the story: some humor, some Koudelka being very wise, and Old Roger being – well, Roger. What can I say - he's unique! And no, it isn't over yet folks; Yuri's gotta fix his messes yet! This one is long, and I apologize in advance. And yes, there are some Shadow Hearts II moments in here.
January 1900. A winter wind was whipping around the ruins of the Nemeton monastery and a spattering of rain washed over the grasslands, filling up postholes and ditches with cold water. On the first, there had been snow and the spots that still clung to the grass quickly melted into mud. Dark black clouds ran low in the sky, their bellies heavy with rain and neither man nor beast was abroad in the grasslands. At Nemeton however, it was different. The ruins of the once proud monastery were black with rain and the pit that once had been the church and chapel was a quagmire of mud, its thick black ooze a trap for more than a few monsters who had strayed into it. Outside the ancient wall lay the old cemetery, its stones cracked, broken, fallen down, and abandoned except for the tall stone of Saint Daniel Scotius. This lone monument now wore a scratched message: James O'Flaherty, Rest in Peace with Your Loved Ones, each word painfully carved by Yuri at Koudelka's instructions. Inside the cross-shaped marker, they had laid a book that James had carried around with him. James would not need it where he had gone. Now, in mid January, the marker looked more forlorn than usual, its pitted stone dark with wet. Yuri sat leaning against it facing out to sea, for just beyond the small plot was the cliff face and down it was a sheer drop. The sea crashed and pounded the coast of Wales every day, but today that storm tossed expanse was throwing up waves that shook the rocks beneath him and Yuri found it fitting. For today, he had to leave. Today he had a journey to complete and he did not want to go.
Behind him, down at the turn of the road, was Roger's house and laboratory. A little over a year in the making, with Roger keeping him busy night and day gathering the items needed to build his fantastic machine. How he expected to send Yuri back in time Yuri could not fathom; furthermore, Yuri hoped it was a lie, a penny dreadful like the ones he had seen as a kid. But this was no tale told around the fire, and Yuri passed his hand over his rain-moistened face, rubbing the fatigue from sleep-deprived eyes. Sleep. That was something he lacked in abundance these days, with Roger's tinkering and Koudelka and the twins…
The twins: the two bright spots in his hazy days. Two little bundles that… was it only six months ago they were born? Six months ago that the first little dark-haired head had popped out of the womb and screamed bloody hell? His memories of that event, that day, were as hazy as usual. Why he couldn't seem to remember it… well, it could have been that stash of whiskey found in the rubble beneath Patrick's ruinous mansion. Roger and he had made quite an in-road through Patrick's collection of liquors and spirits, Yuri finding that it did him little harm – except for that one time he was so drunk he had climbed up on the monastery walls and was walking along the spikes, singing some bawdy tune he'd learned in China. He had nearly impaled himself when he suddenly lost his drunken balance and fell, but managed to turn his fall into a limp somersault and landed on his back on the grass below – the rush of blood in his ears was only supplanted by the screaming deprecations of Koudelka, who finally gave up and yelled curses at him mentally. The resulting pain as she discovered a new talent, telepathy, had Yuri rolled into a fetal curl, his knees clutched to his chest. That was the last of the whiskey, Koudelka hiding the remains, and Yuri missed it.
The fighter rubbed his chin, fingers pausing over the day-old stubble peppering his face and sighed. It had been so long now, since he'd had a coherent thought; he knew his days were wrapped in hazy confusion, he knew it because of Koudelka's reactions … and Roger's. He felt that the world was still spinning on its belly, long since tilted out of whack by god-knew-what and him caught in its perpetual turning and lost in the swirls around him. Much as he missed having a drink now and again, he often felt he was still drunk, the world through his eyes just a little blurry, just a little dizzy and just a bit confused. And he often saw that same confusion mirrored in Koudelka's eyes.
Koudelka - his lover, the mother of his children. 'Man, that thought just boggles the mind,' he thought and then smiled ruefully at the idea, his own thoughts a jumble of disjointed memories. The last time he sat here, a little over a year ago, he saw visions of dead people walking around: Edward, James… and that girl with the silver hair … Charlotte. He wondered what it was about that girl that fascinated him so; was it her innocent life so cruelly snuffed out by the guards? Or his own stupidity in not giving Koudelka those damned letters? Or something else, something about her appearance? He mused silently and watched the dark clouds as they scudded across the lowered sky.
She did remind him of someone, he concluded, shaking his head. The wind whipped past him and howled like a banshee through the nearby ruins and Yuri shuddered at the sound… a death coming… that's what Roger had said the night his twins were born; that sent Yuri into screaming hysterics about Roger and his know-it-all bullshit and once Koudelka started yelling with the labor, he'd fled the house. Fled to the grasslands, his shouts and curses a challenge to the howling wind; and when the storm clouds gathered, bringing rain and lightening, he stood on the cliff overlooking the coast and waved his fists in defiance. When it was all over, he'd dragged himself back to Roger's home, drenched and hoarse with shouting, barely coherent, barely sane. Roger had given him mulled wine and wrapped him up by the fire, clucking like a hen over his stupidity and Koudelka – she watched him with glowing eyes from her bed, two small bundles lying on her belly.
He huddled in the blanket, knees pulled up to his chin, eyes a miasma of red and black and a look of total confusion on his face. Koudelka sighed from across the room.
"Would you like to see your children, Yuri?"
Yuri nodded and climbed to his feet, crossing the small bedroom in three strides, to kneel at her bedside. Two small bundles wrapped in blanket scraps, their red faces no longer puckered in distress but relaxing in sleep, were nestled next to Koudelka and she pointed to one, nodding at Yuri.
"Your daughter, Yuri." She took up the little bundle and handed the small living package to Yuri whose eyes suddenly grew as large as saucers. Koudelka showed him how to hold her, cradling her head, and then let him explore the little girl in his arms. He pulled back the flap of blanket covering her face and stared in awe at the little face; long lashes shadowed round cheeks and there was a swirl of brownish red hair on her head. One hand pulled free of the blanket, the small delicate fingers grasping at the cold air and Yuri put his finger in her palm and smiled as that same little hand closed around it, holding the huge finger in her tiny palm. Yuri could feel tears forming in his eyes, splashing down his cheeks like rain and there was an unfamiliar tightness in his chest. He looked up at Koudelka.
"Wh-what's her name?" he asked.
"Why don't you name her?"
Yuri's look of shocked delight spoke volumes to Koudelka. Here was this young man, capable of absolute destruction, with a heavy burden on his heart and soul, and the very idea of naming a baby, his baby, filled him with joy.
"Uh, um, I – I have no idea what to call her," he stammered. "You, why don't you name her?"
"You sure?"
"Yeah," he said and handed back the little girl, settling her comfortably next to Koudelka. "Who's this?" he asked and pulled back the blanket corner of the second baby. Almost instantly, a little fist came out, waving about and hitting Yuri's fingers. Heheh, she's a feisty one," he laughed softly.
"She's a he, Yuri - your son."
Yuri again wore that shocked expression on his face, the one that spoke so many words to Koudelka's mind as he picked up the bundled boy, flipping the blanket away from his face and looking down at…
"Halley," he said. "His name's Halley."
Koudelka blinked in confusion, and then nodded. 'It's not like I had a name picked out…wonder where that came from?' she thought.
"All right. And for the girl, how about Katherine?"
Yuri glanced down at the little bundle and nodded. "Yeah, Kath—Katie. Yeah, I like it. Halley and Katie." Halley squirmed in his arms and he looked down to see little eyes open and staring at him, remarkably focused and a strange mixture of green and gold. Yuri shuddered suddenly, blinking away the vision of a fourteen year old boy with a floppy hat and shaggy hair aiming a slingshot at him. "He looks a lot like you," Yuri remarked.
Yeah, he had too - little odd colored eyes, and shaggy hair. In the last six months the babies had grown, and kept Yuri up all hours of the day and night… and now, as the new year progressed, he could see the differences in them. Halley took after Koudelka with his oddly reflective eyes, eyes that seemed to follow you across the room without moving, and with his occasional flares of baby temper. But the one with the horrible temper was little Katie. Yuri scowled at the sky, remembering when she had her last screaming fit: bad enough when Halley moved things across the table or floor, but Katie … Katie puzzled him. In a fit of temper, the little baby had pulled at him – he felt the tug of his power, his fusions, and it was as if she were reaching out… Yuri found it disturbing, but then shrugged, realizing that's probably what he had done with his own father: the mark of a harmonixer baby.
Shuddering with the cold, Yuri climbed to his feet, shaking out the mud from his coat, the old-new coat Koudelka had brought back on her last visit to Aberystwyth; it was a trench coat, dingy brown with stains on it already, but it was his, to take the place of the beloved coat he'd worn for so long… the same dirty brown coat he'd worn when he traveled to Shanghai, when he'd saved that old adept at nothing adept in Kuihai tower, the same one that pretty blonde girl had snuggled against night after night while they traveled… the same one he'd worn the night he buried her… Suddenly Yuri stopped in his tracks, his feet about to enter the Nemeton monastery grounds.
"Now where the hell did that come from?" he muttered. He shook himself, then rubbed his face with his hands, blowing out air between his fingers. "Shit, I am so fucking tired," he commented then looked up at the dark monastery. The grounds were shadows within shadows, and he hesitated before crossing the threshold into the inner court. He didn't have any weapons with him, and as tired as he was, he didn't feel like a fight either. Glancing around, he turned sharp inside the wall and climbed into the caretaker's wing of the building; the doors and walls had collapsed into rubble with Seraphic Radiance's attempt to slay the Apostle of Darkness ... 'that damned upside-down bird thingie' as Yuri called it… the explosion of power had punched a hole through the church, the chapel, the inner grounds and destroyed many of the outlying buildings, including Patrick's mansion and the library. There hadn't been much left of the caretaker's quarters, but they had made it a home, for all of six months.
Since Patrick's mansion and, for the most part, any livable rooms had been demolished by Seraphic Radiance, the three found themselves suffering through most of the winter in the old caretaker's quarters. Yuri's first job was laying the foundations for Roger Bacon's house, with many a muttered "Man I'm sick an' tired of buildin' this damn house!" but otherwise handling it swiftly. Koudelka took the caretaker's rooms into hand, throwing out the awful paintings of sinking ships and drowning victims, preferring blank walls, and checking the stored foods in the kitchen to remove unwanted poisonous plants left by the caretakers. With cots set up, one in the main room for Roger and one in the back storage room for she and Yuri, the little rooms began to take on a more cheery note. Roger had salvaged as much as he could from Patrick's library, sighing sadly at the lost volumes that went up with the manse, and so spent his time designing both his new house, and the wonderful machine that Yuri had mentioned: his time machine. Yet, oddly enough, he was silent on the matter of the Émigré manuscript – whether he had found it or not, neither Koudelka nor Yuri could pry out of him.
Yuri laid the foundation in stones, quarrying the blocks from the monastery itself, refusing to adz stones if he didn't have to and Roger, once his plans were drawn up, stood by supervising. He directed Yuri where he wanted the stairs, the library, and the living quarters – although those were sparse and narrow – and Yuri protested every step of the way.
"Look, you let me build this damn place and you concentrate on building that machine," he growled more than once, but that simply got Roger talking about the machine - the wonderful, intricate, delicate and decidedly nearly impossible-but-I-can-do-it-since-I'm-a-prodigy time machine.
By the coming of the March winds, Roger's house had progressed to the foundation and one large room and a storage room, and Yuri was ready to kick the old monk in his scrawny behind. One blustery afternoon he and Roger came nose to nose, Yuri towering over the diminutive older man and threatening to put his fist through Roger's face before the younger man snorted and stormed away, leaving a trail of scuff marks where he kicked the ground. Koudelka, feeding chickens in the makeshift coop set along the inside wall of the caretaker's quarters saw the harmonixer's passing, and the mental storm cloud over his head, and wondered what had set him off this time. As the weeks turned into months, Yuri and Roger had exchanged heated arguments, ranging from the layout of Roger's house to the color of the stonework being laid. Yuri thought it was Roger being a pain in the ass while Roger could not convince Yuri that he was right no matter what. To Koudelka it seemed silly.
And looking back at it now, Yuri thought it was pretty silly too. He'd gotten his ears bent back more than once by Koudelka's sharp tongue, and he began to realize that she could filet him with very little effort, so he backed off, letting Roger have his way. It turned out to be easier in the end. Kicking in the wooden door he had propped closed, Yuri entered the old kitchen; gone were the cooking pot and irons, taken down to Roger's home, and gone the majority of supplies. A few barrels were stacked in the corner, but those could stay until needed. Dust had crept in with the wind and rodents, covering the stone flags with white powder that also showed small prints in their hundreds: insects and other things scuttling across the dusty floor. With a smirk, Yuri stomped across the floor, sending a few cockroaches scurrying for the dark corners.
"Heh-heh, serves ya right," he laughed softly and then jumped down the stairs to the hall door. This too was missing, taken in a salvage operation that stripped a good deal of the usable items from the quarters, including beds, cupboards, furnishings, and cooking utensils. The hall outside the kitchen was dark, more shadows within shadows and he paused only a moment before taking the few paces that left him at the caretaker's doorway. Inside were stacks of crates filled with books and manuscripts. Other crates with equipment were stacked along one wall. Roger's house would eventually be large enough to accommodate the clutter, but not yet, no, not for a long while yet. And Yuri, for all his comfort being with Koudelka, had no intention of finishing the house to Roger's specifications. He'd be a hundred years old by then.
Yuri stood in the room where once a crackling fire had burned, and where, a year and a half ago, he and Koudelka had shared a meal of soup and bread and where he'd been poisoned because he'd eaten and she hadn't. There was a curl to his lips when he thought of that night, with the exotic gypsy woman teasing him into cooperation by refusing to heal him... well it didn't take much coercion on his part as he wanted to help her, but that night he knew he liked her. Well, more than like, he remembered. He had been fascinated by her for some reason, and no matter what happened that night, he knew he would like her, cherish her, protect her, as he had not done for ... Blinking he found himself staring into the dark fireplace, the dogs and irons long removed.
"What the hell is with you, Yuri," he asked himself aloud when he realized he'd been standing there for some minutes. Something nagged at him, something important and he couldn't remember what it was. The crazy quilt pattern that had become his world was ragged along its edges and he felt, in spite of his desire to settle down with Koudelka, that there was something left undone.
"But didn't I do everything? Didn't I save her? And save the world and make everything right?"
Yuri took a seat on a stack of boxes, running a hand through his hair, mentally noting how long it had gotten and to have Koudelka cut it first chance they got. Long hair and monsters don't mix he thought, and then put his elbows to his knees, resting his face in his hands. This whole day had been one crisis after another with first Halley breaking into a fever, then Katie, and between their screams of distress and mews of pain, Koudelka was exhausted. And Yuri himself had his hands full as well, restraining the damage a feverish Halley had inflicted on their rooms; his talent for sending small objects flying was getting annoying, even if he was only six months old. And Katie – well Katie worried him. She was definitely his daughter, and maybe more. He had felt her tugging at him more than once. He had paced their small rooms most of the day, holding the little girl in his arms, murmuring nothings at her in Russian and Japanese and humming a lullaby he remembered from his own childhood. The fretful little tyke had burbled in her fever and then opened surprisingly bright eyes and wailed; the sound followed instantly by a piercing pain in Yuri's head and chest as one of his fusions, a lesser darkness one, had shifted, and almost, almost left him! Katie would bear watching in the future, he thought.
With a sigh and a yawn, Yuri sat up, stretching his arms and back until he felt the joints pop, rotating his neck and shoulders to loosen them. He had worked hard, continued to work every day, but he hadn't had a good fight since –
"Shoot, not since Seraphic took out that damned bird thingie," he muttered. "I need a good fight. Too bad I don't have any weapons... or do I?"
He rose from the stacked boxes and wandered toward the back room. A little off the main quarters, this room had been filled with paintings before Koudelka cleaned it up. They had used it for storage after moving into Roger's house and he seemed to remember seeing a pair of knuckles left in there the day they moved. He pushed open the door and stepped inside. More crates and barrels greeted him, and Yuri wondered if Roger would be as big a pack rat as Patrick Heyworth. During their many sojourns through the ruined monastery, Roger had picked up items of interest, and Yuri had contributed his fair share. Looking at the pile of miscellaneous stuff, he thought perhaps he had contributed more than his share: one crate was full of brooches, pins, bits of jewelry, whatever Yuri had scrounged in his wandering. Not that any of it was valuable, he thought, fingering the odd bits and pieces. Mostly just junk, he thought with a sigh. Then something caught his eye and he moved through the dark stacks of crates to the far side of the room; a long shadow was leaning against the far wall and Yuri reached down and picked it up.
The heavy weight of it jogged his memory: the holy blade Sacnoth. He'd held this once before, sometime. And more recently, it was held by Koudelka. He ran his fingers along the beaten edge, careful of its razor sharpness, and touched the cold metal. The blade retained its cold, never warming as Yuri handled it. He hefted it, raising the blade high, then let it over-balance and swing down, crashing into a wooden crate.
"Ah damn," he cursed then grinned as the tinkle of broken glass, and the smell of liquor, revealed to him Koudelka's hiding place. "Ah Koudelka-girl, so this is where ya hid the whiskey," Yuri exclaimed and set Sacnoth aside and pulled an unbroken bottle from the box. He pulled the wax from the neck and putting the bottle to his lips, let the liquid flow into him, its warming tang turning into a blaze in his belly.
"Ahhh, now that's good shit," he said and wiped his mouth. He settled down on a nearby box and took another swig.
The stones were cold beneath him and their jutting points poked into his back. Cold, uncomfortable, and hungry, Yuri groaned, flinging one arm up over his eyes. A throbbing ache was in his head and his mouth was a god-awful mixture of dry cotton and burnt wood. Something about drinking too much whiskey came to his mind briefly before flying away on the wings of the pounding headache. With a moan he rolled over, feeling his stomach roil with threatened dry heaves.
"God damn," he muttered and opened bloodshot eyes to peer around. Blinking back blurry confusion, he focused on the stones in front of him, then looked up to see a tall wrought iron gate, black and imposing, rising into a grey and dismal sky.
"Where the fuck am I?"
A haunted sound echoed behind him and Yuri scrambled around to face his own nightmares. He was in the graveyard, his Graveyard; that horrible place he hadn't seen since… since… he rubbed his face with his hands and sighed.
"Damn it," he growled and climbed wobbling to his feet. He looked around the grey expanse and sighed. The grave markers were still on their hillocks: to the left both Light and Wind, and to the right Fire, Earth, and Water. The markers looked odd, cracked and aged somehow since last he was here. With a shrug, he stepped down onto the path leading to the other hill and the Dark grave marker. He had stopped at the verge of the hill and was wiping away the cobwebs on the marker when he heard the sound again, like voices. He looked at the far gates, one closed and dark, the other leading into a mausoleum with the four hated masks hanging like demented sentries.
"Those guys," he muttered. "I wonder if it's them that brought me here."
He turned toward the mausoleum, pausing at the bottom step, looking up at the four terrors of his youth: the four masks of his nightmares. One was female, yellow blonde hair tied back in a pony tail with a blue ribbon; another was an old Chinese man, a glass monocle in one eye; the third was a yellow haired man, clean faced but rather vacuous and the fourth... he stood frozen, staring at the fourth mask: delicate female features, eyes icy blue like the fjords and with long silver-blonde hair hanging in loose plaits tied with a blue bow. Yuri stared so hard his face hurt and the masks never moved, never spoke, merely floated like pale ghosts, their features calm in the grey light of the graveyard.
"What the fuck is this?"
A sudden creaking sound alerted him and he spun around; the gate to his right opened up on its own, the green grass beyond beckoning him. He shrugged and, leaving the masks, climbed the steps to the gate and entered.
Ahead lay the grasslands of his youth, the tall and gnarled oak with its galls and limbs just right for climbing. The backdrop of an orange sunset brought a smile to his lips and he relaxed, suddenly remembering those late summer evenings on the hillside with his dad... his dad... his – good-for-nothing father who ran away. No, wait, he didn't run ... Yuri shook his head, confusion warring with the pounding in his brain. He remembered; he knew he remembered – his dad hadn't run away, he'd gone to Shanghai. He simply hadn't come back. He'd been killed by that mongrel dog, Dehuai.
Yuri looked up at the gnarled branches of the oak tree and took a few steps before jumping, catching the lowest branch and pulling himself up, throwing one leg over the limb and straddling the branch. He leaned back against the tree, swinging his legs on either side and watched the sunset. 'Dad an' me, we always watched the sunsets together', he thought. 'He'd lift me up into this ol' tree and he'd sit below, and tell me stuff. Like what it means to be a man ...' Yuri chuckled softly. 'Like I don't know what that means,' he thought. Of course back then he didn't; that's why when dad didn't come back – Old memories, long buried and forgotten, the hurt forgiven, surfaced in his mind like the warm summer breezes that still blew in his mind. His dad was always strong, always brave; but there had been those few times he'd overheard them, talking in the main room after he'd gone to bed... talking about Japan and China and Shanghai. He'd never connected the pieces – until later, when that strange girl had saved him. The one from the train had rescued him from...
Yuri sat up suddenly and fell off the tree branch landing with a hard thud on the grass of his memories. The image of the silver haired blonde ... the same face that looked back at him from those damned masks... and the little girl in the monastery.
"What the hell is going on here?" he yelled.
Roger Bacon stopped inside the caretaker's quarters and looked around. Behind him, Koudelka was continuing down the dark hallway heading for the stairs. She was armed with Life-Drinker, the blade from the chapel, and a small torch was in her left hand, giving off a ghostly light. She was about to climb the stairs when Roger called her back.
"I'm not sure, but I think he's in here," the old monk said. "I hear sounds coming from the back."
Together they passed through the darkened quarters, Koudelka's torch flashing briefly on boxes and barrels. They were turning toward the back room when they both paused, hearing Yuri's voice shouting, and Koudelka ran ahead, sword at the ready. She was unprepared for what she saw when she flung open the storeroom door. The walls lined with boxes and barrels was the same, but in the corner, Yuri had found the liquor and was laying across some nearby boxes, totally passed out, a bottle of whiskey still in his lax hand. Instant anger suffused the gypsy woman's face, turning her complexion dark. She felt the deep-rooted anger at Yuri burning up inside her, fueling her power and Life-Drinker began to glow in her hands.
"You son of a bitch," she growled. "You lousy bastard," her voice was a deep growl from within her. Yuri stirred slightly on the boxes, the bottle sliding from his fingers and crashing to the floor, spilling whiskey onto the dirt.
Roger came up behind her with the crashing of the bottle and seemed worried, his thready voice weaving through Koudelka's growl as he pushed past her to check on Yuri.
"Is he all right? Is he hurt? Oh, oh my, he found the whiskey; bad boy, bad boy and you didn't share it," Roger was nattering, one part of his mind on waking the drunken young man and another part watching Koudelka seethe across the room. There was tension in the air and he could tell she was close to losing it. They had awoken early that morning with Yuri not in the house; Roger had looked everywhere around and they decided he had to be in the Monastery, and possibly in trouble. Koudelka had placed the twins in their crib, wrapped carefully in blankets, and then the two of them had run to Nemeton. But to find him here, drunk; Roger knew that Koudelka's temper was riding very close to the edge. He pulled on Yuri's arm, shaking him sharply.
"Come on child, time to get up," he said.
"Leave him, Roger," Koudelka said softly, and Roger felt a prickling on neck.
"Now, Koudelka, child, don't do anything..."
"I said, move," Koudelka replied and Roger looked up in time to jump out of the way. Bright white energy had formed in Koudelka's free hand, energy so brilliant it burned Roger's old eyes like fire, but he knew it wasn't fire, especially as the air in the small room grew suddenly and intensely cold.
"Koudelka, child –"
Koudelka did not respond. She raised her hand level and let the power go as a blast of icy energy arced across the small room, covering Yuri's barely moving form and exploding like sheet ice over him. The drunken young man's scream brought a smile to her lips.
"I left your children alone, defenseless, to find you, Yuri. You'd better be on your knees when you get back," Koudelka's voice was a whispered threat and she turned, Life-Drinker clanging against the doorjamb, and left the monastery.
Roger helped Yuri move, climbing slowly to his feet; icy rime cracking and scattering like shattered glass as he broke the spell. Yuri's teeth were chattering and Roger, although sympathetic, could offer no consolation. Yuri, his mind spinning, made no comment. He looked around and then staggered to the door before emptying his stomach's contents onto the dirty carpet in the hallway.
"You could have shared, Yuri," the old monk said, his waspish voice reaching Yuri through his noisy heaves. The old man had seen much in his extended lifetime, and family squabbles could be nasty; he waited for Yuri to finish before giving him a shove toward the exit doors. "Come on, I'll walk back with you."
Yuri shook his head, waving a hand at Roger. "I'm – I'm all right; just drank too much." He thought about his rude awakening and looked down at the diminutive monk shuffling beside him down the hall. "Is Koudelka really pissed?"
"Well, you might want to find some sort of compensation before you return or, as she suggested, approach on your knees."
Yuri reached down and tapped the bald head of the little monk. "You think that would help?"
Roger shrugged inelegantly, one side of his robe falling over a boney shoulder. "Couldn't hurt."
They made their way back through the kitchen and eventually out the broken wall of the monastery. Making their way slowly down the road Yuri sighed.
"I don't know what's happenin' Rog. I – I had a dream or somethin' back there. I was seein' things that never happened. Or maybe they did." Yuri put his hands in his back pants pockets and walked slowly, letting Roger catch up as the road dipped down sharply.
"Things that didn't happen, eh? Well, maybe they did and maybe they didn't, Yuri. Koudelka says you're the focus of a lot of temporal disturbance."
"Yeah."
"Do you honestly believe that my marvelous machine can help you set things right?"
"Yeah."
"And Koudelka?"
"Yeah... ah, hell, I dunno Rog," Yuri looked back at the little monk, a lopsided grin on his face. "You ask too damn many questions."
Koudelka waited inside Roger's house, her back to the door. She had the little wheeled pram that Yuri had gotten in Aberystwyth and she was rocking the babies quietly back and forth in the main room. There was a warm glow from the cook stove and the smells of ham and eggs cooking, and Yuri felt his stomach growling, hungry. But the look on Koudelka's face when he entered told him supper might be a long time coming for him. He considered for a moment doing as she had suggested, crawling in on hands and knees, but then thought better of it. He was a man! Men did not crawl! Purposefully, he entered the room and crossed to the pram, flipping back the blankets to peer down at the sleeping babies.
Katie was sound asleep, one finger thrust between pouting lips, sucking softly. Soft peach fuzz hair curled on her head, shades of brown and red mixed with a touch of blonde. She looked positively angelic. Next to her was Halley, and he was not asleep. He opened bright eyes to stare at his father, almost as if he knew that his dad was in trouble with mom. He gurgled slightly, burped a milky belch then closed his eyes to sleep. Yuri watched them in their slumber for a long minute before closing the blanket once more and turning to Koudelka.
"Look, I know yer mad at me, an' you've got every right. I didn't go lookin' for trouble, nor did I go lookin' to get drunk. I found it by accident. I was only walkin' around; I couldn't sleep. I was actually lookin' for a weapon, something to go hunting with… but when I broke the box and found the whiskey, well…" He watched Koudelka in silence for a moment, wondering if she was ever going to speak. Her eyes were narrowed at him, a shadow lying across her brow from the fireplace and he couldn't tell if she was frowning. He hoped she wasn't. "I - I'm sorry, all right?" he said at last and waited, one hand resting on his hip, the other gesturing helplessly at the nothing in general.
Koudelka remained silent, never taking her eyes off the young fighter and wondering if she should accept his apology or not. It irked her that he would pull such a stunt… he was older than she, yet he acted more like a younger brother. He stood before her now with a look of boyish defiance, yet that same young face... how did he look so young! She sighed and nodded.
"All right, I forgive you. I should know by now that trouble finds you. But if you ever do that again..." she threatened.
Yuri grinned and the smile brightened his face. In one stride, he was beside her, taking her into his arms and kissing her, his lips scouring her face.
"You need a shave Yuri," Koudelka muttered as his cheeks rasped hers.
"Heheh," he laughed. "I need a new razor. An' I could use some dinner. Any chance of that?"
"Well, it's breakfast, and I suppose I should feed you or you'll whither away and die on me," the gypsy said with a half suppressed smile and crossed to the stove.
When the three adults had finished their breakfast, Roger waved them off to use the table for his notes, and Koudelka and Yuri took the pram to the bedroom. Yuri stood over the stroller, watching in silent awe as the two little bundles of life breathed slowly in sleep. Koudelka fussed about the room, making the bed before grabbing a bundle of clothes for mending; Yuri was nothing if not hard on clothing. As she sat stitching, Yuri paced around the room.
"Don't you have something you could be doing?" Koudelka finally asked when Yuri had completed his fifth circuit of the small room.
"Yeah, yeah," he said, stopping by the bed and rubbing the back of his neck. "Did I ever tell you about my dad?" he asked suddenly.
Pausing mid-stitch, Koudelka looked up. Yuri's expression was dark and his eyes looked worried, as if he were gnawing on an old bone.
"No, you didn't mention him. Why?"
Yuri kneeled at her side and looked up at her golden eyes before continuing. "I had a dream when I was drunk in there. It reminded me of things... things I never said or did. I wanna tell you so I don't think I'm going crazy or something."
"I think it's too late for that," she said softly, smiling.
Yuri didn't respond. "Ya see, my dad – he died in China, almost to the week that my mom was killed. He was murdered by Dehuai, in Shanghai. I met that same guy later on; met him and killed him. There was me, and an old adept, an' ... and a girl." Yuri stopped and chewed his lower lip.
"Go on."
"Charlotte reminds me of that girl, only I don't know who that girl is. I just keep seein' her, and hearing her voice. And I saw her last night, in my dream. A face – a mask really, an' she shouldn'ta been there."
Koudelka waited as Yuri paused again, her sewing forgotten in her lap.
"I think you'd better start at the beginning... if you can," she said.
"Yeah, me too."
The meager winter sun had set and brought with it the crash of lightening. Winds picked up once more and rain lashed the Welsh coast, but those living in Roger's house were snug and warm, a fire crackling in the grate and stew bubbling in the pot. And Yuri was talked out; voice hoarse from telling the tale as he knew it, and as he remembered it, he now sat on the floor by the fire, spooning food into his mouth and feeling tired beyond his years. Roger had joined them for the meal and sat nodding sagely through the bits and pieces Yuri told about his time in China, the battle with Dehuai as he remembered it; but that too was troublesome for the listeners as Yuri remembered several different versions.
"You say that you didn't get to the train on time, and the girl died in Shanghai," Roger enumerated, ticking the points off with his fingers. "And you also say that you did not get onto the train because you didn't have the money. But you distinctly remember boarding without money and rescuing someone, possibly this girl you keep remembering."
"Alice," Koudelka supplied.
"Yes, yes, Alice. Alice. Such a nice name," Roger muttered.
"Cute," Yuri commented.
"Yes, I'm sure she was," Roger continued. "You also tell us that you remember Shanghai and that you died there, swallowed up by a monster. Or that you killed a warlock there."
"Yeah, I killed him," Yuri said, squinting into the fire. "But it's so confusing. I don't know what really happened. Either I killed him or I didn't. He killed my dad - I know that. He also killed mom. But then, I can clearly see him dying at my hand, and falling down dead cuz he was stupid." Yuri added, spooning the last of his stew into his mouth and chewing loudly.
"When I first met Yuri, my impression was that he was the center of some great changes; something was changed or altered that has changed the world he lives in. It hasn't changed for us, of course," Koudelka commented, "but for him it has."
"But which memory is the right one?" Yuri asked, looking from Koudelka to Roger. Koudelka shrugged and the old man shook his head.
"That might be impossible to know. You said I built this time machine and you used it."
"By accident," Yuri interjected.
Roger nodded sagely. "Yes, by accident. And something you did here changed what you knew?"
Yuri shrugged. He grabbed the fire iron and poked at the logs, sending sparks dancing up the flume. "I did. But Rog, I remember seein' differences while I was in London. An' when I got here, I accidentally killed Koudelka." He looked up at the beautiful woman sitting in the chair by the fire. "Sorry. I didn't mean to," he said quickly.
Koudelka waived it off. "Could my death have been that important? It doesn't seem possible."
"Well, you were that damned voice that nearly drove me insane... telling me to go here, protect that person, and help that village..." Yuri looked into the fire, the crackling flames dancing in his amber eyes. "I hated that; an' it always hurt. But if not for that voice, I wouldn'ta been there on the train, or in Shanghai or... or at the end of the world –" Yuri blinked and chuckled softly. "I sound stupid."
Koudelka remained quiet in her chair, the words Yuri spoke reverberating in her mind like bell chimes. 'Somehow I spoke to him across all those miles. And helped him. But why?'
"Well it seems obvious to me," Roger said finally, into the silence, "that you came here, killed someone who was important, and the events have rippled into your own time. You yourself have affected your own future and the future of the world with one careless act."
Yuri's head snapped up and he stared at Roger. "It's not like I did it on purpose. An' it was your stupid machine that got me here in the first place!" he snarled.
Roger raised one hand to calm the tide of Yuri's anger.
"I am not disputing that. I am stating facts. You existed in your own time, and somehow the events here have affected the future. What you need to do is to correct the errors."
Yuri tsked, and thrust the poker into a log in the fire, shattering it and sending sparks flying.
"God damn it what do you think I've been doing?" he yelled, then dropped the poker and pulled up his knees, sulking.
"You saved me this time. You kept yourself from accidentally killing me when we fought in the bell tower," Koudelka offered.
"What else has changed Yuri? Do you know?" Roger asked.
Yuri refused to look at either of them, instead letting his eyes focus on the flames in the grate. He knew he'd changed things even more with Koudelka and the babies. 'Man, how did I let myself get this far into it,' he wondered. But at the same time, he had no proof that he'd not been Halley's dad to begin with. How else had Koudelka known to talk to him in China if he hadn't just told her?
"Yuri?" Koudelka asked.
The fusionist sighed, chewing on his lower lip.
"I gotta go back and fix the rest of this. I – I don't know what else to do. I'm not even sure I'm doing it right. And," he paused and looked at the only friends he had in the world. "I don't know what I'll do when I do fix it. I just know I gotta."
Koudelka rose from the chair and joined Yuri on the floor by the fire. She sat close, putting her arms around his shoulders. Like a little boy, he collapsed into her embrace, resting his head on her breast, eyes closed tightly.
"I made such a mess of things," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "It always happens that way; seems like I just walk into it. Edward died; he shouldn't have. An' you died... but I saved you this time. I kept my promise." Koudelka's hand moved up to his hair, fingers lacing through the long locks and caressing him. "And you an' me... " he shook his head slightly, "we're not supposed to be either. Like this I mean. I don't know why... maybe it's that Alice girl I keep seein'." He sighed and sat up, trading places with her, pulling her into his arms instead, holding her tightly.
"I've always been alone; ever since my folks died. I made out okay, learning to steal to survive. I ended up running with a gang... did I ever tell you that? Yeah, me, a punk," he said with a little laugh. "I was a strong arm, learned to fight. Dad taught me some when I was little, an' I put it to good use. But hey, it put food in my belly. When the voice started talkin' to me, I thought I was going crazy. The demons and monsters and such that I fought... mostly for the hell of it, but also cuz of my mom. I hated what those things did to her an' to me – well, it made me even stronger. I got powerful in ways I never dreamed. An' I got the Seraphic Radiance." He paused, looking down at Koudelka.
"All I ever wanted though was to find my Dad; to have a family."
"To have someone to love?" she asked.
Yuri laughed softly, not much more than a breathy sigh. "Yeah. I loved my folks a lot; my dad was strong and powerful, and mom was so beautiful. I missed 'em so much. I would do anything to be with them."
"Even die?" Koudelka's hand reached up and took one of his, her fingers caressing the rough pad of his palm.
"Yeah, probably. Cuz see, no matter what I did, I was scared of my power, scared of turnin' into a monster. An' even after, even when I knew that my powers were useful, I just figured I'd end up dead on the road somewhere. I've always lived hard and fast; my life has been one series of fights after another. I just wanted to live a normal life..." he chuckled then and the rumble in his chest echoed in Koudelka's ears. "Can ya believe that?"
She nodded. "Yes, and you have that now, don't you?"
Yuri looked down at the gypsy woman and smiled. "Yeah."
In the background, they could hear the clank and bang of Roger working in the main room. He'd left them when Koudelka sat down with Yuri and the noise was a welcome interruption, for it meant Roger would not be bothering them any time soon. Yuri pulled Koudelka onto his lap, turning her around to face him, raining kisses down onto her face, his tongue tickling her eyelashes as he brushed past them and down her nose, gently nipping the tip. Koudelka laughed softly.
"You have a one-track mind Yuri."
"Yeah, I know."
Roger continued to tinker on his machine throughout the year, building it with Yuri's physical assistance. The platform was set in the center of the main room, nothing more than a wooden floor set on bricks; the treadmill to power the device was set across the room, cables crisscrossing the floor and creating a hazard to anyone walking around. Yuri added on another room to the little house, moving the kitchen into it when the machine grew to take over the main room and, in spite of his grumbling, he also made another for the library, carting in the books and stacking them on the shelves as he built them. Yuri had stopped protesting the constant carpentry, growing more and more silent as Roger worked on the machine and by late summer, Roger began testing. The initial tests were messy and the results horrific as pots were sent through the machine to return a few hours or days later thoroughly crushed.
"If you went through now, you'd certainly not survive," Roger commented as Yuri swept clean the platform after one disastrous test.
"Not like I really wanna do it anyway," Yuri muttered.
"What was that? Yuri, surely you're not thinking of changing your mind?"
Yuri rose to his feet with a pan full of crushed pot and looked at the wise little hermit.
"Yeah, I am. I mean, what the hell am I doin' it for? Everything's fine. I got a wife and kids. What more could I want? I love Koudelka an' I don't wanna leave her. And the babies, hell they're mine – mine! Do you understand?"
Eyes wide, Roger watched as Yuri turned to take the refuse outside. "This is not good, not good at all," he said quietly.
Yuri poured the crushed ceramic into the box by the back door, pausing to watch as Koudelka hung wash on the line. The day had proven clear with the winds still blowing but not as hard; the cries of sea gulls spoke of fishing boats trawling off the coast as well and Yuri wondered if he should run to Aberystwyth for fish, as it would make a welcome change from their winter long gruel. With the summer had come squirrel hunting and fishing to supplement their meager stores and Koudelka and Roger both had a vegetable garden growing in the lee of the monastery. With a grunt, Yuri hefted the dust filled box and took it to the cliff, tossing it over the side and watching as it smashed with a satisfying explosion of clay dust, then returning to the house, he snatched up a spool of twine and headed out.
The cliff along the monastery was nearly impossible to climb, but Yuri had found a small set of stairs carved into the north-west face; when he mentioned these stairs to Roger the old monk had related how the early monastery would have had concourse with Ireland and a boat ramp would have been set in the cliff face. Yuri had taken to that stair as his access to the ocean and fish. Why buy fish when I can get them myself, he'd argued more than once. So today, with the trawlers out on the Irish Sea, he knew there'd be fish for the taking. He took the path around the outside of the monastery, skirting the wall and ducking back inside through the ruins of the church. He then took the narrow stairs two at a time until he reached the bottom. The Irish Sea had scrubbed and scoured the cliff below the monastery until it was pockmarked and black. He took off his coat and boots and, setting the ball of twin on top, stepped onto the edge of the stone dock and fused. A moment later, the power of his fusion released, he stood swaying on the stones as one of his water monsters. Man Dragon's long tail and lithe body hesitated a moment only before diving smoothly into the ocean's waves, submerging.
The ocean was cold and dark, but the constant surge was only visible on the surface, below was quiet. Man Dragon swum with strong strokes, following a movement in the shadows beneath the distant fishing trawlers; there were schools of fish moving far below any of the nets, and something else as well, one or two larger shadows that Man Dragon quickly identified as swordfish. Eyes now focused on food, he moved down, each swish of his tail and stroke of his legs taking him further and further below the surface. The swordfish was now a mere one hundred meters away and oblivious to the swimming blue death approaching, and when it finally caught the motion of Man Dragon's tail it was too late. With a spurt of speed, the water fusion leapt forward, his clawed hands reaching out and grasping the large crescent shaped caudal tail fin as the swordfish turned to flee. Wiggling and struggling, the fish tried to escape, but the fusion pulled it back and grabbed the dorsal fin, bringing the swordfish close to his chest. Moving his arm off the tail fin, he now encircled the fish's belly and squeezed; the swordfish struggled even more, but the strength of the grip around its middle was inexorable, and in a minute, the swordfish was dead. Now, satisfied with his kill, the fusion flipped around, turning on his tail. He passed beneath the overhead trawlers, swimming back to the stone dock.
With the waves tossing onto the dock, the fusion now added the swordfish, before pulling himself from the sea. Once on the stone lip, Yuri released his fusion and shook off the water. Shivering a little, he grabbed up his coat, slipping his feet into his boots, and then wrapped the twin around the swordfish's tail, giving him something to hold on to. Then with a grunt, he hefted the large fish and climbed the stairs.
Not wanting to lug the heavy fish all the way around the wall and down to road to get to Roger's house, he instead took the path back through the monastery, crossing the church ruins and circling the Seraphic-made crater, taking a shortcut through the inner grounds. Crossing behind the arbor, he paused long enough to adjust the fish on his shoulder, tightening his grip on the twine; it was only a moment, but it was long enough for the smell of the large piscine to permeate the grounds. Soft scurrying sounded behind him and Yuri looked around, seeing in the shadows beneath the building eves many pairs of bright red eyes.
"Ah damn," he muttered, then swinging around he moved back from the arbor and descended the stairs toward the open gate. Behind him, he heard the soft pad of many feet.
"Shit, you are not getting this fish," he hissed at the pursuing shadowy monsters and bolted for the gate. The soft padding sounds became snicking noises as nails and claws clicked on stones. And another sound began as well, a low snarl that echoed in the usually silent monastery, rising up to a yowl of intent and demand. Yuri, running pell-mell for the gate, now found himself zigzagging through a melee of cats - black cats, brown cats, and a handful of ghostly white cats that all had one thing on their feline minds: fish.
The gate was fast approaching and Yuri dodged one insistent black cat's swipe at his leg, forcing him to spin around and lash out with his boot at the persistent puss. A soft thud and a yowl later and Yuri was back on the path to the gate with yet a dozen cats in pursuit and more waiting at the gate.
"Ah damn, damn; you are not getting this fish," Yuri growled and made a quick dodge to the left, out distancing the brown cats behind him before making another spin and kicking out to knock a large white feline ghost. His foot passed through the white wisp and connected instead with a black cat and then he heard the concert of yowls increasing. A backward glance told him he was in bigger trouble as the cats behind him had paused, hunkered down, tails raised and their eyes focused: they were summoning magic, while the cats ahead were doing the same.
Yuri stopped in his tracks and scowled. This was not turning out the way he planned. It was supposed to be easy: go fishing, get fish, come back, show off big fish to Roger and Koudelka, collect reward for doing a good job, maybe even a kiss. But now...
With magic forming behind and in front of him, and a big fish on his shoulder, Yuri decided that he would take the offensive. Settling the swordfish more securely in his grip, Yuri leapt forward, kicking out at the forward phalanx of cats, and then he swung the swordfish down and smacked the beast from his path, sending it skidding across the flagstones and into another group of cats who suddenly went mad with the smell of fish on their companion. Undeterred by the melee now happening on his left, Yuri continued forward, past the bronze statue in the corner of the yard and now a handful of feet from the gate, swinging the swordfish like a piscine cricket bat and scattering the cats to both sides, covering each cat struck by the swordfish with deliciously fishy smells that had the other felines now attacking them. In this way, Yuri reached the gate and slipped through, tossing the swordfish back onto his shoulder and running down the road, his feet thundering in the dirt and the broken snout of the fish banging against his back.
A few minutes later Yuri arrived back at Roger's house. Roger was sitting on the floor in the main room, planning papers scattered about him and Koudelka stood in the kitchen just off the main room. Both looked up as Yuri kicked open the door and swung around to show off his prize.
"Ah, you've brought back the bacon," Roger said with a dry smile.
Yuri, showing off the swordfish proudly, frowned.
"It's not. It's a fish. A big fish," he said.
Koudelka stepped out, inspected the swordfish with its broken snout, and scarred skin. Bits of hair were stuck to it and there were signs of claw marks on its flesh and on Yuri's trousers.
"It's got claw marks on it, and so do you. And hair."
"Yeah, damned cats. But we've got enough fish for a few days anyway," and Yuri grinned affably. "Do I get a kiss for my hard work?"
Koudelka waived her had at the puckered lips that Yuri offered and laughed softly. "Put it in the kitchen; you can prepare it."
"Ah shit," he said and picked up the fish once more. "I hate guttin' and scaling these damned things."
"Beats chickens," Roger replied from his place on the floor.
"An' yer no help," Yuri said as he retreated to the kitchen.
That night after supper Yuri and Koudelka retired to the bedroom, the twins bundled in blankets in a large crib. Yuri stopped to look them over, his eyes filling with such love that Koudelka could feel it across the small room, his energy burning like flames. When he finally joined her, they cuddled on the bed, his back against the wall and she wrapped in his arms. They didn't speak, instead letting the warmth of the coal lump in the heater permeate them, and Yuri's breath ruffled Koudelka's hair.
"Roger will continue experimenting with the machine tomorrow, Yuri. Are you ready to make your trip?" she asked finally, one hand holding his against her chest. She felt his fingers curl tightly, grasping her fingers painfully.
"No," he replied.
"Why not?"
Yuri moved and kissed the top of her head, nuzzling her hair. His lips followed the fall of her hair to her ears and he licked at the ear lobe, tickling the inside with his tongue.
"You don't want to go?" she pursued."
"Ugh," he grunted.
"That's hardly an answer, Yuri. What about all your preparation? All of Roger's work?"
"I don't care," he said petulantly and blew softly into her ear.
Koudelka sighed. He was more interested in a relationship with her than in fixing … whatever it was he had to fix. The current of movement around him had slowed, but not ceased and even if he could not see it, she could, and she found it disturbing. She tried another tack.
"Have you remembered anything else before you came here? About your world or your time?
Yuri frowned, she could feel the muscles pulling on his face through her hair, and his whole body grew taught. He was resisting answering her and getting angry about it.
"Yuri, you are avoiding this whole thing, aren't you? Why?"
"God damn it," he growled and pushed her off his lap and rose from the bed, pacing the small bedroom. "You just won't let it lie, will you? You're gonna pursue this until you run me outta here. Why? Why the hell do you want me to go back there? Why do you want me to leave?"
Koudelka moved to the edge of the small bed and put her feet on the floor, taking the time to put her shoes on before standing. This was the crux of the matter now; she could feel it. Something inside her was moving, awakening and she could feel it responding to Yuri. And it terrified her. She wanted him to stay, of course she did; he was the love of her life, the father of her children and, in spite of his boyish behavior sometimes, the man she loved most dearly. But there were other factors here, other lives affected by his decision to stay or to go. And one of those lives belonged to him; a woman he loved but yet did not remember. The cycle of changes around him may have slowed, the tide moving back as he corrected his mistakes, yet the damage had been done and was not corrected yet. He was here, where he did not belong, and much as it pained her, with a woman he didn't belong with.
"Yuri, don't you remember telling me about what happened in London that night? When you found out we had lived together and had children? And how confused and hurt you were until you sought out Roger Bacon? You said you had made a mistake…" she began.
"More than one," he muttered from his place by the warm coals.
Koudelka nodded. "Yes, more than one; and you needed to fix those mistakes in order to set things to right. People died because of one little error on your part. People will still die if you don't set things to right. You and I both know that as much as I love you, you do not belong with me. You belong with someone named Alice; do you remember? You spoke her name."
Yuri kicked at the legs of the crib before recollecting himself and turning around to face Koudelka. She now stood in the center of their small room, her hands clasped together at her middle and her eyes fairly glowed with power and purpose. He liked how she looked just now, all crackly with power… oh, not the power she had before, when he first met her. Odd, he thought, I can remember that suddenly. We were here at Nemeton. And old Rog helped us to get her away from Simon. 'Yeah, I remember that,' he thought then blinked, turning his gaze away.
"But why does it have to be me? Why am I always the one to rescue the girl? Or save the village or – or save the world?"
"Because, that's your job," Roger said from the doorway. He had opened it a mere crack and stood listening to the couple, waiting for the moment to interrupt.
"You nosy old fart!" Yuri cried and threatened to punch him before he stopped and swung open the door further. "What the hell do you want?"
"I came to let you know I'll be ready for more experiments tomorrow actually. I've made more adjustments to the machine. And I couldn't help but hear, Yuri."
"Yeah, eavesdropping an' all, must make you popular with the ladies," Yuri muttered.
Roger smiled, his face blossoming into dry wrinkles.
"I never noticed," he replied. "But I can answer your question."
Yuri looked down at the little monk and sighed.
"What question."
"The one about why you have to do the saving. It's quite simple really. Each of us is born with a purpose in life. Some are directed from their very birth to do good, others to do evil. Some reach their destination by long and circuitous roads, discovering their power and purpose after many years of travail. You, Yuri, are one of those. You must walk the path of good; you have too much power not to. But that doesn't mean the path will be smooth as silk; oh no, for the path of righteousness is lined with briars and brambles and many a sticky wicket."
Yuri reached down and cuffed the monk.
"Get to the point," he said.
Roger shook himself, straightening his robe before continuing. "I am saying that you must do these things you find yourself doing. Good and evil battle it out every day, and only a force for good, a strong advocate, will help to keep this world from tumbling down the brink into chaos."
Yuri frowned, thinking a moment, his head beginning to hurt. "Yer fulla shit, Rog," he said, "an' yer giving me a headache."
"Am I indeed," the old man said with a smile. "Well, perhaps you need to exercise those brains of yours more often. Like now. Try thinking what this world would be like if you did not use your power to make things right."
Yuri's frown ground down into a scowl, his eyes growing dark.
"I know what happened. My parents died, Shanghai burned an' a girl died cuz I couldn't save her. If she's gonna die anyway, why bother?"
Koudelka's quick breath of surprise caught Yuri's attention.
"You can't mean that," she exclaimed. "Yuri, you sound so selfish. And you told me once, don't you remember, that she didn't die. You saved her. You saved the world from Simon. I don't know what that all means, but I know you did it. The cycle of change is not going to stop just because you have decided you would rather be with me. Change will continue, rippling outward to affect lives you never personally touched. Are you saying you'd willingly sacrifice those lives just to stay with me?"
Yuri did not answer, instead looking across the small room to the crib with his sleeping children. Two small lives depended on him, depended on his being here to raise them and love them, and he didn't want to go haring off somewhere and not be able to get back to them. He walked to the crib, kneeling down and gently pulled back the blankets on the twins. He watched them silently, staring at them as if to engrave their images into his mind. Katie had her pinkie finger thrust between pouting pink lips and sucking gently, while Halley had turned slightly and had one chubby arm thrown back over his sister's chest as if protecting her. His face was soft in sleep with no sign of the power that he had already demonstrated with his temper tantrums and Yuri felt a tug at his heart watching them. There was no way he would abandon these children.
"All right. But I'm coming back here to be with my kids. So don't try to argue me out of it," he said.
Testing and experiments continued until early October before Roger finally felt confident enough to send Yuri though the machine. The entire time Yuri had grumbled, telling Roger to "Hurry it up all ready" which only earned him a lecture on the dangers of time travel and meeting himself. Yuri's usual scowl became deeper each time that topic came up until finally, the morning the machine was ready he turned to Roger.
"I already know the dangers of meeting me, Rog. That's what I gotta do. Meet me; kill me. So don't give me any more fucking lectures – I've had enough. I'm going to get ready an' I'll be back in a few minutes."
Roger watched as Yuri stomped away, and quietly chewed his lower lip. This was the first time Yuri had mentioned what happened earlier, and now he worried that the outcome would not be what the young man desired. With a sigh, he turned back to his machine and adjusted the settings until a scuffing sound behind him caught his attention.
"Koudelka?"
The young woman had entered from the kitchen and paused looking up at Roger's wondrous machine. Far from being some boxed machine as she had seen in towns, this machine was a part of the house; cables ran along the floor and tubes were strung along the walls and ceiling, and the central platform, still not more than boards set on bricks, was now surrounded by some kind of console with even more wires and cables coming out of it and leading to a small treadmill set along one wall. But above, suspended from the ceiling by chains was a huge iron lantern, the same one they had salvaged from the church before Yuri had blown it up, and inside was an amber crystal, its multifaceted surface catching the light from the windows and sending rainbow shafts washing down the walls and onto the floor.
Roger shuffled over to the platform and sat on its edge before patting it with his hand in invitation to Koudelka to join him. She hesitated only a moment, looking back toward the bedroom door before crossing the expanse of the main room and sitting on the platform next to the old monk.
"You're upset, I can see that. What is bothering you child?" the old man asked.
Koudelka shook her head, letting her long hair fall into her face, shading her from Roger's raven eyes.
"It- it's nothing really. I just feel that it's getting closer and I don't know what to do," she said hesitantly, her voice faltering in the end.
Roger took her hand in his and held it, patting her knuckles softly with his boney fingers.
"You're worried about him leaving, aren't you. Yes, I know, you love him. And you will miss him. But we must have faith, child, that all will be right in the end."
Koudelka turned to face the elder monk and he could see tears sparkling in her lashes.
"Ah, you're crying my dear; this is no time for tears. Yuri must see us strong and willing to stand by him or he will falter, and possibly fail. This must not happen; too much is at stake for him to fail."
"I know," Koudelka said with a sniffle. "I'm the one that convinced him he must go, but Roger, I don't want him to. I want him to stay with me and raise our children. He loves me; he loves me. No one has ever loved me," Koudelka stopped, the tears now falling down her cheeks and she reached up to swipe them away.
Roger pulled her closer into an embrace and he could feel her shoulders shuddering in suppressed tears. This would never do; should the young fighter find that his lover was regretting his decision, he would renege – refusing to do what had to be done to return events to what, in his confused recollections, Yuri knew was right.
"Koudelka, child," he began and offered her a sympathetic look, "we must hold back our tears for now. Yuri will be back in a minute and he must see us as a strong front. We must, for him to set right what has been made wrong."
"But he won't be back, Roger."
"We don't know that," the old man began then bit his lip realizing he almost told a lie. "Well, that's not quite true now is it? He'll be back, but we won't remember him. Sadness and pain are a part of the world, Koudelka; a part of God's plan that teaches us how important life is so we won't squander it."
Roger held her for a few minutes more until they heard Yuri's boots coming from the bedroom and then they separated, Roger allowing Koudelka time to collect herself to face Yuri one last time.
Yuri had retreated to the bedroom and scoured it for some tough fighting clothes; he located a pair of canvas trousers, much patched and that had seen better days and changed into them, tsking at their poor condition. He next looked for weapons. He knew that he had some claws remaining from their many scavenging trips into the monastery and he dragged the box of miscellaneous items out into the middle of the room. There was his dagger, and a pair of water claws, a couple of brooches and Koudelka's cat's eye. He took the dagger and thrust it into a sack on the bed before shoving the box back under the bed. He finished dressing quickly and grabbing up the brown trench coat Koudelka had bought him and the bag and left the bedroom.
He found Koudelka waiting for him in the main room. At the far corner, Roger stood at his console, fiddling with something while Koudelka stood like a nervous bride, her hands clasped tightly at her breast. He could tell she was nervous about his leaving, probably missed him already. He crossed the room to her side and pulled her into his arms, kissing her firmly on the lips, his own mouth rough on her soft one and one hand caressing her bottom.
"I will come back, Koudelka," he said and his voice was thick with emotions. He wanted her so much, wanted to take her here, right on the platform; make love to her again and never let her go. But he had promised that he would do this – fix the damned mistakes from last time. And then, then he would return to his love and his two children and never leave them again.
Koudelka wrapped her own arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. He felt so strong in her arms, so steady in this crazy world. Yet she knew he was the most volatile of them all; his own mind was awash most of the time in visions and memories he could not place – his sanity only clear when with his children. He tried to hide it behind the work and the stupid jokes, but his escapes into Nemeton throughout their time together was more to escape what he was and what he had become than to actually scavenge items of interest. She clung to him with the hope of capturing just a little of his strength, and to convince herself that his strength was all they had right now. The current of events was moving again, swirling around him like storm winds off the coast, and she breathed a heavy sigh, knowing she'd never see him again in this life.
"I love you, Yuri. Please be careful," she said into his shirt. The harmonixer chuckled and tilted her chin up with his finger, bending down to kiss her.
"I will come back to you, I promise," he said, then let her go to climb up onto the treadmill. "All right Rog, let's get this shit over with."
Roger nodded and flipped a switch as Yuri began to run on the treadmill to build up power. His legs pumping, his heart beating – Yuri felt the surge of adrenaline that always presaged his going into combat. His eyes caught sight of Koudelka, standing by the platform, a ray of rainbow hues catching her and making her glow as if with her own energy, and Yuri felt a tug in his heart for the gypsy.
'I will come back to you, Koudelka. I'll be there when you need me most, I promise," he thought as he let the act of running become a prayer for his future.
Finally, Roger called out and Yuri leapt from the still moving treadmill, sprinting up onto the platform and waiting for Roger to pull the switch. The old man turned and nodded once to him and Yuri grinned, one fist raised in defiance as the energies once again arced from the crystal and exploded around him, sending him into oblivion.