And once again, another chapter!
No worries that Nezumi left in the previous chapter; he'll be coming back in this one! However, the way in which he'll be coming back will be a bit... hectic, I suppose. You'll all have to see what happens!
Enjoy the chapter, everyone!
CHAPTER FIVE
The first snowflake of winter was the same color as Nezumi's eyes.
Shion caught it in the palm of his hand when he worked out in his garden, covering his crops with thick fabric to shield them from the impending snowfall and wrapping their stalks with small charms of warmth. His magic would be more than enough to keep them sustained through even the harshest cold, refueling them for another bountiful harvest when the weather improved.
The tiny silver flake landed in the center of Shion's palm, resting in the crease stretching across his palm. His eyes traced the beautiful patterns, the loops and swirls that held the snowflake together. It only lasted a moment—the heat from Shion's skin melted the flake almost as quickly as it arrived—but the memory of its beauty imprinted itself in Shion's memory.
He smiled. Winter could be a difficult time for him if he didn't take the time to prepare. The snow held its own sort of blustery magic, and Shion had never been able to harness it. Winter was a wild, unpredictable thing, as quick to smother and destroy as it was to dust and wane. Shion could never predict the arrival of the storms, and only his springtime magic kept him from freezing to death in his cabin.
It had been several weeks since Nezumi had appeared outside Shion's fence. He'd vanished just as suddenly as he'd appeared, leaving no trace behind.
Some nights when Shion lay awake in the darkness of his cabin, having willed the tiny lights down, he wondered if he'd merely imagined Nezumi's presence.
A beautiful boy who'd swept from the heart of the woods, interested in Shion and his magic charms? Preposterous. Shion had lived in Kronos for years, and never once had one of the Mao been intrigued enough to investigate him.
Understanding that Nezumi was nothing more than a figment of his over-active imagination both calmed and disappointed Shion. At the time, it'd felt so real—the conversation they had drifted through his mind, even now, the low timbre of Nezumi's voice rocking through his bones.
Shion thought of Nezumi often, but he rarely dreamed of him.
Shion rarely dreamed at all. Perhaps it was the price he'd had to pay for use of his magic. When Shion closed his eyes and drifted, he saw colors and pictures in his mind, but they never made sense. He never dreamed or prophesied the upcoming weather patterns like other witches he'd read about. Sometimes he relived his memories from childhood, down to the last detail. In those memories, nothing magical or otherworldly happened. Nothing that could be specified as a dream.
Even so, Nezumi had never once appeared in Shion's late-night memories. Yet more proof that he'd never existed in the first place. If he'd actually appeared before him—a member of the Mao tribe, drawn to Shion's springtime magic—he would have starred in at least a few of Shion's captured memories.
Shion took the disappointment and shoved it aside. He couldn't afford to get caught up in memories that hadn't actually happened. There were other explanations for Nezumi's abrupt presence, but they hardly mattered now. With the rapid approach of winter, heralded by the silver snowflake, Shion had to prepare for the ice and snow.
He took a breath and went inside his cabin.
⁂
Shion woke in the middle of the night, suddenly anxious. The handle of the little silver dagger he kept tucked in the side of the cot's frame—used primarily for carving apples and veggies, but stored for self-defense—found its way into his hand. With the curtains blocking out the moonlight, none of the light from the stars in the sky glinted in the blade, but the blue glow of the luminous blue flower charms caught in the edge.
He sat still, allowing the silence to settle around him like a heavy blanket. Shion hadn't woken up from a deep sleep so suddenly in years. The last time it'd happened, he'd been living overseas with his mother; he'd bolted awake, suddenly terrified that he'd be dragged out of his bed and marched to the gallows to hang.
Shion listened to the faint ruffle of wind through the branches outside his cabin. The sharpened wood, shaken free of their typical emerald leaves leaves thanks to the approach of winter, rapped on the wooden roof. He strained to listen to the sounds of the forests beyond the comfort and warmth of his walls.
He couldn't hear the crunch of heavy boots in the snow. His shoulders relaxed; there weren't any villagers planning a sneak attack on him, it seemed. However, Shion's anxiety didn't lessen. Something had pulled him from the comfort of sleep, and he continued to listen for the source of his paranoia.
And then, he heard it.
A harsh, painful inhalation of breath. A sharp hiss slicing through the wind, and a bitten off groan.
Shion threw off the blankets and darted for the door. He grasped the door handle and yanked it open; a sudden blast of cold ripped through the large tunic he'd dragged over his head to sleep in, piercing through the parchment-thin leggings he'd picked out to preserve warmth.
He peered through the darkness. Sometime in the night, it'd started snowing heavily. Shion could barely see through the curtain of white. It'd begun heaping on the ground, completely coating Shion's covered crops. The copse of trees in the distance formed a thick wall of black, blotting out the sky. The moon had disappeared behind the heavy clouds, and Shion couldn't see anything except white and black.
He inhaled, tasting the frost. His bare feet brushed the edge of the fallen snow that'd begun to pile on his staircase. His toes ached at the sudden wave of cold, but Shion continued to peer into the shadows. He searched for movement in the darkness, the echo of the pained hiss echoing in his mind.
He peered through the dark, reaching into the air surrounding his cabin. He called on the energy swirling in the air, picking through the wild, untameable frost drifting from the sky. The trees might have been tapped out in the wake of winter, but there was plenty of energy left in their cores to allow Shion to push away the frost. He lifted his head, snowflakes landing on his lips and eyelashes—
And then he saw a movement in the shadows.
A hulking shadow staggered in front of the fence. Shion's heart caught in his throat. No sound accompanied the sudden movement, but it was far closer than Shion had been anticipating. He reeled back, the warmth and security of his home screaming for him to return and keep himself safe.
If it was a wild animal, then Shion had nothing to worry about. The scent of his magic would ward off anything with hostile intent, even a starving animal desperate for any morsel to snap up.
Shion couldn't imagine the intruder was human, for their presence in the snow hadn't made a sound. No human being had the ability to remain completely silent in heavy snowfall, especially not when Shion had stepped outside and noticed them.
His stomach plunged at the realization that his intruder might not have been human or animal — but something far worse.
He narrowed his eyes and stared through the darkness at the shadow. If it was an old god, Shion intended to see its face and understand what exactly had come to seek him out. Whatever the consequences might have been as a result of laying eyes on an immortal being, Shion was prepared to handle them. He searched out the shadows features, peeking into the heavy black cloak as it lifted its head and peered back at him.
Silver glinted out from the darkness, and Shion's heart clenched.
"Nezumi?"
A sharp hiss answered him, edged with pain. The silence suddenly made sense. Nezumi's boots had runes of silence on them, allowing him to appear and vanish without a sound. His black cloak blended in with the midnight air, and the heavy snowfall kept him concealed from prying eyes that hadn't been searching for him.
Questions died on Shion's tongue—why was he here, where had he been, what was wrong—and he immediately hurried down the stairs. His bare feet plunged into the snow. It rose to the middle of his calves, and Shion bit back the cry of shock that rose from the sudden bolt of cold. He forced it back as he staggered through the snow, his steps uncoordinated and heavy, and collapsed against his fence.
Those silver eyes rose to meet his. Shion drew in a shocked breath. He'd been stricken by Nezumi's eyes from a distance when he'd first seen him—shortly before Shion had convinced himself that Nezumi was nothing more than a figment of his desperate imagination—but up close, there were swirls of pale silver and dark grey, streaked through with icy blue. The pupils were small pinpricks of solid black, and Shion couldn't see himself reflected back in his irises. Agony flared up behind Nezumi's eyes like fire in an abandoned church.
Shion's arms reached out and grasped Nezumi's shoulders. Nezumi reeled back from his touch with a startled groan, and Shion wrenched his hand back as a warm wetness spread across his palm.
He peered down into the darkness, gawking at the scarlet smeared across his skin. Blood. His stomach plunged at the sight of it, and soon, it was all he could smell. Iron twisted around him, slicing through the falling snow and the thick, earthy smells of the world around him.
Nezumi exhaled, hard, and the world snapped back into focus.
Shion reached forward again, slowly, and announced, "Step forward. I'll be careful with your shoulder."
"What?"
Nezumi's voice lanced through Shion like a knife. He remembered that voice rumbling around him, their banter the first time they'd met. It'd occupied Shion's mind after Nezumi vanished into the forest, soothing him to sleep when he lay in the comfort of his bed and allowed himself to rest. There was an edge of darkness in his tone, distrust that bled out of him as quickly as the wound on his shoulder, but Shion understood it and didn't get offended.
Shion was, in every aspect of the word, a stranger. He and Nezumi had exchanged names, but no other information. The only similarities they shared was their apparent ties to magic. Nezumi had expressed concern about stepping into Shion's 'snares', of which there were none, and Shion understood that even the Mao had their concerns about an outsider who had supposed ties to the old gods and their powers.
"I want to help you," Shion explained softly. "Nothing more."
Nezumi narrowed his eyes. Through the pain splashed across his features, Shion could see the desperation for help. His injuries were severe, that much was obvious, though Shion didn't know how severe.
"Please," Shion said, lowering his voice and peering deep into Nezumi's eyes. He relaxed and made certain he looked harmless, allowing his own insecurities and fears to come out. He might have been a stranger, but he genuinely wanted to help. "Please, let me help you."
Shion didn't have the room for terror. Nezumi could have easily slammed a knife through his chest, ripping his life from him as though he were nothing more than an insignificant insect. He understood this and allowed himself to stand still. He didn't want Nezumi to consider him a threat—didn't want him to feel threatened when Shion was trying to offer genuine assistance.
Nezumi had no reason to trust him.
And yet, somehow, he did.
He moved forward, slowly, and Shion helped guide him into the security of his fence. Nezumi's boots didn't make a sound as he drifted across the snow. He winced as Shion shifted his arm, guiding it over his shoulders. "Here," Shion said softly, "lean against me. I'll help you. We're not too far from my door."
Nezumi exhaled and stubbornly refused to press his weight against Shion. He moved slowly, allowing Shion to guide him carefully around the covered stalks of tomatoes and herbs. Shion knew the layout of the garden as well as he knew each freckle and scar on his hands; he carefully led Nezumi around them, helping him steadily up the stairs. Warmth bled from the source of the injury on Nezumi's shoulder—its stickiness seeped through Shion's fingers, even as he struggled to keep his hand off the worst of it.
Shion opened the door to his cabin and, with a deep breath, brought Nezumi inside.
To Be Continued...
