A/N: Please read and review (It's much easier to write if you know someone's reading.) Anyway, the last three chapters including this one actually started as one extremely looooong read, so I just split it up into three portions. Hope people are aware of the time settings (when I say 2006 A.D., I mean in the real world outside Lucian's veins...and yes, this entire misty world of silver rivers is meant to be in Lucian's veins. Hence...blood-memories. As a final note, Reed and Lucian finally meet in this chapter...hope you enjoy their banter.)
Chapter 12: The Slight Awakening of Lucian
Two years later…
…also known as, the Present. 2006 A.D.
With an outraged shout, Lucian sat up (yet again), both his eyes glaring brutally about the reeds, willow and riverbed. Unconsciously, he wiped his face with the back of his hand, trying to banish the sleep which had overtaken him. Janos would be furious if he returned late from his chores…but the mist had not changed. The sun had not moved in its path. And no doubt he had only dosed for several…
Now wait a minute…
Wait…just…one…minute!
Lucian jumped to his feet, both arms recklessly flung out, his first impulse to bite and his second to flee. He breathed nervously, his head turning from right…to left…to right again. The willow trunk had shot up at least thirty or so feet into the air, the branches now shading him with the grossly overgrown branches as he gawked at the moss-covered bark. Looking down, his weathered pipe had cracked and lay aged and yellowing among the willow roots.
Stumbling away from the riverbank, he sat himself firmly upon a bank of heather and began to run several claws through his hair, vigorously trying to piece together how in Viktor's name a piece of firewood could have generated an aged tree of at least…
His mouth dropped open… Wolf's bane, how many years have passed?
He studied his palms, trying to age himself by the life lines and too fearful to go near the river to gauge his reflection lest he fall into slumber again. The palms were smooth, his body still taut and muscled. The skin as flushed and glowing as it had been when he had first picked up his pipe. By all accounts, he might not have aged a day…and yet…he was forgetting something…
…or someone…
"…the one who would steal your memories…"
Ah ha…a good start. Something about stealing memories…
"…seeks to pass…"
Seeks to pass what?
"…and though you must not remember nor wake…"
Gritting his teeth doggedly, Lucian massaged his temples trying with all his might to remember and wake, knowing within his heart that it was imperative he concentrate on what he knew to be the key to…everything…
…and as if on cue...
…the sound of a woman screaming erupted through his senses. Screaming…and screaming…and screaming! Balking from the noise, Lucian snarled, falling to the heather, his grey stormy eyes sealed shut and trying to cover both his ears from the screams of that…vengeful siren! She must be a harpy! She…whoever she was…screamed as if the very demons below were after her, and suddenly…
…he howled, trying to hold onto his sanity, as the scream entered his conscience and the pain of a thousand torches burned upon his skin…
Such pain as he had never known it before, it felt as if the silver brand of Viktor were being sliced across his skin, burning his body inch for inch and pound for pound. Memories of the mark placed on his shoulder seared into his conscience, the pain multiplied by a hundred…a thousand…ten thousand…
…rising and swelling, the burns spread across his body, the fur of his soul turning to ashes…
Viktor's blood, make it stop!
…o…
…o…
Emitting a hoarse roar of intense pain, power, and rage, Lucian wrenched his eyes open to see…darkness. A pressure upon his face…a mask. Breathing heavily, his entire body felt chased…caught. Numb…but no more pain. No more screaming. Mustering all his energy, the lycan shook his head once, the wooden mask dropping from his face to reveal light…
…stones…
…a tomb of ancients!
The rest of his body lay in stasis, as if the muscles had atrophied. He could breathe…move his eyelids and lips…but his soul howled as it contemplated the thought of being buried alive beneath the grounds. The sky…the mist…it was as if the stillness of his veins had been transferred to this cold tomb, the flaming light caught between time and the shadows halted mid-flicker…those standing nearby frozen in their movements and voices…
I am only a lycan slave…how can…how can I…
…seventeen years of age…
Buried alive…
Suddenly terrified, the youthful soul trapped in the deadened body began to struggle, throwing his entire life-force against fate as he fought against the bonds of flesh. Wolf's bane, he thought, catching sight of the area below his neck… The lycan women were already doing final ministrations upon his body! The tomb would be closed and he would be trapped! He had to break free…had to get out…had to…
…had to…
He sneezed suddenly, and almost immediately, a whiff of something good began to drift playfully towards his senses…
"What is that…that smell…" he thought, sniffing in bewilderment and forgetting to fight against his bonds…
It was like…
Cinnamon…
…and gathered sage.
Honeysuckle…
…a hint of spice…
And what on earth?
(And not entirely for the sake of investigation, he sniffed the air draping itself sinuously about his senses, his nose trying to make sense of it all…for beneath the spiced cinnamon and gathered sage, another fragrance drifted below the trapped lycan's delighted nostrils…)
ALPHA!
Possessed of a violent longing, the grin on Lucian's face turning into a ferocious roar as the last of his energy threw itself upon claws grasping purchase on the arms of the two lycan women whose hands lay pressed against his chest in their stillness. Snarling and no longer able to think straight, the crazed lycan howled with his conquest, pulling them closer towards him, barely keeping his sanity as one of the women…
…a dark-haired creature…
Moving in the stillness of the tomb, her eyes violently white…
Turning her terrified head, whimpering and mewling as she tried to escape, but completely trapped by the sage-woman's frozen grip and the lycan master's maddened claws, the dark-haired woman…without once opening her mouth…began to scream in the stillness of time, her seeker voice unheard by those around her, but entering the conscience of the soul whose skin she touched as the pain of a thousand torches again began to burn upon his person…
…and just before the pain took over…
A thought drifted into Lucian's battered conscience.
Fear…
…this woman fears me…
And emitting a hoarse roar of intense pain, power, and rage, Lucian sealed his eyes shut again to try and escape the woman's voice and the pain that seared across his body…
…rising and swelling, the burns spread across his body, the fur of his soul turning to ashes…
…have to escape…
…must…
…ESCAPE!
…o…
…o…
As if only a single second had passed, Lucian gasped, suddenly back in his own world (as he saw it) and shivering upon the heather, his eyes sealed shut, and unconsciously trying to cover both ears. The scream had stopped and all injuries vanished in a flash…and though he knew his skin still remained on his body, the memory of being burned alive was not something so easily forgotten…
Such pain…
He could remember it…
…rising and swelling, the burns spreading across his body…
The fur of his soul turning to ashes…
…and rather than rejoicing at the silence and lack of pain around him, the lycan could only groan for several seconds, having to bite back the nausea now threatening to throw itself out upon the world.
How could anyone…burn…another creature?
He had been told such things happened in the past, but he had never seen…never been near a creature whose body turned to ash…and swallowing dimly, he decided with a sick feeling, but a firm one nonetheless…
Not on my worst enemy.
Weakly nipping his lip for the taste of life-giving blood, he could feel his stomach settling…and breathing slowly, trying to find his strength, but still unable to stand (and still somewhat traumatized,) Lucian rolled onto his back…now perfectly ready to sleep another millennium if it meant no more burning and strenuous exertions.
But for a while, he simply lay there…unable to move. Unwilling to move. Instead, still focusing on breathing. Shivering as he felt dew clinging to the small hairs upon his arms…the feel of cool winds coating his skin. The smell of rain and honeysuckle in the air. As he pushed his mind further towards forgetting the horrible vision, faintly through the mist, he began spotting several clouds drifting lazily by. They looked so comfortable…so at peace…
And he?
He was tired…he was traumatized…
And granted the smell on those wenches was heavenly…
…but no more. Lucian, the Master of Muck was finished! Gritting his teeth, he managed to crawl awkwardly onto his feet, and still shaking slightly, prepared to make the short trek back towards the silver river…his silver river…
Only to trip clumsily, landing with his face in the dirt and his bones ready to pack up and leave if he wasn't more careful with them. Sighing over his own ungainliness (perhaps in future, he might acquire a measure of poise in his movements,) Lucian flung out an arm for leverage, pressing his palm firmly upon the earthy bank of undergrowth that must have tripped his fall…
My goodness, that's soft…
He patted the undergrowth…reasoning it might make a good pillow for his bed of reeds…
Very soft…
Almost feels like a woman's…
He squinted, still facing the dirt…
And without meaning to, but quite unable to believe that such a catastrophe could strike right after he had escaped his nightmare, the blind hand of Lucian began to pat, poke and prod the poor undergrowth until he was quite sure that it wasn't undergrowth at all, but instead…
"Viktor's BLOOD!"
The hand shot away from the soft "undergrowth" as a youthful Lucian backed onto his rear, almost jumping in his haste to get away, his cheeks crimson as awareness dawned on him, his eyes widening…and now the horrified face of a lycan looking left…and then right…and then left again.
NO, no, no, he thought with a groan, staring wretchedly at the two supple bodies lying fast asleep on either side of the heather he had just vacated. This was his heather! His river! His willow tree! He didn't want to be burned! He growled…what right did these…
…these…
He eyed them bitterly for a moment, searching his mind for suitable words to describe the intruders…
These…
…these supple…
…nymphs…of long locks and…
…fine limbs lounging in his…
He paused…
…bed?
And abruptly, a sly grin began to work its way through his features as he considered the possibilities. Granted lycan slaves were kept celibate until suitable matches had been chosen for the breeding grounds, but no doubt it had been years since he'd last returned to the keep. Perhaps they'd forgotten him by now…or perhaps…perhaps this was a sign from the Elder himself! A vision of the great things to come…two alpha female lycans draped on either side of his bed…
…and though the scent of flagrant alpha seemed to have dissipated completely after these nymphs had entered his world, by Amelia's own face, they were beautiful…perhaps the ivory-haired more than the shrieking harpy, but yes, indeed!
Fancying himself rather lucky (even if this was a dream), the grinning lycan was just about to pat himself on the back for having snatched the finest wenches known to lycan-kind for his first mating when a sudden (and yet rather late) thought occurred to his silver-addled mind.
Wait a minute…
…shrieking harpy.
Burns…and pain?
He frowned. The likelihood of the dark-haired one staying asleep long enough for him to wake and woo the other wench was…very low. Now, in truth, he could simply steal the ivory-haired woman…rouse her softly in a cave by a warm and luxurious fire…perhaps offer her a skinned hare as a token of his lust and appreciation…
…but then, intellect…common sense…and that faint tingle of the other hand where his skin had burned off, had a very different opinion of what would best serve the situation…and (fortunately enough,) having a natural predilection for saving his own hide, Lucian quite agreed.
Quit while you're ahead, he decided firmly.
And without further ado (having made his decision and now doggedly sticking to it without objection), the seventeen-year old bloodsoul began to make his way softly from the heather patch, willing to forgo wooing the ivory-haired beauty if it meant skipping the agony that came with the second one.
But always on cue…
…and never quite willing to stay passed out when it would best serve her…
Miss Victoria Reed of the violent blue eyes woke up.
Sighing and stretching with a slight yawn (delicately masked by a raised hand,) she snuggled closer into her hospice bed made of heather. A bit chilly all around, she figured, but perhaps if she pulled the surrounding leaves a bit closer, she might get some more…
Some more…
…heather.
HEATHER?
Reed's eyes shot open, her hands frantically poking the ground on which she lay. It was…purple. Good gracious, she was lying on leaves…and…and grass! And looking up in a daze (as if she were in a dream or perhaps a nightmare,) she found her gaze caught by the stormiest pair of grey eyes she'd ever seen. Four feet away and she could still see flecks of hazel speckled about the dilated pupils…
…and such long lashes…
Although, I expect you're a monster, she pondered rationally, getting awkwardly to her feet…
But nonetheless… (she dusted off her paper hospital gown.) …as far as monsters go… (dust, dust)
…long lashes and stormy grey eyes… (HACHOO!)
…are a perfectly lovely combination, she decided with a gracious and amicable smile…
And without realizing she spoke aloud, the dark-haired historian cocked her head to the side and directly addressed the river-vagrant…
"You know, a few more years and you might even be classified as girl-fodder," she declared…
…before opening her mouth to let forth the loudest scream since the fall of Troy.
Diving across the heather, Lucian clamped his palm across her mouth, wrestling the dark-haired woman to the ground, for his own safety if nothing else. She kicked and scratched, but to no avail, as indeed, he was much stronger, faster, and more versed in the art of trapping wild creatures. And now having successfully ensnared the dark harpy's torso and arms beneath his knees, Lucian breathed a heavy sigh of relief (much to Reed's chagrin, as his now-relaxed body weighed a great deal more on her lighter frame) and made to address her, his eyes darting behind him to make sure the other one still slept…
"I'm afraid you'll have to forgive my rudeness, milady…" murmured the stormy-grey lycan, turning back to Reed again and keeping his right hand fixed upon her screams as he proceeded to rip through a small portion of his grime-ridden tunic with the other. "…but I…" He paused, slicing the piece in two with his teeth. "…would rather you didn't have the option of burning my pelt off."
What had possessed him to call her that? She was no lady! And the words she had spoken…gibberish…
(And yet, as if on the furthest shore of thought, he still had a vague understanding of what she was saying, though in truth, he spoke not her language...)
Irregardless, having called her 'milady' at least once in his own language, his nose unconsciously scrunched as he stared at the grimy cloth clutched between his fingers. Deeming the piece far too dirty for such maidenly (or harpy-ish!) lips, he pursed his own lips and looked about for something a bit more clean and cloth-like…
Clean…
…and cloth-like.
Furtively, he eyed her strange attire.
…looking down…
…and up.
The dark-haired harpy's eyes suddenly widened in protest…
…and then glaring ferociously, her eyebrows just dared this youthful river-vagrant to tear into her hospital gown. (You wicked boy! Don't even THINK about taking my gown! Have you no shame?) But soon realizing she couldn't very well do much of…anything…at the moment, the entire expression suddenly (and quite dramatically) collapsed into a terrified plea of…
"Go awwwaaaayyyy…" (The eyebrows seemed to say.)
Having watched this entire exhibit with a sudden wash of unwelcome guilt and now presented with such a direct question concerning his morals (good or otherwise), a slightly uncomfortable Lucian finally gritted his teeth awkwardly, before muttering under his breath, "Hardly strong enough by the looks of it anyway…alright?"
The dark eyebrows of Reed abruptly nodded in prim agreement before resuming their former position of "maiden in violent distress."
Still keeping his palm over her mouth, Lucian continued to search for something suitable…
Reeds, underbrush…heather…ivory-haired lycan…grass…trees…
But eventually, having found nothing quite adequate for his purposes (and no, he wasn't about to risk waking the other nymph up just for a piece of her tunic so she too could demonstrate some pain-inspiring power that he knew not of), he was forced to meet the dark-haired harpy's eyes once more.
Reed cringed.
"Look…" he murmured quietly, the deep voice low and comforting in its own right, and certainly at odds with the fear she now felt. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way…but…between this," the grimy river-vagrant waved the dirty strip of tunic in front of her. "…and that," He pointed at the bottom edge of her gown "…this…" he waved the dirty cloth again, "…has had much…much…much more time rolling in areas you'd rather not know about. As that is the case, I won't take much, and I promise you, your blessed chastity should remain at ease."
Ignoring her protesting eyebrows (by the Elder himself, she was uptight) Lucian proceeded to slice a suitable strip from the bottom of the disapproving harpy's gown. Having made it larger than his own tunic strip (which he dropped to the side for the time being, having only one hand at his disposal,) he took the clean strip and hastily swathed it upon the woman's mouth…and then (still keeping his hand upon the clean strip,) he found the filthy strip and used it to wrap a second layer over the first.
Hence…
…she was gagged tightly about the mouth, but still…clean.
He nodded to himself, Well done, you son of a wolf…well done.
"Now," he said softly, keeping his eye-contact and trying to calm her with warm words…using the same tone he knew soothed many a spooked horse back at the keep. "You appear to be somewhat uncomfortable, so…I'm going to let you on your feet. Do you understand?"
She shook her head, the eyes suddenly wide and fearful again.
"No, you don't understand…or no, you don't want to get up?" he murmured in question.
Again, the dark-haired harpy shook her head.
"Alright, er…" Feeling a tad foolish (Wolf's bane, why couldn't he just drag her like any other self-respecting lycan?), he pointed first to her, then to himself, and then up with his thumb…
…and still keeping his voice quiet and low, he whispered… "…don't be alarmed, but I'm about to move…"
On the last word, her eyes abruptly squinted, and then ears twitching as if listening to a far-off voice, she finally nodded, getting the picture…
Why do those eyes look familiar…he wondered vaguely for a moment, but then, pushing the thought aside, he turned to the matter at hand…
"Alright…slowly…slowly…and up we go…"
Easing himself into a crouch, while keeping his grip around both her arms, Lucian began to rise, pulling the dark harpy up with him until she could stand on her two feet. She stumbled a little and still wary of kicks, fists, and scratches, he immediately followed his second instinct, blushing faintly as he moved behind and took a firm hold of both her wrists.
Apologizing once more, he used the second dirty strip of tunic and tied her hands behind her.
"There…" he murmured deeply, tying the second knot… "…not too tight, I hope."
And then…
Meat on a pike, what in Viktor's name are you saying? What does it matter if it's tight? She tried to burn you alive, you mindless pup! It's not as if she paused and said "Not too hot, I hope…" before throwing more wood on the fire!
Nonetheless, he repressed his inner sarcasm for the moment, and instead said as warmly as possible…
"Well then…I trust in future we may, er…remedy…this lack of conversation. But for the time being, fair maiden, I believe it would be best if I saw to silencing your sleeping companion as well…"
He turned, hoping on his mother's pelt that he had the strength to keep hold of two pairs of flailing arms, kicking legs, and scratching nails. If he was going to trap the second one, he'd need all his wits about him and, no doubt, another tunic…but unfortunately, gaping at the spot where the ivory-haired female had once lain, he realized he'd just been robbed of that problem.
And at that very moment…
…and for the first time in four years…
…it began to grow dark.
Immediately feeling a change in the air, Lucian took a step back, his hand tightening about the girl's wrist. The mist had begun to weave itself about their persons, and though he ought to have taken the hint earlier, looking up now, he realized the clouds he had seen drifting were merely a precursor to the gargantuan thunder storm threatening to break free. The wind had started to pick up, twining over and about his hair as the wild aroma of rain now forced itself through his senses as if to say…I warned you…
Drip…
drip…drip…
Drip…drip…drip…
Turning to the dark-haired harpy (who was already shivering in her highly non-existent gown,) he smiled a little ruefully, regretting not only the loss of the ivory-haired wench, but also the odd feeling that life had not gone the way it ought…and that, in setting out on his chores that morning, in a world where everything went to plan and memories stayed where they were, he ought to have returned to the keep and indeed…left for the breeding grounds of Viktor. Assumed his post as a dutiful servant on his way to great things…
Trained as a warrior…
Attended as a guardian…
…and perhaps some day…
Even gained a post in Viktor's own fortress.
But then, raising his voice as the first swell of thunder hit the air…
"I'm afraid it's going to get a little cold…" he yelled, taking her by the arm as a torrent of water surged from the heavens, drowning their voices and plastering the very silver to their faces, as lightning struck in what had become a nighttime sky. Knowing this was no ordinary storm the way he knew night could not fall so quickly, he flung the dark-haired harpy across a shoulder and ran for the woods.
Although it wasn't quite what he expected…
…at the very least…
…he did have a cave waiting.