Title: If the Boots Fit
Author: Nikolae Santiago
Rating: T
Genre: Action, Adventure
Spoilers: Various mentions of Labyrinthine fauna, some from the story, some not.
Warnings: None really. Some violence.
Pairings: Othello x Zephyr
Disclaimer: Obviously I'm not trying to steal their series. The only part of Death Gate I own is the enjoyment I derive from writing in Weis's universe.
Summary: Othello must decide whether to break the Patryn law of practicality or leave a friend to die.
Author's Note: The fifth fanfic of the Death Gate! I urge you all to post!
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Labyrinth: Semper Practicalis
The sands were hot and the air was dry. The Patryns' noses were parched from the lack of water, and their mouths were like cotton. But they were carrying plenty of water. Zephyr, her boots punching into the sand hard to help establish her footing, asked, "Why can't we drink?" Her short black hair was spiked and a little crusty from the sand sticking to her scalp. Her usually well-defined figure was hidden beneath a sand-cloak to help disguise her as a male, since the Erikai a rather vicious species of sand-dragon sought women almost exclusively.
The other Patryn, his red hair just as short as hers, also hidden beneath a cloak, said after a long time, "The Delrak beetles." The beetles he spoke of were creatures specially created by the Labyrinth to kill the desert Runners. They sought water, because where there was water, there was a thirsty Patryn. Othello shifted the pack on his shoulder. "We cannot open these casks until we reach rock."
Zephyr smiled briefly, the expression fading when her parched lips cracked and bled slightly. "My Othello, always practical." She stepped a little closer to him.
"I'm not yours, Zephyr, and if you keep thinking like that, neither of us will reach the Gate, cause you will do something stupid that will compromise our position here, and I will be forced to kill you. The smell of blood will then attract everything within a mile, and I will then die." Othello said this all without the faintest change in vocal pitch or expression.
Zephyr stepped away from him. "Always practical." She hunched her shoulders and continued to walk in silence, nursing her cracked lips.
It's not that he wasn't interested in Zephyr, it's just that he knew what happened to lovers out here, especially in the final stretch to the Gate. One's survival becomes the most important thing ever, and there may have come a time when Othello had to chose between his life and hers. Othello rolled his neck to crack it. If that time came, he was going to make it out of the Labyrinth alone.
They reached rock by nightfall, and Othello finally allowed them to drink. Three mouthfuls only. He didn't know how long the desert lasted. Zephyr curled up by the spine of rock farthest away from Othello and closed her eyes, tucking her chin to her breast. Othello knew she was angry. A small part of him felt remorse, but he knew it was a necessary evil. Still, he knew what it was he wanted even more than he wanted the girl, and he crossed his legs with his saber in his lap, and slept with one eye open.
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The next morning, Othello awoke before Zephyr, packing up their supplies. She was still curled up by the water casks, and appeared to a have finally fallen asleep. After he packed up their meager supplies, he strode over to toe the girl awake, pulling his skull-mask up so as not to frighten her in the semi-sleep following such a rude awakening. A frightened Patryn was a dangerous thing. The girl didn't move. "Zephyr." He poked her again. "Get up." She didn't move. Othello finally dropped to his knees and rolled her over. Her eyes were wide open and unblinking, their pale blue disks staring sightlessly into his face. Her skin was pale, her runes not glowing with their usual life. Othello let her fall to the floor. Unless he was very much mistaken, she was dead.
His runes were alight and blazing, closest to his left hand, which held her shoulder nervelessly. He moved his hand, and then he saw it. A six-pointed star, just above her breast. It was carved into the skin, and was still bleeding. It was the mark of a Shadowdragon.
Othello swore. He knew about this particular type of beast. It was a dragon that fed off the souls of its victims, putting both the victim and anyone around them to sleep, then sucking out the victims soul and carrying it off to torment and devour at its leisure. And when cornered, a Shadowdragon could kill even the most dedicated of would-be rescuers.
Othello dropped the packs. He knew that according to the law of Patryn practicality, he should leave Zephyr's body and continue across the desert while the Shadowdragon was distracted. He knew it, and he was seconds from letting her fall to the rock of their shelter before he remembered. Zephyr had been the one who had gotten him the boots. She'd given up her relatively peaceful life in the Squatter camp to travel with him. And deny it though he might, he'd enjoyed those days of travel and companionship. He had to go after her. Picking up her body, he left both packs and water casks behind, stopping merely to pick up his saber and Zephyr's sword. He activated a tracking spell and stepped out into the sun. He was going to find the dragon that did this, kill it, and be going on his way.
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He was racing across the desert, Zephyr on his back, his legs burning from exertion, but he wouldn't stop. So far nothing had challenged the Patryn, and he was confident. But right as he thought that, he heard the beat of massive wings. "Cursed Sartan!" He groaned in frustration. He'd forgotten to cover Zephyr's body, and an Erikai had spied her, thinking that she'd make a tasty treat. "Pain in my a-" BOOOM! The ground shook and Othello was thrown from his feet, Zephyr's body flying from his grasp. The dragon released another fireball, and it was all Othello could do to deflect it.
The dragon landed, hopped over, and picked up Zephyr in its foreclaws. "Put the girl down, or you and I are gonna have a major disagreement." The Patryn readied a blizzard spell, knowing sand-dragons hated them. The dragon turned its head sideways, giving a harsh shriek, and released another fireball. "Fine. I guess we'll have to do this the hard way. Stupid b-" BOOOM! Othello barely dodged the fireball in time. "Hey! I was talking, you jerk!" He clapped his palms together, completing the circle, and opened up with a localized blizzard spell that encased the dragon's head. He leapt out of the way as the dragon thrashed and shrieked- and dropped Zephyr's body. The Patryn darted in, snatched up the girl, and got struck hard in the face with the beast's tail. He fell to the sand again, this time clutching Zephyr's body tightly.
The dragon, having unraveled the spell surrounding its face bent low, its snout almost touching Othello's face. It growled menacingly… and Othello smiled, shoving upward with another web of runes, unleashing his spell. "Fimbul Winter!"
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Othello continued on his way, Zephyr's body and the two swords slung over his shoulder. He looked back. A column of ice and steam still billowed into the sky at speeds up to three hundred miles per hour, and a foolish Erikai's blood was being frozen and whipped around in the confines of the shield. Its screams could still be heard, even five miles away. The Patryn laughed. It was his favorite high level spell, a sort of ice hurricane.
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In a lair not far from where the Erikai was still dying, a huge beast, seemingly made of the shadows themselves, reclined lazily on a huge slab of stone outside its cave. The Shadowdragon really loved tormenting souls such as this, young, spirited and hopeful. And, as he realized, a virgin in both mind and body. Too bad he didn't have the body. He would have enjoyed having a minion change that, enjoyed feeding off the lust and fear. But ah, well. One couldn't have everything in life. The dragon flicked out a claw lazily and dragged the soul of the girl over to him. She was shaking, and trying, with feeble burst of light, to use magic. He snickered. She didn't realize she was dead already. He drove a long claw into her head, and the Patryn shook wildly, screaming, as she saw the most terrifying nightmare yet. The dragon sucked in the fear and pain. It really was like a fine wine. The longer you let it exist, the finer it- BOOOM! The dragon toppled off of his rock, spluttering in surprise. He looked up into the face of a tall Patryn with red hair and a black skull-mask on. The Patryn leveled his hand at the dragon. "Fimbul Winter!"
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Othello laid Zephyr down onto the rock of the shelter where they had stayed the night before. Weaving a net of runes, he coaxed the soul back into the body, There was an unusually loud gasp, Zephyr's eyes opened wide, and with an audible thump, her heart started beating again. Now that the body lived, Othello sent his magic winging through her body, repairing any damage that might have occurred due to being dead for several hours. Zephyr coughed and spat blood, arching her back. Then she was still. Othello stepped back. Zephyr groaned and rolled over, pushing herself to her feet. She immediately fell against the wall, still unsteady on her feet. "Oth- Othello? What in the name of-"
The red-haired Patryn turned away. "I couldn't just leave you there. You-" He cut himself off. "We have to go."
Zephyr picked up her pack shakily, taking her sword from Othello. The male Patryn caught her arm, then shouldered his pack and both the water casks. "We've got to leave." They began to walk toward the entrance to their shelter. A massive explosion occurred, throwing the Patryns to the ground. Othello barely managed to prevent the water casks from cracking. "Cursed Sar-"
The huge, triangular head of the Shadowdragon poked inside, slashed in many places and dripping with black ichor. "Surprise, my pretties."
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