Warning: I issued one for violence in the first chapter. I will reiterate that warning now – but if you've read CLAMP's more action-oriented series, I doubt you'll be particularly shocked by anything in this. Not for the squeamish.
Chapter IV: King's Call
Some years prior to the events described in the prologue.
He did not want to be here.
Dedumil shifted irritably again on a magnificently carved stone bench, which was decidedly not designed to suit the bones of the arthritic or probably any being with real flesh for that matter. Whatever idiot had designed the palace didn't have a lick of sense in his brain, it was all arches with too high ceilings and sweeping marble floors with fancy-foo-foo patterns and historical murals designed to terrify children. He didn't mind that last part so much, but overall the drafty, hard palace didn't compare to his modest, well-sealed home with slightly worn but soft couches and impressive stock of imported teas. Dedumil clucked his tongue in disapproval.
Yet, he was here. He was here because in all his dreams, he was always here, waiting with a bunch of frauds and idiots for an audience with the king. It wasn't a question of his personal preference; it was simply the way things were. Damned visions. People seemed to think being a seer was all fun and games ("ooh, you can just guess the winning lottery draw, right?" was his personal favorite) but more often than not, it was an inconvenient pain. He would have much preferred to have a vision of himself stretched out on a beach in a tropical country, favorite book in hand.
But visions didn't work that way. A vision wasn't something one could manipulate in his own favor, and often it wasn't about anything relevant to one's own life or town or even country ( although he was experienced enough that sometimes he could actually direct his visions towards particular events or people.) But the majority of his visions were still random, and more than a few of them involved the fates of people with curious colorings and clothes and odd languages that he didn't recognize, not even from his extensive readings. Sometimes the dreams didn't even make sense - in one particularly fascinating dream, Dedumil had seen a magical stuffed animal sprout wings and cheerfully open its mouth to gargantuan proportions before devouring a group of unfortunate people.
The mostly young and mostly male fools sitting near him didn't appreciate the nature of visions, though. Like most seers and fortune tellers, they liked to deceive themselves into pretending that their "visions" were always useful and easily interpreted. Currently they were chatting with each other, reading each other's palms and predicting whether or not they would get lucky tonight. Surprisingly, a few of them did possess a small amount of talent - like the acne-pocked brat who accurately predicted that his new friend would get slapped silly by a barmaid - but Dedumil knew that none of them had enough talent to read the future of the kingdom for the king.
If they did, they wouldn't be smiling and laughing.
Dedumil clucked his tongue again and decided to curl up for a nap on the bench. It was probably against the stupid court rules, but in Dedumil's book it was rude to keep an old man waiting so that made them even. A nap had the added bonus of blocking out the inane chatter of the other candidates.
Dedumil wasn't certain how long he'd been sleeping when a timid servant shook his shoulder gently to inform him he was granted audience with the king. A quick glance around the hall revealed that only two other people were still waiting. Dedumil took his time in getting up and stretching his sore limbs before picking up his staff.
He followed the servant down several maze-like corridors and through a huge banquet hall before the servant stopped abruptly at a closed doorway. The servant bowed and gestured at the doorway. "Not going to introduce me?" Dedumil said dryly. The servant's eyes widened and he shook his head vigorously, then quickly scurried away. Feh, guess I'll have to show myself in. He opened the door, stepped inside, and shut it quietly on the grounds that quiet demonstrated respect. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. The room was small and sparsely furnished with a few chairs and a window with drawn curtains. A man dressed in voluminous robes stood near the window, his hands crossed behind his back as he gazed outside. Dedumil couldn't see the man's face, but the sweep of inky hair was unmistakable from the numerous portraits of the king he'd seen. But even if Dedumil hadn't been able to recognize him from that hair, he would have known the king from the power that emanated from the man. As soon as Dedumil had entered the city, he had felt drenched in the king's presence.
After several minutes of silence, the king stirred slightly as if waking from a reverie. "You are the seer Dedumil, yes?" Ashura's voice was deep yet gentle.
"People call me that, my lord," Dedumil answered carefully.
"Why are you here today, Dedumil?"
"Because I'm meant to be here."
The king turned away from the window at that, a faint smile on his lips. "I've heard that several times today."
I bet you have, Dedumil thought darkly. He should have gone first – hadn't the idiots running the court ever heard the saying "age before beauty" or "age before brats"? The king walked a few steps closer, and Dedumil noted with some surprise that the king moved with a cat-like grace despite his heavy robes. But the portraits hadn't captured that aspect – or the deep resignation that lay in the king's eyes. That puzzled Dedumil; one didn't expect to see such an emotion in a man who held the fate of the country in his hands. Arrogance, yes. Pride, yes. But not a resignation that almost bordered on humility.
"By all accounts, it seems you are a well-read and thoughtful man. What do you think of my campaigns, seer?"
Dedumil swallowed and leaned heavily on his staff. To speak frankly could be considered treason, yet the idea of tip-toeing around, even for a king, brought a sour taste to his mouth. He hadn't reached the age of seventy-two just to start telling people what they wanted to hear. "I think they're a stupid waste of energy and people, but I think that of wars in general," Dedumil said tartly. "But your reason for the campaigns is sensible."
The king raised his eyebrows slightly, and Dedumil took that to meant he should continue. "The nobles have gotten far too arrogant and power-greedy. All their constant in-fighting is being watched with too much interest by our little friends to the south and the west - the nobles are weakening the country and making her vulnerable to outside invasion. So you are breaking the nobles before they break the country."
"You agree the campaigns are necessary? But most of my subjects resent them."
Dedumil wondered if the king honestly cared what his subjects thought; he'd always figured the royal sort viewed the lower classes as a sort of cattle, except more troublesome and prone to wandering than the average cow. Perhaps it was some sort of fancy court trap question that he was expected to recognize and answer in a particular way. Well, if that's what the king wanted, he shouldn't have invited him. "Hmph, I'm an old man. Too old to start speaking a new damn language and eating weird things for dinner. Your moves will keep the country together, and maybe remove some of the more cruel nobles from power. But you're moving fast and fighting on a lot of different fronts, and that's putting strain on the country. I don't think there would be so much ill will towards the throne if you moved a little more slowly."
"I do seem hasty, don't I?" Ashura smiled again, but it never reached his eyes. "Tell me, seer, can fate be altered?"
Dedumil furrowed his brow at the abrupt shift in topic, but he had an answer ready; he'd been asked that one many times before. "That's a hard question to answer, if an answer's really even possible at all. There are certain things that can be altered easily, usually the sort of things that aren't of much consequence at all. Like whether or not you're going to have your eggs poached, scrambled, or fried for breakfast. But more consequential – like whether or not you will marry the farmer's daughter or the baker's daughter – the less likely you can change that fate. You can almost certainly not marry a princess if you're not of royal blood. There are always a few threads of possibility that the marriage could happen, but you would have to alter several other threads to even create the possibility of that fate. And of course, if you go around messing with fate that much, you'll probably open up some really new nasty, extraordinary fates for yourself as well. That's why it's usually not worth it to fool around with fate too much; people generally want to change fate to make things better and more certain for themselves, not worse and more unpredictable."
The king inclined his head slightly as if weighted down by Dedumil's answer. "Ah, that's what I was afraid of. But let's speak of something more cheerful than politics and fate, shall we?"
"I've been told the weather's always safe to discuss. It's still damned cold, in case you were wondering," Dedumil grumbled.
The king laughed. It was a pleasant sound. "I apologize for not meeting you in a room that was heated better. This must be uncomfortable for you with your arthritis. Please, sit down." He motioned gracefully to a plush chair and Dedumil sank gratefully into it. Ashura crossed his hands behind his back again and took a few steps towards the center of the room, his back towards Dedumil again. "I've been thinking of starting a family lately."
Dedumil poked at the chair discriminatingly. It was high quality fluff, much better than the stone bench. "Congratulations, has my king found the right lady?" Dedumil replied politely, wondering where Ashura was going with this. He didn't pay much attention to that particular sort of politics, but he was completely certain that Ashura already knew that. The man probably knew what brand of tea was his favorite.
"Not in particular, that's really not so important to me as long as she's of good character and breeding. But – I want a son. Surely this would bring some happiness to me and my kingdom."
There was a question in the king's last statement. Dedumil frowned. He'd had many visions of Celes, Ashura, and the wars. But he'd never seen a future with heirs, which now struck him as rather odd. Surely heirs were inevitable. Dedumil relaxed his eyes and stretched his sight out towards Ashura; he could easily divine such an important part of the king's future if he were in the same room. Ah, now he saw a son – one with the same dark hair as the king, a rather cute, smiling brat with a silly nature, giggling as he learned to walk.
Then another vision flashed before Dedumil's eyes. The boy's back was turned to him, but Dedumil could tell from his build that he was older, probably a teenager. Unlike his father, his build was slight, but as the boy turned slowly, Dedumil noticed the same grace in his movements. But then Dedumil noticed the enormous sword the boy held in his hands. It was dripping with blood, and there were bodies at his feet, hundreds of bodies. The boy tilted his head towards the bodies and smiled mockingly at them as he raised the sword to his lips and slowly licked the sword clean.
Suddenly the boy paused, and turned in Dedumil's direction as if he sensed the uninvited voyeur. The boy met his horrified stare with a pair of golden eyes, pupils slitted like a cat's. His gaze was cold and calculating and utterly inhuman.
Dedumil gasped in surprise and recoiled mentally, throwing an arm up in front of his face. But in his hasty retreat, he fell backwards into another sequence of visions.
"Why are you crying?" The king's voice was as soft as ever, but there was a note of steel in it that cut through the fog in Dedumil's mind.
"Your eyes... his eyes... they're gold. That coronet you wear, I didn't realize..." Dedumil choked for a moment, overwhelmed by what he'd witnessed. In his haste to withdraw from the vision of the future prince, he'd stumbled backwards into the past of of the Ashura family and learned a secret he hadn't particularly want to know. He breathed slowly, forcing his racing heart to slow down so he could continue: "Your coronet is a seal. Your eyes are golden, not because of genetics, but because of the demon that slumbers inside you, my lord. It was passed onto you by your forefathers –– by your father, and his father before him, and his father before him. It's been dormant so far, but your magic is waking it up... it's beginning to stir. That's why you put that coronet on. My lord, you must not have a son! He will certainly birth that evil within himself. He will become the demon."
Ashura was quiet for several moments. "And then?"
"It will create chaos in Celes because your campaign will ultimately be successful: you will succeed in subjugating the nobles. Thus when the demon awakens, there won't be any force capable of stopping it. The country will be destroyed, if not by the demon, then by her enemies who won't hesitate to strike when the country is left leaderless."
Ashura moved back towards Dedumil, his movements deliberate and predatory. He did not stop until his face was mere inches from Dedumil's and pinned the seer with a gaze like a scalpel as if he would peel back the layers of his skin and read his mind. "You are a true seer. I've been waiting for years for someone who could see. All the others before you told me of the 'great joy and celebrating' my son's birth would bring the kingdom. Now you're the only other person alive who knows the truth: would you serve your king, who shelters a demon in his body?"
Dedumil forced himself not flinch or drop his eyes, even though he could sense a power stirring inside Ashura's body. He thought of the demon prince Ashura and imagined that creature curled up inside the king's stomach, golden eyes slit with anger as it glared at him through layers of flesh and robes. Exactly how much influence did it wield over the king, and would it allow him to live now that he knew its nesting place? "Why does my king desire my services?" he managed to whisper.
"I will not have children - I had already decided this, despite my question to you earlier. That was merely a test. My line will die with me, and my only legacy will be a Celes strong enough to survive without me. I must appoint a successor with noble blood to succeed me, and I need your insight to select one who won't exploit my subjects, someone of wisdom and character."
Dedumil could scarcely believe that the king would be willing to abdicate his throne for the sake of the kingdom. All people were basically selfish, the only difference with those of royal blood was the incredible degree to which they could be selfish. Wasn't that why he had always refused to serve any of them? But what would the king – and his demon - do after and if he abdicated his throne?
Ashura saw the question in his eyes and answered it. "As for the demon... after I secure Celes, I will have myself and this demon put away. You will also find this person, the person capable of... sealing us."
The terrible resignation in the king's eyes suddenly made sense, and Dedumil finally understood why in all his visions he'd been meant to come to the palace. He also understood why he would do whatever he could to help his king achieve his purpose, as extraordinary as it was. Dedumil stood up, placing his hand over his heart as he bowed stiffly and briefly. "Please accept my services, my king. As long as I live, I'll help you achieve your purposes."
"Why? Why serve me?"
Ashura was fond of questions, Dedumil decided crankily. "Because you love your country. That's enough for me, demon or not." He did not mention the other reason - that he was hardly dumb enough to refuse a king.
"Do you see any hope for my Celes?"
The seer frowned as he considered the logistics involved. It would only be possible for Ashura to be sealed by someone stronger than both Ashura and the demon. Dedumil wasn't certain such a person even existed, and if that person did, finding him or her would be another challenge altogether. But perhaps not impossible, if the king exercised new privileges throughout the land under his control... maybe with the creation of a registry of children born with magic, and exerting more authority over the hedge witches and wizards. Maybe, just maybe, that thread could be found. New possibilities were already emerging with just with this conversation. "There might be a thread. Whether we will find it – and the consequences should we find it – are unknown, but frankly, things couldn't get worse, so we might as well try."
(Three years after the events of Chapter III)
Fai's fingers twitched rebelliously, and Fai sighed. They were positively itching to do a bit of magic right now. Fai bit his lip and wondered if sitting on his hands would suppress the urge. Perhaps he shouldn't have come to sit up the roof: it was one of his favorite places, but the feel of the wind rustling his hair as it whispered in his ears always made him feel magic-y. And sometimes the wind carried currents of natural magic that seemed to be practically begging him to tinker with it.
Fai really hoped that the priest was right and that the sun gods did spy on people to see if they were behaving, because he deserved points for his good behavior. (Frankly, he'd always had his doubts about the existence of gods in general, but even if they were floating around the atmosphere somewhere, why would they waste their time spying on people? Most people were incredibly boring, which is why he often felt compelled to create his own entertainment.)
"Hey, Gargoyle Boy! You aren't doing magic up there, are you?"
Fai crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue, although sadly the gesture was wasted since it was completely dark. Fedos'i had been way too nosy ever since Fdot had gone and gotten himself hitched. Mama had said Fedos'i was missing his twin, and he probably just needed to find a wife too. Fai wholeheartedly agreed and was doing his best to find his brother a woman who actually deserved him, but there were only a few unmarried women in the village and they were all too nice to deserve Fedos'i's company. Thus, at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, Fedos'i was well on his way to becoming a gossipy old busy-body. It was true that Mama and Papa had told his brothers to keep an eye on him to make certain he wasn't doing unsupervised magic, but Fedos'i acted as if he'd been handed the Mandate of Heaven personally. He was always sneaking around, trying to catch Fai doing magic. Of course, Fai aimed to please, so he jinxed Fedos'i every now and then just to keep him smug and happy.
"You really shouldn't sit like that, Fai. That horrid posture is bad for a growing boy."
"It's okay, I'll be sure to let every one know when I'm a hunch-back at fifteen that you warned me, but I just wouldn't listen." Fai liked to sit crouched on his ankles, his arms hanging by his side. It was a relaxing pose to hold because he didn't have to concentrate on it at all, and he was usually busy thinking about interesting things. He liked to slouch and lean in general, and it was just as well, too; if he walked around straight-backed, arms swinging neatly by his side like Fedos'i wanted, people would think he was training for the army or something stupid like that. The other villagers were always watching him, and Fedos'i didn't understand that he had taken precautions to deal with this. Like his smile: it irritated Fedos'i that he was almost always smiling, but the smile was a way to get people to relax around him. At first, Fai was pretty certain he had smiled because it made his Mama happy, but eventually he'd realized that people didn't take him as seriously if he smiled constantly. A person who was always smiling wasn't a threat: how could he be possibly be thinking of anything of significance? Fai also watched his language when he was around most people and made certain to stick to small talk and deliberately peppered his speech with extra "likes," "uh-huhs," and "reallys." He was pleased when he'd overheard a woman tell another that "the youngest Flowright is sweet, but a bit of an airhead compared to his brothers."
Being an airhead was safe. Being a child with lots of magic wasn't. Since Magmeteva's visit about three years ago, Fai had become acutely aware that there were a small number of people in the village who would just as soon pack him off to the capital or hand him off to the nearest officer if they could. Magmeteva and Mama had pretended that they were the ones who had fixed The Fence after finding a "special shortcut" in the town archives, and most people were happy to accept their explanation. But not everyone.
"Hey, are you listening? We need to leave soon or we're going to be late for the viewing!"
Fai opened an eye lazily. Fedos'i had reached the indignant stage, judging from the hands on his hips. He'd been rambling on for several minutes about how Fai was to behave at the Aurora Borealis viewing, but Fai had used his special tuning-out powers to ignore him. He already knew how to behave. And it was about time to leave, but he couldn't give into Fedos'i easily or his brother would become insufferable. Fai spotted a loose pebble near his feet, so he picked it up and casually flicked it at his brother's leg.
With a yelp, Fedos'i jumped backwards. Fai knew his brother hadn't been able to see the pebble in the dark, but he had definitely felt it. "You're putting a curse on me, aren't you! I'm telling Mother, Mister Magic!" Fedos'i squawked indignantly.
Fai grinned as Fedos'i scrambled inside the house. He stood to his feet, leisurely stretching his limbs like a lazy cat. He lit his lantern and clenched his teeth around its handle. His hands freed, Fai then dropped nimbly from the roof to the top of the compound fence, which he quickly descended.
"Hiya Fai. Putting 'curses' on Fedos'i again?" Prach was waiting alone in the kitchen, his ever-present quiver strapped to his back.
"Yeah, the Curse of Gravity this time. He's lucky he survived." Fai grinned.
Prach stuck his lower lip out in a mock pout. "That's not fair! You swore you'd let me watch if you were gonna hex someone to death."
"It was really inconsiderate of me. I promise I'll make it up to you at the viewing: how about a special 'Death By Insects'?"
The dark-haired boy laughed. "Yeah, Fedos'i's overdue for a date with his favorite pincer bugs. A date down his coat. C'mon, let's hurry up and catch up to your folks; they left awhile ago. I already got your bow and quiver from your room, too," Prach said as he took the bows off the rack by the front door.
With a stab of guilt, Fai took his bow and quiver and lantern and followed Prach outside. Prach was fanatical about keeping his bow and arrows with him at all times and he even slept with them in his bed. It had been several years since the demons had attacked them, but Prach still woke up in the middle of the night sometimes, sweating and screaming. Fai knew this was entirely his fault: Magmeteva had explained to him in one of her letters that the demons had almost certainly attacked the two of them because they were drawn to his magic, but she had also assured him that they needn't worry about further attacks from any stray demons if they kept wearing Faina's amulets and if Fai were careful to keep his magic under control.
The part that made Fai feel really guilty, however, was that he'd shown Prach the letter and Prach hadn't even been angry with him. He had just shrugged and said "'S'okay, man. Everyone's got a hangup or some crazy problem. Yours just has really big teeth. But you're my friend, so I'll deal." Fai considered himself lucky to have a friend at all, especially such a forgiving one. He'd stopped attending school in the village, partially because the pace and content of the curriculum bored him, but mostly because he didn't get along that well with the other kids. He was different, and most children viewed differences as a weakness to be exploited. The majority were content to define themselves by what they were not in orderto secure their positions within their individual packs. Sometimes their behavior reminded Fai of the time he'd witnessed Captain Saadak's dog team encounter a stray wolf that had wandered too close to the village.
He'd felt sorry for the wolf.
Usually, Fai preferred the company of adults; adults weren't usually as obsessed with fitting in as children, perhaps because they already had their own permanent packs at home and didn't need to constantly maneuver for a spot. Plus, charming adults was ridiculously easy; they practically begged to be flattered. If you just spoke respectfully to them and pretended to be properly impressed with their jobs or hobbies and didn't jump on the furniture, you were well on your way to be labeled "a good child."
"Fai, we're almost there. Stop spacing out." Prach nudged him in the shoulder as the Stone House rose into view.
Fai rubbed his shoulder, grinning. He didn't need a lot of friends. Quality over quantity, and Prach was definitely quality. Prach appreciated his magic and his collection of shiny odds and ends that he kept stashed in his room. Also, Prach was the only person outside of his family that Fai still did magic in front of: even though Prach couldn't do a lick of magic, he loved it with a fervor that made Fai eager to learn new spells and charms so he could show Prach. Prach did get mad if he tried anything risky, though, but Fai figured friends were supposed to keep you somewhat in line.
The Stone House was nothing more than a burnt-out shell of a former home located on a rise above the village. Its wooden roof had burned off long before Fai had been born, but unlike most houses in the village, its outer walls had been hewn from stone so they remained standing, albeit soot-streaked. The house had become a natural spot for people to congregate during the viewing since the more cold-natured could gather inside and have some protection from the wind - but still enjoy the spectacular display of Northern Lights. The boys neatly wove their way through the crowd milling outside the house. Several women stood over two large steaming kettles (one full of beer, the other hot chocolate), passing out cups to the crowd. "Here, warm up some, boys," rasped Blanka, the local barkeep, thrusting cups into their hands as they passed by her. "Your noses are red."
"Thank you," they chimed. Fai took an appreciative sip of the hot chocolate. It was delicious, of course. He loved sweets.
"Ah ah." Blanka clucked her tongue scoldingly and they froze in the entrance way. "You two know you're not supposed to bring weapons into that house." She jerked her thumb towards the pile of weapons outside the house's entrance. "Leave 'em there."
Prach scowled fiercely yet took off his quiver and bow, as did Fai. Once inside, they started looking for Fai's family, a challenging task since the house was dark and teeming with people who stood about in groups, laughing and chattering and pointing at the sky. Most people had brought lanterns; however, they had set them down near their feet, so the small pools of light didn't reach their faces. Fai couldn't identify anyone by sight until he drew close enough to cast his lantern's light on them.
But after a few minutes of wandering, Fai heard his father's booming laugh and simply steered himself and Prach towards the noise.
"Ah, Prach, Fai, about time!" Faiik said as Falco claimed "eldest son nookie privilege" and rubbed his knuckles into their hair roughly. The entire Flowright family was there - all his brothers and their wives and children, as well as Captain Saadak and Bacha. Everyone was in quite high spirits, except for F'edosi, who greeted with Fai with a glower and promptly turned his nose up.
Tragically, neither he nor Prach had spotted any bugs on the way there.
"So," said Faiik with a twinkle in his eye, "do you think you'll be the first to discover a pattern again this year, Prach?" Every year the villagers competed to see who would be the first to find any noticeable images in the Northern Lights: last year, Prach had spotted a bird-like formation that everyone had agreed looked startlingly like a phoenix with flaming wings of blue. "Because if you do, I'll give you a real tattoo of it. Now you might be out of luck if it's a chicken." Everyone laughed as Faina shook her finger at Faiik in mock anger, and Prach blushed from the attention. The two boys had liked the phoenix so much that Fai designed a stencil of it, which they proceeded to use to mark their territory, personal belongings, and even their skin (until Faina spotted the charcoal-drawn marks on their arms and promptly gave them both spankings – only sailors and gang-members had tattoos, apparently. Faina approved of neither as a career choice, Captain Saadak notwithstanding.)
Faiik's joke evolved into a rowdy discussion about which was the best pattern ever spotted, and soon other groups of people got involved. Most Oznobishins tended to be opinionated, and the beer made them more boisterous than usual.
Fai smiled, enjoying the good-natured spirits and energy of the crowd and the streaming, dancing lights above. But his stomach was starting to ache, so he sank down to the floor and frowned at his empty cup. He hadn't had that many refills of hot chocolate, had he?
Prach sat down next to him and poked him in the arm. "I think your family's the loudest one in here," he teased.
Fai grinned back weakly and hugged his knees tightly. His stomach was really starting to hurt. "Well, everyone has a talent. My family's is just volume, I guess." He rubbed at his forehead, suddenly feeling hot and sweaty despite the cold temperature.
"Are you okay, man?" Prach stared at him with concern.
"I think I'm... going to be sick."
"Eh? What's wrong, baby?" Fai felt his mother's cool hands on his neck. "You feel a little hot. Ahh, I shouldn't have let you out when it's this cold; you've always been too thin, not enough insulation to keep you warm." There was a shuffling noise, and Fai realized she was digging through her purse. "I bet I have some herbs we can mix up for you and fix you right up." Fai made a face (safe since he didn't think she could see it); most of her quick-fix cures tasted horrible and somehow he just didn't think it was going to work this time anyway.
"Um, I'll just take him outside, Mrs. Flowright, if that's alright with you. He was fine until we came into the house, so maybe he just needs some fresh air," said Prach shyly.
Faina sighed. "Oh, fine. But if you don't feel any better, you come right back in here, Fai, and we're going home. Understand?"
Eager to escape nasty tasting medicine, Fai nodded agreeably and Faina planted a quick kiss on his forehead. Prach grabbed the lantern and pulled him to his feet. "Thanks for the save," Fai said as they scurried back through the crowd.
"Hey, I've had your mother's medicine before. But you're turning kinda pale, you know," Prach stated, holding the lantern up to Fai's face. "Are you sure you don't want to take something for it?"
Fai shook his head, still clutching his stomach. "No, I don't think I'm sick in the normal way. It happened really quickly... it feels like something's wrong." They were outside now, and Fai narrowed his eyes, peering out into the black horizon. "Like something's wrong out there and I'm feeling it here." He suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth, feeling the rise of hot liquid to his mouth as his stomach spasmed.
"Um, not here, there are people here! Behind the house!" Prach grabbed their bows and quivers from the stack of weapons and propelled Fai around the side of the house. Fai barely managed to hold it in until they reached the back of the house.
"Ew, there's your supper."
"Oh, shut up," Fai growled, taking the handkerchief Prach had fished out of his coat. He wiped his face.
"Well, do you feel better? I usually feel better after I've puked my guts out," Prach reassured him.
Fai shook his head, still clutching his stomach. He didn't feel better; he just didn't have anything left to throw up. But he was puzzled: the bad feeling reminded him of the "buzz" he felt from sensing his mother and Magmeteva. Each possessed magic, so they put off a distinct energy that Fai noticed if he were in close proximity. However, unlike whatever he was sensing now, the buzz from them was pleasant and definitely didn't make him sick. It was also much less intense.
Fai explained the difference to Prach.
"So you think maybe an evil wizard's trying to curse you?" Prach wondered.
"No," Fai replied. "I think it could be backwash from a magical battle, though, a big one. I've read that people with magic can be affected by the spells of others even if they aren't directly involved."
"Lemme guess: the book didn't tell you how to shield yourself from it."
"Nope."
"Seems like there's a lot of important stuff that you haven't been able to find out." Prach looked despondent.
"What's wrong?"
"It's just... well, you're gonna have to figure out all this magic stuff sooner or later. Like this: you just can't live wondering if there's a battle every time you feel sick. And then there was that time you had to skip school 'cause you had the hiccups and you kept accidentally casting spells every time you hiccuped. It was funny as hell, but we still don't know why it happened. I know you. You hate not knowing the answer... you're going to leave here, aren't you?"
Fai fixed his gaze on the sky to avoid looking at the other boy's face; he could hear the hurt in Prach's voice and didn't want to see his expression. "I hadn't really planned anything definite," Fai admitted. "I was thinking of an apprenticeship when I turn thirteen. I know that I'm not cut out for mining work, so I was considering talking Captain Saadak into letting me be a cabin boy on his ship – I'm sure I could, he treats me like I'm his nephew. I've picked up from him that there are magic-talented people who travel a lot so they can learn magic and hide from the army. If I sailed with him, whenever he docks at port towns I could wander around and sense if there are any magic people in the town. Then I could meet up with them and swap information and spells and stuff." Fai shrugged nonchalantly. "I know that might not seem like that much of a plan, but I just can't stand the thought of staying here and never learning much more than I already know. Magmeteva does tell me some stuff when she writes, but never anything really interesting or challenging. I think she's afraid that her letters might be opened and read by spies – she acts like she's writing everything to Mama and just discussing Hedge Witch stuff. So if I want a really good magical education, I have to travel and visit as many places as I can."
"You wouldn't go to the capital, would you?" Prach was aghast.
"No, not 'officially' as a magician. After I've gotten older, though, and learned enough magic to protect myself, I'll poke around secretly. Just so I can see what it feels like, you know. Every place in Celes has its own type of magic, and the capital's is stronger than anywhere else. So I have to go just once. That's all."
"...you're stupid, do you know that? You're gonna get yourself killed, and they'll have to mail you home in boxes 'cause you'll get yourself blown to bits. I'll probably have to come with you just so when you do something really, awesomely dumb I'm not here for your mother to blame me." Prach jutted out his jaw out as if steeling himself for Fai's inevitable protest.
Instead, Fai squealed and grabbed the other boy around his neck. "That would be wicked cool! I bet we would have a ton of fun! Now we just have to talk our parents into it."
Prach wriggled out of Fai's grasp. "Cut it out, man! I don't want you to throw up on me," he scolded, but Fai saw the flushed smile on his face. "I'll let you do the talking since it's your crazy idea."
"No problem! I bet I could wear them out eventually," chirped Fai, gleeful despite the fact that he was starting to feel even sicker. He rather looked forward to the challenge, and -
--"Oh Gods! What the hell is that!" A shrill cry rose above the chatter of the crowd in front of the house as the sound of a thousand rushing, giant wings filled the night air. A brief stunned pause followed, then Fai heard theclanking of weapons being hastily snatched up and assembled. No no no, pounded over and over in Fai's mind as he realized exactly what was attached to those wings and why he'd gotten so sick. A horrifying clamor arose as the villagers clashed with their assailants: screams and shouts and inhuman grunts and arrows and metal against flesh and oh gods, teeth against flesh. Fai's stomach tremored and he curled over, dry heaves wracking his body. The evil was so thick he thought he would suffocate. Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, please please please please.
"Fai—Fai! Why are you shaking! What's going on!"
Fai forced himself to lift his swimming head, and he raised a trembling hand to point over Prach's shoulder. Prach turned slowly, his eyes dilating in shock as he saw what Fai had sensed. The walls of the Stone House were moving – no, crawling. The faint glow from the aurora borealis cast enough light to outline the silhouettes of huge things moving on the outside of the house, awful things with too many limbs and joints. Their movements were slow but deliberate and unmistakable: they were steadily advancing on the crowd corralled inside the house.
"Demons," Prach breathed, his hand tightening around his bow.
"They're not like the ones from before. There's human magic on them; they're strong. It's unnatural," Fai choked.
"They left their weapons outside the house, by the front door," Prach said slowly. "Outside... they don't have anything to defend themselves with." He picked Fai's bow off the ground and pressed it into Fai's shaking hands. "We have to go inside. Our families are in there."
Fai swallowed hard and watched as Prach nocked an arrow into his bow. His friend's eyes were still wide with fear, but his movements were full of determination and inevitability: Prach knew what had to be done. Fai scrabbled to his feet and readied his own bow, willing himself not to think but to just do.
The boys raced around the house but froze upon reaching the entrance. The ground was littered with the bodies of villagers that had been mutilated to such an extent that Fai couldn't match names to them. Even wild animals wouldn't tear a human body like that, Fai thought, repulsed. He cast a few nervous glances around the area, but nothing outside moved.
"They took a few with them. Maybe that's why the bastards tore them up," Prach whispered grimly, prodding a demon's body with his bow.
"Their necks. That's their weak spot," Fai said quietly. Each of the fallen demons had an arrow or an ax buried firmly in the hollow of its neck. Papa and Fdot had taught him to recognize vulnerable spots because you usually didn't get a chance for a second shot with a dangerous predator. Fai tried not to think about them. It was impossible to think that they weren't okay.
Prach nodded and snatched up a few stray arrows from the ground, stuffing a few into his quiver and handing the rest to Fai. "We have to move fast. There were more people in the house; maybe they've managed to hold them off so far." Prach bit his lip hard. "Let's do it."
The two boys rushed the house, shooting as soon as they cleared the doorway. Fai went left and Prach went right so they wouldn't get in each other's line of fire. It was too dark for them to risk shooting low and possibly hitting people, so they aimed for the shapes clinging to the walls and whizzing through the air. Fai focused on the simple rhythm of loading his bow and releasing the arrows because he didn't want to acknowledge what his mind was screeching about the sticky softness under his boots. I'm just outside practicing archery with Prach and Fdot; it's just a game; it's not real; I'm not stepping on anybody right now-
Fai heard the sound of a demon rushing towards him, and he dropped to the ground to dodge it but not quickly enough. Blinding pain flashed through his body, and the bow dropped from his hand. Fai clutched his right shoulder; it was sticky and it burned. After a few seconds, however, the burning ceased as Fai lost sensation in the arm, and it dangled uselessly by his side.Fai grabbed the bow with his left hand. He couldn't shoot with that hand but he knew he could at least use it as a club.
"Fai, did it get you!" Prach rushed up to his side, breathing hard.
"Yeah, I can't use my shooting arm."
"Shit! Look, I've been doing a quick search around the room. It seems most of the demons have already left, which is probably why we're not dead yet. I've been calling but no one's answering." There was a dry sob in Prach's voice, and Fai wondered if his friend had seen his family's bodies. Fai knew the Pados had come; he had seen them earlier.
"Fai..."
Fai jerked his head around. It was a muffled, faint voice but one he would recognize anywhere. "Mama!" he cried, running toward the sound of the call. He tripped on a pile of bodies, and the calculating part of his mind that still worked coldly informed him that obviously these were his brothers and father, and they had fallen protecting Mama. He strained to push his father's body off his mother but failed miserably. "Sorry, Papa. Mama and I will fix you up later, okay?" Fai whispered.
"Fai, stop. It's no use," his mother rasped. Her voice sounded funny and hollow, like air was escaping from a hole that shouldn't be there. Maybe he needed to bandage her, Fai thought dully, stretching out a hand to call up a light spell. "Lig--"
"Stop!" Faina hissed. "They'll come... silly boy. Listen, Fai... run. Nothing... you can do. Understand?"
"No!" Fai clutched her neck fiercely. It was really wet and smelled like metal; Fai knew she was hurt badly. But Magmeteva had always said Mama was one the best herb-using witches around; surely he could help her get better and then she could take care of Papa and Fdot and Falco and Falimir and Frol and the kids and even that stupid Fedos'i and then Prach's family and everybody else...
A horrible snarl sounded behind them. Fai felt fetid breath hot on his neck, and the hairs on his body stood straight up. He wanted to grab his bow but his muscles had frozen. I'm going to die!
"Attack my baby! Go back to hell, monster!"
Fai watched in amazement as his mother shook him off and then pushed Faiik's body aside in a burst of energy. Faina seized an arrow from Fai's quiver and rammed it into the demon's neck as it lunged towards her, but its claws dug deep into her chest and she fell. She did not move again.
"Mama." Fai stared at her body, unable to comprehend what had happened.
"Fai! We gotta get out of here!" Prach's voice cracked with desperation as he pulled back his bowstring. Fai sensed a large demon closing in on them but he felt oddly detached and unable to command his body to move. "Fai!" Prach yelled again as he continued to fire. "The arrows aren't stopping it!" There was a hideous ripping noise, and Prach screamed in pain as he wrestled with the monster. "Fai, use your magic! Save yourself! Do it now!" There was a snapping sound, and the struggling stopped.
The creature let Prach's body fall from its mouth, and it slowly sauntered towards Fai, snapping its jaws eagerly as if it thought he would be an especially tasty treat. Fai locked eyes with the demon and saw that its eyes glittered with a human-like malice and intelligence.
A harsh realization washed over Fai: They're all dead, and they're not coming back. They're all dead, forever. Fai felt something dark stir inside him. "I hate you," he said to the approaching demon, which was almost within arm's reach. "So I think you all should die now, okay?" He smiled, a harsh, bitter smile.
Then Fai stretched out his hand, and the earth shook.
The scouts had returned.
They rode into camp in a subdued manner, and everyone in camp paused whatever he was doing to stare at them. They weren't jovial as was customary upon their return to camp – no whooping and insults for the "soft soldiers" who had stayed behind and no excitement over prospects of a nice meal and a tent to sleep in. Instead, their expressions were strained and somber as they passed through the camp. The other men began to whisper furtively as soon as the scouts went inside Ashura-ou's tent. Several of them cast glances at him, but Dedumil made a point of ignoring them and continued to nurse his small campfire. He hated traveling in the cold and the dark; his bones never stopped hurting when conditions were like this. Let the idiots gawk. They should have learned by now that he wouldn't make such an extraordinary claim if he weren't absolutely certain he was right. But he wasn't pleased or smug about being right; it would be damned sick to be proud about having seen a future of death and destruction for a helpless peasant village. However, odds being what they were, it was usually safer to predict brimstone and suffering than happiness and little bunnies frolicking about in the sunshine. Whenever he was "off" a little in visions, it was only because he had underestimated the degree of catastrophe; initial visions were easy, seeing the consequences of human response was not. Cursed wars.
Dedumil poked at the fire with a stick and frowned, wondering if the scouts had brought Ashura any useful news about that man with the hideous black-and-white haircut and tacky bat design on his clothing. That man had appeared in several of his visions, always a shadowy figure that flickered in and out of focus, barely perceptible. He was obviously a powerful wizard who had taken measures to avoid detection. Still, Dedumil had become wise to his ways and had finally deduced that he was the one who had taught Qveton the dark art of demon-shaping. The fool, of course, had thought it was a great idea to use winged demons to gain the upper hand in his insurgency against Ashura and hadn't hesitated to use them near settlements. Dedumil clucked his tongue. Voloshin was fortunate that it was a port city; Ashura's troops had commandeered a ship and reached it quickly enough to save about two-thirds of it. But some of the demons had escaped, albeit grievously wounded by Ashura's magic. These were the sort of demons that drew their power from the energy of humans, so Dedumil knew they would flee in search of the nearest hapless settlement.
That was Oznobishin, which was not nearly as fortunate as Voloshin in terms of geography. The River Ozerov was frozen solid that far north this time of year, so they were reduced to pushing their way through the rough countryside alongside the river. It had been almost three days since they left Voloshin, traveling as fast as they push their mounts; it would have only taken the demons half a day by wing to reach Oznobishin. A lot could have happened during that time...
Dedumil's curiosity got the better of him and he grudgingly abandoned his fire. He grabbed his staff and stumped his way to Ashura's tent, arriving at the exact same time as the Captain of the Guard, who shot him a suspicious look but deferentially allowed him to enter first.
Ashura was standing, hands crossed behind his back as he stared at one of his curtained tent walls. He did not turn to look at them. "The village is completely destroyed, and the scouts said they saw no survivors from their vantage point. They did not see the man with the... 'bad haircut' either."
Dedumil smirked at the wry note in the king's voice, and the captain gawked at him, shocked that Dedumil would dare grin in the presence of the king. Ashura rarely rode with the troops, and thus they did not know him like Dedumil did. He only left Celes when an insurgent wizard or witch of a high enough rank necessitated his presence (he did not like to leave the throne unattended), and then he kept mostly to himself. Ashura did not joke with the men or scold them or normally even give them orders directly, preferring to leave most of the minor decisions to the discretion of the officers, although it was a grave mistake to assume that he did not know every intimate detail of their lives, both on and off the battlefield. Usually, Ashura was simply there, except for those thankfully rare moments when he felt compelled to release his tremendously potent magic.
"However," Ashura continued, "the scouts did see evidence of human activity. They saw piles of stones, as if someone had been burying the dead."
Dedumil grunted. "We should close in on the village and search for anyone living. That person may have information about the magical outburst we felt. If it is some new spell Qveton's side has cooked up, we don't have much time to act before they kill any witnesses."
Ashura nodded solemnly. "Then we will ride immediately."
Calling it a 'village' was a misuse of the word, Dedumil thought, overwhelmed by the immense destruction that stretched before them like a surreal tableau. The scouts' chilling account had not been sufficient to prepare them for this sight: the village had been flattened as if a giant hand had reached down from the sky and crushed it like an insect. Nothing was standing: not the temple, not the school, not the shops, not the homes. Bloodied, ravaged bodies lay in the snow, some still clutching weapons. Scattered among the human bodies were a few grotesque shapes. Demons. Dedumil spat at the body of one and silently cursed Qveton, a fool who would purposefully unleash such a force upon the world. Dedumil shot a quick glance at Ashura, wondering if the king were thinking about the one that slept inside his own body. But Ashura's face was inscrutable.
The same magic that he and Ashura had sensed earlier still lingered over the village like a shroud; there was no doubt that it was the same magic that had caused the destruction. Dedumil stopped his mount beside the charred remains of a tree that still smoked. "It's a Pul'kheriia. They don't grow in Southern Celes," he explained. "The pattern of the burning suggests that the tree was used as a channel for magic – but it burned because it was too much magic, too fast."
"My lord," said one of the scouts, "that's the direction we saw the graves in." He pointed to a small hill that rose above the village on the outskirts.
As they approached the hill, Dedumil realized that it was the epicenter of the blast that had flattened the village; specifically, the house that had once stood on top the hill was the epicenter. The moon hung full and bright in the sky, and it illuminated the ruins of the stone house, whose walls had been pushed out like a barrel filled to its bursting point. There were several mounds of rocks outside the house that glowed white under its light. Dedumil noticed markers and decorations on the mounds and realized they were crude cairns.
A small figure stood up and looked at them briefly as they drew close, but then it crouched down again and began to paw through the rubble of the house. It was searching for rocks small enough for it to carry for cairns, Dedumil realized. The child's skin and hair glowed pale under the moonlight, and it seemed like a ghost among the bodies of the dead.
"It's a demon," breathed the captain, unsheathing his sword in one swift action. "No human could survive a demon wound like that without treatment, not for this long," he said, pointing his sword towards the unmistakable claw marks on the child's right shoulder.
"No, you ass!" Dedumil snapped, cuffing the captain's head with his staff. "Put that back! A demon doesn't bury humans, idiot; it eats them. And there's another reason that child's alive." He met Ashura's eyes meaningfully.
Ashura understood. "Men, stay fast. Dedumil and I will question this child." The captain gave him a mutinous look, but Ashura merely stared at him until he lowered his eyes submissively. Ashura and Dedumil unmounted and walked towards the child.
"This magic... it is his, is it not?" Ashura asked, quietly enough so that no one else could hear.
"Yes, my lord."
They were close enough to make out the features of the child. It was boy of about eleven with pale blond hair.
"Is he strong enough?"
The magical residue of the blast still clung to the boy. It was unmistakably his, and it was undeniably powerful. That a barely trained child of a mining village could call up such magic... "Yes, he is strong enough, my lord." What neither said but both knew is that whether he could be used or would have to be destroyed remained to be determined.
The boy halted as they drew close to him. He ignored Dedumil and stared only at Ashura, the barest hint of wonder registering in his numb eyes. Dedumil knew that the boy felt Ashura's power just as Ashura felt his. Magic called to magic.
"Child, do you know who I am?"
The boy nodded mutely, casting his eyes to the ground.
"What is your name?"
"Fai D. Flowright, sir," whispered the boy. Dedumil noted that the boy spoke well. He had been educated.
"Your mother... was the village witch, wasn't she?"
Surprise flickered on Fai's face, and he glanced at a cairn that was covered with a small bunch of flowers. "Yes, sir."
"Did she teach you magic?"
Fai hesitated as if his answer could betray the deceased. "... a little. Sir."
"So if you understand some of the principles of magic, you must know why the demons came here."
Guilt and resignation flooded the boy's large eyes.
"They were drawn to your magic – you put off a very big signal," Ashura continued evenly, as if he were discussing the weather.
Dedumil was only mildly surprised that Ashura revealed just part of the truth: the demons were probably encouraged by the boy's magic, but they would have come to the village regardless, drawn by the presence of humans and desperate because of their wounds. Ashura would not mention their role in the tragedy, however: Ashura didn't play to be fair. He played to win.
Ashura studied the cairns carefully. Each had a marker of some sort, probably the personal effects of the deceased: a knife, a bow, a doll. One had a sketch of a blue phoenix. "These are your family and friends," said Ashura. "And your neighbors. You are powerful, but you weren't able to save them. They protected you, but you couldn't return the favor because you can't control your magic. You did more harm than good."
The boy wrapped his arms around himself as if he wanted to disappear by making himself smaller. Dedumil wondered how far Ashura could push before he broke the child.
"For you to practice magic without having permission or being registered is a crime. You know that, don't you?"
Fai nodded again.
"What should your punishment be, for your role in the deaths of my subjects and the destruction of my village?" Ashura asked, his tone still mild.
"...I should be dead too," came the barely audible reply.
Ashura turned from the cairns and looked at the boy and waited until the boy lifted his head. The look Ashura now wore suggested kindness. "That would be just... but what is just is not always the best choice. What if there was a way for you to control your magic and use it to help people?"
Fai perked up, hopeful but frightened, as if the possibility were too good to be true.
Show them death, then offer them hope, Dedumil thought cynically. Ashura was skilled at this game.
"I could use someone like you to help me make this a better country."
"But--" Fai began, then halted abruptly, biting his bottom lip as he glanced at the waiting soldiers.
"Ah, they've told you bad things about me. Probably that I am ruthless and a murderer, right?" Ashura asked, letting just a trace of regret seep into his voice.
"Yes, sir." The boy looked at the grave with the flowers again.
"It's true. I am ruthless, and I have little mercy, even to those who ask for it. My actions have led to the deaths of many of my subjects -- who are under my protection. My soldiers put a tremendous strain on villages when they must travel to their battles: they have to take too much food and commandeer people's homes, and they are often brutal to innocents because they are stressed and frightened and angry. Sometimes the wizards and witches under my command use questionable means to win their struggles. It is unfortunate, but necessary so that Celes is not made vulnerable by those who wish to divide her. But... I do not wish for it to be so." Ashura's golden eyes glimmered with something like regret, and Dedumil noticed that the boy shifted slightly towards him, drawn by the display of emotion and Ashura's frankness. "If I had a very powerful wizard under my command, then conflicts could be ended quickly, instead of having them drag out and cause pain to my subjects. After time, my enemies would grow fearful and would not be so ready to plunge the country into turmoil like this"--Ashura motioned respectfully towards the graves--"and Celes could enjoy peace and prosperity again. This is my desire."
"What do you want from me, sir?"
"I want you to serve me as my wizard. I see that you do not delight in death or power, and I know that it would be difficult for you to use your powers in battle. But I have been looking for a long time for a such a person as you."
The boy slowly raised his head and met Ashura's eyes. "Would I have to kill people? Sir."
Ashura did not lie this time. "Yes. Knowing this, will you serve me?"
The boy hesitated, drawing back, and Dedumil knew he was going to refuse. Two futures flashed before his eyes: one in which Ashura murmured "a pity" after running the boy through, and another in which he simply pursed his lips as he wiped his sword clean before they rode off. Ashura would not force the boy to serve him; he needed the boy to believe in him and his ideals in order to fulfill his purposes. But he would not – could not – leave a boy with such power unattended.
"I---"
"The people who loved you wanted you to live. Your mother wanted you to live, and to do good, even if it's not through the same methods she taught you."
Fai clenched his fists, frustration and confusion plain in his expression. Despite himself, Dedumil could not help but smile wistfully. No, it's not fair, is it, kid?
"Yes, I will serve you. My king." The boy knelt to the ground, tears dripping from his face.
Where there had been only two futures, a thousand threads now diverged.
Ashura took the child by the hand and led him to his horse. Gently, Ashura placed Fai on the saddle.
The Captain of the Guard rode up, his eyes wide in poorly-contained shock at the sight of his refined, elegant king allowing a dirty-faced child of miners to sit on his saddle, even steadying the boy with a kind hand. Ashura-ou neither touched nor allowed people to touch him.
Dedumil noticed that Fai gradually relaxed and leaned back into Ashura's touch, like a son would his father. But he knew, however, that as much as Ashura desired it, he would never allow himself the indulgence of playing 'daddy.' A father looked out for the needs of his children above all others. Ashura looked out for Celes, and Celes alone. Everyone else, including Ashura himself, were just means to that end. Dedumil knew that Ashura would not even hesitate to kill him – his most trusted adviser - if he deemed it necessary for Celes. But that was why he had chosen to serve Ashura, after all.
"My lord, what are your orders?" asked the captain.
"Assign half the men to bury the villagers. Send another scouting party do reconnaissance of the surrounding villages. We will ride ahead to Voloshin, where you will regroup with us when you complete the mission. Also, Captain, let me introduce my new Royal Wizard to you."
The captain made a noise of surprise, but he recovered quickly and gave a stiff half-bow in his saddle. "Captain Rzhova, at your service, Wizard."
"My name is Fai D. Flowright. Pleased to make your acquaintance," said Fai. He smiled beautifully, but his smile never reached his empty eyes.
Dedumil allowed himself one more twinge of sympathy for the boy. He would not be gentle with Fai either, but he would teach the brat what he needed to know to survive. That was better than mercy or softness. Yet... he couldn't help but be puzzled by one of the threads that flickered through his mind suddenly. It was a vision of himself teaching a grown Fai the forbidden art of world-jumping. He wondered why he would choose to do such a thing, but decided against allowing his mind to travel any further down that path. He had to allow some things to remain a mystery, otherwise life would get boring and he would become an insufferable know-it-all. Dedumil climbed stiffly onto his horse, nodded to Ashura, and they began to ride south, away from Oznobishin and the only life the boy had known.
No one looked back.
-The End.
Thank you so much for reading this. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing it! This is the final chapter unless I decide to add a side story in sometime. But for now I'm going to just focus on playing around with Lost in Translation. If you've been reading and would like to make a comment, now would be a great time. :winks:
Dedumil is like Niccolo Machiavelli in some aspects. He doesn't care much for ruling class in principle, but he would rather aid a strong ruler than have his country divided and weak.
"Gargoyle Boy" is inspired from this official picture of Fai wearing a sweater and sitting on a roof. One fan compared Fai's crouching pose in the picture to a gargoyle and I liked that description. So I stole it.
Mandate of Heaven: I'm using the term a little loosely. Check it out on Wikipedia if you want a precise explanation.
Does it seem overly harsh to compare the behavior of children to wolf packs? Perhaps, but not wholly inaccurate. By the way, Fai was still being educated at home, of course. He liked it better because he could study at his own pace. Yay homeschooling. Anyway, there were a few children who got along well with Fai (mostly girls) but their parents wouldn't let them associate with him after school because of the boulder-explodey incident. Can't say I blame them.
Fai's collection: wizards and witches are magpies. I think Fai would be suitably envious of Howl's collection (from the Studio Ghibli film "Howl's Moving Castle.") Can you imagine those two meeting:snickers:
Aurora Borealis:
northern-lights.no/english/contest/winner2003.shtml (Add a http www in front of that link... Tell me that doesn't look like a phoenix. The one Fai and Prach saw was blue, though.)
The Stone House was Magmeteva's childhood home. In some countries, people would avoid places that have been touched by tragedy, but the Oznobishins were a relentlessly pragmatic people.
Future events: I don't feel compelled to write the story through the arc in which Fai has sealed Ashura, but here's my theory: Ashura's demon starts taking control sooner than expected, but it did so in a rather subtle manner in order to evade deduction from Fai and Dedumil. It's possible that Ashura was also exposed to a power source that enables the demon to gain control and power very quickly – Sakura's feather, perhaps? Somehow Fei Wong is involved (he's meddled in the lives of all the other TRC characters, and CLAMP likes to have symmetry, so he has to have meddled with Fai in some manner.) Perhaps Ashura – in a sane moment - realizes that the demon has become too powerful and orders Fai to kill him because even with a sealing, the demon will eventually manage to escape and wreak havoc on Celes. But Fai can't bring himself to kill his king, so he does seal him and decides to world-skip, knowing that when the Ashura – demon awakens, it will seek revenge on him (it's also possible that Fai, with all his magical power, can't stay too close to the sealed Ashura or his magic will awaken him.) At the very least, the awakened demon will be too preoccupied with thoughts of revenge on Fai to take time to destroy Celes. Or so Fai hopes.
Thanks again for reading.