Ch. 21: February 14th Rogue
I'm trapped behind the safe, treacherous screens of deep slumber where the vaguely soft, warm weight of blankets and pillows can be felt. It must be late into the night. I'm rising to consciousness when a voice—a familiar voice—invades my still-buzzing ears. She's… singing, and this song… I know this song.
"Sleep, my darling; sleep, my baby.
Close your eyes and sleep."
It's in Russian. I've heard this. Where? Pain strikes down through my core, putting a rude end to this train of thought.
"Darkness comes; into your cradle
Moonbeams shyly peep.
Many pretty songs I'll sing you
And a lullaby."
Every separate part of my body has its own pulse.
"Pleasant dreams the night will bring you…
Sleep, dear."
My eyelids begin to fall, entirely against my will.
"Muddy waters churn in anger,
Loud the Terek roars,
And a Chechen with a dagger
Leaps onto the shore."
I must have heard it growing up, maybe back There. The Red Room.
"Steeled we are in gory
Battle, but… You and I,
Little one, we need not worry…
Sleep, dear."
I strain to lift my head to see what the weight by my arm is, trying to force my eyes open. But I'm too worn. So, I have no other choice than to lay here and listen to the steady song and submit to its lulling effect.
…
I return to a bright, silent world with the chirping of birds complementing the peaceful environment the newly-born sunlight delivers. There are no IVs in my arm; rather, I'm shackled to the bedposts by two pairs of long-chained handcuffs, There is no rush of panic in my heart—I know exactly where they are there. Where they should be. Yukino comes in, halting at the door at the sight of me, as if questioning entry. I glance at her, then avert my eyes to the wall. She saw everything back there, all of me. I'm supposed to be a man—indestructible, immune to pain, stronger than what I am. Men are men, not monsters. I bring my hands up to discover that all the blood that coated my skin has been scrubbed away.
"Rogue," she tries in a gentle tone.
I count the out-standing pebbles in the stone wall. "Who's dead?"
A pause. In my peripheral, her shoulders hike up, her hands fidget, eyes wide, an unmet voyage for words on her tongue. "You… saved us all." She stops, then hurries to my side, fumbling with the shackles. "I thought I told the doctor not to put these on you." She shakes her head.
"No." She pauses. "Leave them."
"Rogue, please." She unlocks the cuffs and lets them bang on the stone floor. "It's okay," she says in a breath.
"Who got hurt?" Again, she does not answer. But there's no point in gingerly feeding it to me. Regret and shame occupied my senses the moment I woke up. I know how my magic feeds. "Yukino, answer me," I insist.
She lets out a long breath, as if she's been grasping onto it for years. "You did."
"I'm fine," I reply without a beat. It had been decades since I felt an agony similar to that at the hands of Kroff Ortega. I can barely describe it, other than it came from whatever that label was that he placed on me. Agony works like that; a ghost, of sorts, that haunts your mind, cripples your body, until it disappears. Then, you forget about it. But you know you sure as hell never want to experience it again. It reminds you of death, but taunts you by denying death's relief. Pre-dying. I stare at the brand on my hand, the one that man put on me. "So, did everyone get out?"
"Yeah, they did."
"Did anyone get hurt?"
"No." She comes and sits beside me on the bed, never looking away from me. "Do you remember anything?"
"Vaguely." I scrunch down my eyebrows. "I heard your voice. Skiadrum's voice, too. He was…lecturing me. I don't remember what about, though." I shake my head. "And then something… I don't know… shocked—" I turned to her. "Laxus! He shocked me, and…" And then I realized I was covered in blood. Yukino's expression stones, her eyebrows forming two concerned fine lines as she nods. "And now I'm here."
"And now we're here," Yukino says.
I scan the room. "What…is here? Did we make it to Shirotsume?"
"We're actually on one of the Caelum Islands. Plathra's Cove?"
I hold my head, closing my eyes to ease an ache in my temples. "Plaque-what?"
"Plathra's Cove. It's…this." She gestures around the stone walls with gouged-out holes passing for windows, the poor wooden door that swings too wide to be properly closed, and the absolute decline of electricity. The picture of living off-the-grid. "It's home for refugees. An underground city, I guess."
"Lovely." I squint at people washing themselves in open showers some ways down the systems of halls, sharing hairbrushes in the next room. Laughing amongst themselves as if there's nothing unsanitary about what they are doing. Reminds of life 200 years ago… Sting and I would be doing the same thing.
Because we had no choice, like them. I shouldn't stare.
Yukino places a hand on my back, smiling. "I'll get your wheelchair. Everyone would want to see you awake."
"Wheelchair? No. I don't need—"
"—She's been waiting to see you again."
"Who?" My first thought is MJ. But I can't pick up her alluring scent in the sea of garlic-y body odor.
"You'll see." She hurries to the door, staying me with a hand. "Oh, and Rogue?" I raise my eyebrows at her. "Happy birthday."
"I… What?"
Yukino chuckles and nods.
"Holy shit. How long…" What did Kroff do to me? What the hell did I do to myself? "Wait, who're you talking about? Who's here— And you're gone." I slouch back in what Sting would call a pout and stare at the ceiling. Down the hall, I hear Yukino laugh again and tell me to stay put. I move the blankets to the side to expose my injured knee that is thick with gauze and bandages, reeking of medicine, alcohol, and old blood. I try to move it when a lacy, tight sting halts me. Stitches. "Fantastic."
I sit up again, faster than before, and carefully kick my legs over to the side of the bed, enduring the heavy, dull pain that seizes my leg. Lector, asleep, remains in the open drawer of the nightstand to my right. Sighing, I pat his head. Then I smell more blood—fresh blood. I check my bandages—all clean.
An array of blue balloons and banners with lions and giraffes rain down from the stark ceiling, all reading: It's A Boy! My heartbeat punches at my ribcage with heavy, unrelenting fists. I can smell Arian's scent again. His voice rings between my ears, penetrating each chamber of my magic-induced hearing: "Happy birthday, Ryos."
I ice over.
"Your special gift will come shortly." He collapses in twisted laughter; cawing, almost, or shrieking in the same pattern as a laugh.
Run.
I tear the blankets from my body, suddenly conscious of the sound of my racing heart, his mocking howling, and absolutely nothing else; and sprint out the ward, clutching Lector to my chest. Five strangers in the hall hop out of my way as I limp-run from the room, snatching at the walls, at bodies and flinging them behind me. I trip and land on my knee when I get to the next door, which crashes open from my weight. I roll onto my shoulder, swallowing the pain that numbs my foot. Yukino, Levy, and Gajeel all jump at the sound and sight of my intrusion.
"Oh, my God!" Levy stands.
"Rogue?!" Yukino is by my side, a hand on my side. Her eyes study my body for wounds. "I told you I was coming back!"
Lector's ear twitches under my chin. "What's the deal, man?"
I wince. "Sorry, Lector. I didn't mean—"
"You finally wake up from your slumber, and you drop me?!"
Gajeel lifts me from the ground, leaving the small table they were sitting at. "Jesus, Ryos." He places me in his chair without much concern for my injuries. He smacks my head. "Yukino was gettin' your damn chair, so there's no need to run around like an idiot!"
"Don't hit me like you have any authority over me!" I snap, holding my throbbing knee. The yank of gravity forces my attention to it and piques my temper. "God… I wouldn't do that for no reason!"
Gajeel's chest heaves as his eyes widen in irritation. "You do a lot of crap for no good reason, Ryos."
I snarl. "It's Rogue."
Yukino shoves the wheelchair between us. "No fighting!" She points to Gajeel with a scowl. "Don't hit him! And Rogue…" I stifle a flinch, something I never do with her. She sighs, and continues in a softer tone, "Please, just… try to stay still for a minute, okay?" I nod. She hands me a small paper cup full of pink liquid. "Here. It's so you won't get motion sickness while you're on the chair."
I down it without question of its contents. I trust Yukino, but the shot savors rancid and expired. Like roadkill. Levy snickers, dropping white rice in a bowl full of stew. "What a face, Shadow Dragon."
I hum, unamused, and close my eyes. How the hell did Arian find me? I don't even know where we are, exactly. Why does he want me so badly? I'm sure there are other people who—
I shake my head.
It's my responsibility to make sure he's dead. I have to make sure no one else is hurt or killed by his command. It's my duty as a mage and as the dragon-slayer that he really wants. My title has more blood on it than I'd thought, from my time servicing him.
"—really should be thanking you." I look up straight into Levy's eyes. She stares back and gives a sympathetic smile. "You saved us all. I'm sorry I doubted you."
"You don't have to apologize for that." I was doubting myself. I would be worried if she trusted that other side of me to do what is planned and just that That side is anything but complying and obedient "I'm just glad to be out of there. Where are all the civilians?"
"They're all out there." Gajeel points with his thumb at the next room that's full of cheers and laughter. I want to make sure they're all okay. I should. "No one wants to see you lookin' like that, pipsqueak." He points at my untamed, frizzed hair.
I roll my eyes. "What's annoying, to my right, and should only be acknowledged from a distance?"
Yukino brings the wheelchair to my side. "Darn, I didn't study."
Gajeel shoves my head. "I don't care that you're hurt. I'll knock you lightyears away!"
I shrug. "I'm having one of those days when my middle finger does all the talking for me." Levy bursts out laughing just as I finish talking.
Gajeel advances toward me, veins popping out from his head. "I'll break your damn finger before you say anything!"
"All right, brothers…" Yukino stops us, hands pushing us away from each other. She looks at Gajeel. "Can you help me get him in the chair, please?" They lift me and plop me on the chair's cushion.
My first thought is of dread, anticipating the wheel part in wheelchair. I shrink down a bit while they hoist up my knee. "Think I'd rather make a shadow cloud."
"Nope," Yukino denies. "You're resting to the fullest extent right now."
"You don't unders—"
"No, Rogue." She doesn't know this, but I can never do that. If I completely shut down my magic, I won't be able to reach anyone. I'd be rendered useless again. Kicking down the brake, she turns to the other two. "You-Know-Who wants to see him, now that he's awake. I'll be right back." She announces this in a cheery tone, and yet I still have no idea who this mystery person is.
"Oh! Rogue!" Levy wraps her arms around Gajeel's, leaning forward on the table. "Happy birthday and Happy Valentine's Day!" She nudges Gajeel.
If I could imagine the worst day for a shadow dragon-slayer to be born, it'd be Valentine's Day. The muscles in my face sag as she speaks. "Yeah," Gajeel says, "happy birthday, lover-boy."
"Thanks, guys." I sigh.
Levy perks up. "So? How old are you now?"
Honestly, though, how old am I? After Sting and I were reunited after those long 80 years apart, I stopped counting. It didn't matter then, because I had my brother back. So, because I don't give an answer, I break out laughing. Hard. Harder than I should be in a situation like ours, at a question like that.
How long have I been asleep?
Subconsciously, I rub my neck and finger a tender spot on the side. My fingers brush against it, dab it gently. Did I get stung, but what kind of underground shelter is infested with bees? And speaking of bees, I wonder where Sting ended up. Milady, too. Not knowing is killing me. I need to find him, to find everyone.
"Okay." Yukino chuckles. "Don't hurt yourself. I think I should be getting you back to bed now." She starts pushing the chair, I brace, but feel nothing churn in my stomach. "Relaxing, huh?" Her voice is filled to the top with I-told-you-so that makes me roll my eyes again. "Just sit back. You've had a little too much excitement for today. Especially after this."
I groan. "Enough with the secrets. Who am I meeting and looking like shit for?"
"You've just gone from laughing hysterically to cursing and grumbling in a matter of seconds." She laughs for a bit. "I don't know if I can keep up with you anymore."
"Oh, come on."
"But if you really want to know, you just have to be patient."
My first hope is Sting. She wheels me back to my bed where I can crawl my way back on the mattress. Lector tosses in the drawer and falls back asleep. Yukino stands behind me and pulls a comb through it. Or tries to. "What…" she trails off and tries again to no avail. Frizz starts to screen my field of vision. "Um, so… How do you do your hair? I'm sorry."
"Not like that," I tease. The balloons and banners disappeared. I choke on my tongue. How the hell am I supposed to relax and be patient when Arian knows where I'm sleeping? "Russian hair." The comb catches in a knot on the base of my neck. "Ai-ya…"
"I'm sorry," Yukino repeats, gently untangling the strands with her fingers. "I can't figure out… And I thought Sting's hair was hard enough!"
"I should apologize, too." I nod toward the hand-washing basin.
She retrieves it and hands it to me. "Why?"
"I forgot to comb it while I was asleep."
"Don't you know? Coma-hairstyling is totally in right now."
Gingerly dipping my head into the water, I say, "Damn, I'm so uninformed." Squeezing out excess water from my hair, I roll my head back up.
"Get with the program, caveman." We both burst out laughing as she hurries to cover my shoulders with my shirt on the windowsill. She takes my dripping hair, sits on her heels behind me, and starts combing again, focusing on the knots under the first screen of my hair. She snags the purple rose from her hair and pins the top layers of my hair to the top of my head in an onion-like bun, or something.
"Uh, yeah. No—"
"Just bear with it for a moment, please. Okay?"
"You never answered my question. Who is this You-Know-Who person you guys were talking about?"
She divides my hair into two parts. This time, the comb slides through in a lesser rebellion. "Voldemort."
I give a weary smile. "You can't say the name."
She drags the comb down the two parts, unstopping. "Well, when you went…under, things got a little crazy. A woman helped us get you back to safety." She reads my silence. "She knows Gajeel; and apparently, you, too."
I sigh. "That's all you're gonna tell me, huh?"
"Sorry." Her voice cringes with genuine guilt. "She insisted you hear it from her, directly. Not from a friend."
"You're family, Yukino," I say, quickly. She looks at me, smiles, and nods twice. I stare at her for a moment before asking, "Did you…hear anything about T? Myshka?"
"No…" She looks down. "Not yet. I hope they're all right."
"What about Cana? She was at the party, wasn't she?"
"Probably with Gray and Elfman. They were there, too, but I don't know where they ended up. Or if they're hurt."
"Oh."
"We found Rufus."
"Really?" I turn to look at her. "Is he okay?"
"He's in the southern bunkers," Yukino says. Looking closely at her, I can make out where days of stress and probably crying darkened the corners of her eyes. "We found him by one of the cataracts on the way here." She guides my head to face forward with wet, cold fingers and starts combing another layer of hair. "Breathed too much debris. He was looking for all of us."
This is exactly what I was terrified of. It's a black-hole—Arian and my never-ending game of hide-and-seek-and-kill. Only difference now is that it's a public function. Everyone's a target. He wants more blood to pry me out from every safe haven known to man. He's going to corner me, but when is the question. If I keep waiting to recover—whether or not my healing factor works—my wasted time means more corpses. I can't risk that.
"Rogue?"
I blink hard to clear my mind, rub my eyes to fend off the exhausted sting.
Yukino's in front of me now, combing my bangs out of my face, the rose pin back in its place in her hair. "You have to make me a promise." Her voice fades to a hollow shell, rounding in the back of her throat. I'm not afraid of anything, but this… this thickness to her voice… frightens me. I haven't heard her speak in this tone since Jiemma banished her. So, I watch her. "You can't be mad."
"Okay…?" I raise an eyebrow.
"And another thing." She bites her lip and frowns a bit. Her lips part to speak, but she closes it before any sound comes out. She does this about four times. Funny how she used to be terrified of me, and now she's doing my hair and forcing me to make vague promises. But sure. I don't mind. She notices when I smile and makes this little squeak while averting her eyes to her working hands. "Oh, uh… Okay, one more thing. Are you listening?"
"Yukino, after all you've done for me, I'd do… mostly anything for you," I admit and tilted my head to make the combing easier for her. "Now, tell me."
"Don't run." I never noticed how powerful the sparkle in someone's eyes could be. Well, that's half true; the shine in a person's eyes before a killer is one thing. But the maple irises that demand my attention lament with a screen of unfallen tears, eyes of someone who cares about you enough to grow frustrated when you're hurt. That.
We watch each other in silence, in dimming light. "What's…" I frown when she wipes her eyes and looks away. "Did someone hurt you while I was unconscious?"
She shakes her head.
"Did I… hurt you?"
"No."
My mind offers the worst case scenarios: this could be like Fairy Tail again where I'm to be ordered to die because of my magic, Arian is here and it turns out we never got away from Kroff's dungeon, or the entire world is perishing by my hand because I chanced my Shadow's power as a means of escaping. "Yukino…"
Yukino, what? 'You're worrying me'? 'Tell me what's going on and why you won't look at me now'?
I should ask… But I don't want to hear the answer. So, as habit of these days would have it, I sigh and give in. "I promise I won't run."
She gives a weak laugh, dropping her hand to her lap. "Okay, but you have to remember that you promised me you wouldn't be mad."
By her knuckles, I can see a thick drop of water bobbing the more her hand quivers. Is it because of me? It has to be. She's never seen me lose control—or surrender control—before. I want to reach out for her hand and tell her I'm sorry for whatever she saw, for my magic being… as it is. I should. My weakness, however, only allows me to force a laugh and say, "I double-promise I won't get mad." The show always goes on.
Yukino nods, taking my word for it like she always does, and turns the comb over in her hands, fumbling. "I'll be in the dining hall with the others. If you need me—"
"I know where to find you. Don't worry." I know my neutral face has a bitch of a bite, so I smile again and she smiles back. "There's a few hot springs around here, probably in the caves. I can smell mineral water and heat. Why don't you go relax?"
"Maybe."
"You haven't slept well, have you?"
She throws her arms over my neck and squeezes my head to hers.
I hold her back. When she first joined Sabertooth, it never occurred to me that we could grow to be this close—never occurred that anyone could truly become family in that Sabertooth, aside from me and Sting. And Finn. As for her, she was someone I should protect, but from a distance. She knew me from a different time when she was young. Young memories are dangerous. Young memories narrate the rest of your life, like it or not. We're too different from massively different worlds and times. And I know better. War breeds atrocities, including the falsehood of love. Wants. Desires. Belonging. I can't lose my focus. So, I let go.
Yukino backs away and stands, collecting the comb and bucket of water and oils. "And Rogue?"
I look at her.
"You saved us all."
Did I? I keep her eyes, locking myself in with this uncertainty so she can't see. "Not a lot of people have faith in my magic. I should be thanking you for trusting me." I adjust myself to fend off the aches in my back from sitting up all day.
Yukino stops by the door and nods. "That's what family does."
"Exactly."
She leaves.
I lean my head back against the stone wall, framed by a generous amount of wood planks nailed into the spaces between rocks. Lector snores in the drawer by the bed, sprawled out on his back with his tail wrapped around his body. "Sorry you have to go through this. We'll find Sting and the Princess soon." He gives a long, content, exhausted sigh and continues snoring. I sigh again and close my eyes against the throbbing in my… everything.
"That was a smart move you pulled at the homestead. Equally reckless, I'd say."
I freeze, instantly devoid of gumption and oxygen. I can hear nothing—absolutely nothing—but her voice. Out of instinct, I hide Lector with the blankets and sit up straighter.
"Filling the IV bags with your own blood in place of the others'. I peeked into the room as Dris Ortega examined the hues. All invalid, civilian ray." That sinister chuckle. Sweat mats my shirt to my chest, my back. "Guess that myth about third-generation blood is true. But how you did it is the question." Heels strike the tile behind me, but I dare not turn around.
Rule #13 of Red Room: Face the instructor at attention, at all times, but wait until eye contact is granted.
Always watch their hands.
"Ryos," she says at my side as I stare at my blanketed feet. "You're looking better every day." I nearly choke when air shoots into my body at the coldness of her fingers on my naked shoulder.
She walks around the bed, each crack of her heels prying away layers of my composure. I watch her painted fingers stroke the bed railings. I never do well with surprises, least not internally. With waking up after having surgery in a foreign place and being told that I've been asleep from November to February, seeing her—Madam V—here, roaming the bunkers without raising suspicion makes me wonder who these refugees are subjects of. Manipulation is a key skill acquired by those associated in arts similar to that of RR's regime. It's possible she used the same tactics on these people. She could be helping Arian—she did sell me to him. I jolt back to reality when she touches my knee. "Must be uncomfortable. You poor thing."
Chancing the trade of some bodily agony in exchange for insubordination, I jerk painfully from her and scowl, as bravely as I can, at her. "What lie did you feed the others?"
She takes a steady breath. "What is in your best interest, Ryos."
Hearing that only makes me distrust her more. She and the other Madams said that same thing before handing out punishments, like exchanging pencils or phone numbers. "What did you say to them? Did you help Arian kill all those people?" I tighten my frown, and my magic surges. "What about the Ortegas? Did you help them ambush us?"
"Calm down."
"What are you going to do to me?"
"Nothing."
"Then, why are you here?"
"Please, calm down." She sits by my legs, never taking her eyes off me. "I didn't say anything to your friends. Nothing else, but the truth."
My throat closes. I swallow. "And that is?" I swallow again, harder, because my tongue freezes.
Last time I questioned her, she switched me in front of the entire Academy for an hour, proclaiming to the rare other male students that mischief and disrespect were in our blood. My welted, naked body was enough motivation to keep them in perfect line. Until they died in training. I hardly remember it—just the humiliation of hearing her say disrobe in front of everyone, and the searing pain after. Girls' laughter never sounded quite the same after that.
"Well?"I keep on her, frowning to at least look strong, unbreakable—just how she wanted me in the outside world. "What's the truth, then?"
"That I'm here to help you." Madam V was the closest thing I had to a parent after Skiadrum; and yet, too, the absolute farthest. She can never be trusted. "I sedated you with a special lacrima when you lost control the second time. You were brought here to heal."
"I can heal myself." I move away from her again when she thumbs a tender spot on my neck.
Madam V scowls. "No. You can't. I know you were poisoned days ago with a substance that nullifies your healing factor. I examined you while you slept." Grigia. I shield this realization by squeezing my hands into balls. "I only remembered that when I saw Kroff tear the ligaments in your knee."
I cross my arms and rub the ache from my elbow. "You were at the homestead, then. Why couldn't I smell you?"
"I masked my scent with a spell." She shrugs. "In a world with dragon-slayers, sometimes Normals have to learn to do so."
"So, you're a mage, too?"
She nods, immune to my tone.
"Why did you stay at the Academy? You could have found a guild—" I stop myself. Why should I care about that? Why do I care about where she ends up, and if she lives? Her own damn words: be no one, belong nowhere.
"No, no…" She waves her hand dismissively. "My focus has always been elsewhere. But you…" Her charcoal eyes slide to the side, and for a moment, I smell…guilt on her. "I knew you were magically gifted the moment you came to me."
"So, why did you make me stay?" I ask without a beat.
"The skills you learned at Red Room are still useful in a mage's world. Magic is present, but in turn, it can easily be thwarted. Taken. Traced."
I glare her down, but her expression remains flat and unbothered. There's truth to that statement, a truth I've tested the last near-four centuries I've been on this planet. My bleeding, gushing ledger was crafted from my two hands and my two hands alone. No magic. No metallic Claws. Act human, but slaughter like a monster out of thin air. Disappear before the heart stops. I want to say I've changed, that that's the past and I've repented. But I can't. Never.
"You're sedated right now." The Madam's voice drags a shiver from me, and I know she takes note of it. She clears her throat and runs her eyes over me, head to toe. "I've, um… infused two lacrimas into your pain medication. One is the same Grigia used on you, but in a lighter dose."
I glance at the IV bag by the side table. "And the other?"
"That one calms your magic."
"Why?"
"Because you'd refuse to stay in one place, otherwise."
"So, basically, you've turned me into a Normal."
"Your decision to let your power overtake you worked as a plan of escape. But it was also reckless, Ryos."
I cringe.
"You nearly bled out. While I commend your sacrifice, I do wish you could have thought of something less self-destructive."
"Since when do you care about my well-being?" I glare at her through my hair. Trying to appear threatening, though the sight of her, the sound of her low, purring voice, makes me tremble. Before her, I'm a terrified, beaten child again. But I can't let her see that. My voice growls to hide the quiver: "I'm not your weapon anymore. I'm never going to be."
"Sooner or later, you're going to get yourself killed, the way you think now." She stares at me, waiting for a certain reaction. I only stare at her without a trace of any emotion on my face. So, she emphasizes, "Permanently killed."
A long, dragged-out breath of relief leaves my soul, lifting off weights of foreboding. If that's the case, I can't say I'm not afraid. But more so, I'm overcome by a touch of calmness. I'm a very, very old man. God's kept me alive for too long. Me: the animal, the monster, the weapon. But there's only one way I'll let myself die. "You know about third-generation dragon-slayer blood?"
She gives a hesitant nod, then a certain one.
I squint. "How?"
"I knew who and what you are the moment you came to me, Ryos. As I've said."
"You mean from the moment you dragged me from my home."
"A weathered cabin is hardly a home."
"But an assassination academy cloaked as a circus is." The glare in her eyes is the same as I remember. Black, solid eyes that can easily maim a person, but don't; instead, they strike unexpectedly. Each bite comes with shivers of scars whose sensations reawaken, a memory of ghost agonies that are nearly forgotten once they're over and easily recalled at the first twitch of discomfort. She blinks. When her eyes open again, the muscles in my back cringe and I can remember each time she had slapped me, each time she'd hang me by my thumbs outside in a Siberian nighttime blizzard, each time she'd stripped and caned me in that dark room. Each torture never dulled by her meticulous—
Her hands.
My eyes jerk to the wall. Blank wall. "So, that's why. You wanted my power. My magic."
She gives an impatient sigh. "It was because you have an inferno inside you and a heart of stone. You're made of the finest marble. Perfect." As if she's complimenting me, a wide smile branches out across her face.
I squint. "Perfect was a prison sentence."
"It's prepared you for times like these, times that require your skills." She crosses her arms. "In fact, I'm confident your skills have helped you survive this long. You wouldn't have known what to do at the homestead."
"I think just knowing my blood type and basic anatomy contributed more than assassination takedowns and espionage."
"Oh?"
"I'm O negative. But it had to be convincing."
"Ever the actor."
A stone drops in the pit of my stomach and I'm instantly nauseous. The pungent scent of magic use invades my nose and I notice an orange hue outlining my body, trapping me where I sit. I have to remain calm, especially when dealing with her. I level her stare with a growling glare, summoning up my magic energy to curse her before she tries anything else.
She turns around and walks away a bit, tugging on her pinky finger. Something I do—probably from constantly watching her in the Red Room. When she turns back to me on the other side of the room, her disposition shifts. Her shoulders become slightly tense, her eyes soften at the edges, and she presses her lips together. "My name is Isalee Sacha Rebrovskaya."
"What?"
"My name is not Galina or Madam Susan Vanders."
"I got that. But why're you telling me this?" I wish I could stand. In my condition, all I can do is use my voice, my face. Not a problem. With murder heavy in my mind, I scowl at her and try my best growl. "Are you hoping for a heartfelt reunion? You don't deserve that. But I will credit you for teaching me how to dull my humanity for the sake of a job. I can be a little too good at that sometimes."
She watches me, eyes the IV tube that only a snatch away. And I let her. Anticipation is its own murder.
"Save your words. Your best Widow, your perfect weapon, is free. So, you'd better watch your neck."
She sighs and closes her eyes for a moment. "You can kill me." Then she walks back into the light and stands over me, still pulling on her double-jointed finger. "But first, you have to understand, Ryos, that sometimes things…"
The IV tube is in my fist, but I don't round it. No, all I can fathom in this moment isn't my hatred for her. Only… her. The cord drops. "Sometimes things…?"
"Things… happen that prevent a child from being with his—" She stops again, narrows her gaze on me, and looks over my head.
"Mother." I'm fluent in twenty-six spoken languages and five sign languages. But this word is shy to my tongue, a term I cannot seem to express with my body.
She brings her head up and meets my eyes with a settled stare of a woman who's lost too much. Where I once saw cold indifference, I see yearning. Where I once saw brutality, I see… affection. And where I'd never thought I'd see tears are twinkling droplets streaming down her face. Her mourning expression and mine match. The way we fidget with our hands match. How we know what the other person is thinking is the same.
I draw closer to Madam V, the woman who gave me life, and… take her hand. I don't ask for confirmation. I don't demand physical proof. I don't interrogate her mind. It's true. Her scent: the scent before Skiadrum's. "Mother," I say, touching her face. The evidence is printed on me: our mixed eye shape that strokes at the ends and widens easily in the center, our curling, too-thick black hair, our Russian high cheekbones, our Chinese button nose that hints Russian in the lift of the straight bridge.
She nods silently and kisses my hand.
My eyes water, but I don't fight. Instead, I'm stuck studying the one person I'd never thought I would find. "I have a mother."
"Well, I'm not too happy about what you've done with your hair, but yes. I'm here." Laughing, she pulls me closer and holds me, long-nailed fingers raking the back of my neck in my hair. I sink into her with love rather than the fear of being hauled off to be chained to a bed or the graduation dissection. I'm stagnant, holding the woman I once ran in terror from… in my arms. In this moment, all the memories of her cruelty and malice fade away. There is no more bloodied sting. My body relaxes. All I can focus on is her scent, her familiar face, her being my mother.
"Ryos," she says, "Xiao-Ya Evgeny Rolandeu. That's your birth name."
I bury my face in her shoulder, clinging to her and her every word. Every detail about her materializes behind my closed eyes. Her magic brushes my temples, and I can see it. My infanthood, though in rapid flashes. I remember her holding me, a blanket of animal fur in a hut somewhere. I remember her singing to me. I remember her kissing my face, my hands, my feet. Smiling. Detka, over and over again. Someone else holding me, but her standing on the other side of the hut, yelling with tears running down her face. In silence.
"You were born in what is now Quebec. A small village. You were everything to me." She sniffles. "The joy you brought your father and me… is why you were named such an elegant name. Ryos."
I pull away and rub my eyes. Looking out at the resting sun upon blue water, I chuckle, "It's as if you knew I'd be a Dragon." Composing myself, I turn to her again. "My father?"
"Evgeny Rolandeu."
"Could've guessed that one, I suppose."
"He was Chinese. Full. Homeless and orphaned, so my family took him in. Took him back to Russia. We were already a Chinese-mixed family, so having him around wouldn't add any more suspicion. We had Victor at seventeen—I've heard you two reunited." Reunited is putting it nicely. He tried to kill me throughout my life, usually on my birthday. It pains me to say… that I killed him a decade ago. Buried him in Canada by the border. Madam V gives a lengthy sigh to reclaim her calm and looks at me with the only proof of tears being the pink at the ends of her eyes. "At twenty, Evgeny and I had you, our second-born."
"Evgeny…" I say. "He died centuries ago, right?"
"I assume so. Marriage wasn't for us, especially after you were taken that night. After then is when I left to Europe and met Gajeel's father. An Italian man."
Yesterday, I had Sting, Skiadrum, and two half-brothers. A child I'd abandoned in Africa when I was a different, weaker man. Today, it seems I'm drowning in a sea of relatives. Names that are echoes of once-upon-a-time, dancing ghosts in my mind who might look like me or barely at all. Ancestors my culture honors that I've only now recognized. "Wait…" I hurry to the sudden safety of the Madam's eyes. "I'm older than Gajeel?"
"Don't start teasing him." She smiles in a scolding way. "I remember you were a mischievous child. Act like everything is normal. Let me get him up to date."
"Da, da…"
"And speaking of Gajeel," she says, "he's never told you that I was alive?"
The possibility of Gajeel telling me something as sentimental or give any confirmation of us being related. Crystal clear is the fact that he can only think to disregard me as another pebble at the mercy of his heavy steps—or, more fittingly, gum sticking and ripping at the base of his shoe. An annoyance.
Guess I may's well say it. Him, for me? Indifference. Looking at my mother—our mother, who was hidden from me, someone who's been heel-toeing the soil of this planet for three hundred and ninety-eight years—I can admit it as casually as I can the statement that my hair is black: we're blood, me and Gajeel, but nowhere near brothers. And looking at the Madam… that's fine.
All I see is Mother.
Written April 2015; completed Mother's Day 2016; edited 2019-2021. For my irreplaceable Mama, and all the mothers and sons out there. Thank you every one of you reading and those of you reviewing! Appreciated all the support.
Untamed: Book Two; Prowling is on its way! I am currently writing/posting stories for My Hero Academia and Fruits Basket on top of this series, just a heads-up. But I will do my best!
Till next time...
~Your CoffeehouseSpadille
