And now it's time for a new chapter of And The Forest Whispers. I've been working very hard on my fanfictions, and I'm proud to announce another chapter. It's been a lot of fun to work on this fic, especially since there's an opportunity for plenty of nice Nezushi content!
In the previous one, Shion was poisoned by the villagers because Yoming witnessed Nezumi leaving Shion's cabin and assumed that he was in cahoots with the Mao. But what's going to happen to Shion now?
Let's find out!
CHAPTER TEN
Shion rolled in and out of a feverish sleep for what felt like an eternity. Red and white stars danced behind his closed eyelids, pulling him deeper beneath the surface of a rough black lake.
A collection of images rose to the forefront of his fever-stricken mind—hooded monsters stomping through the forest, capsizing trees miles and miles taller than themselves. A shrieking bird with a bald gray head and piercing red eyes. And at the end of it all, a willowy figure with flashing hands shooting down an army of glossy blackbirds with dark blue arrows of light.
Shion awoke from the nightmares at least a few times, but the feverish state of mind that jailed his thoughts refused to let him separate reality from imagined danger.
One time when he woke up, a dark figure loomed over him. He thrashed and screamed, wordless and petrified. The dark figure had latched onto his arms, pinning them down, whispering to him in low tones that sounded almost like the chanting of a spell.
The next time he woke, he saw Yoming perched on the end of the bed like a hulking black bird. He smiled, his mouth painted in blood. "Don't worry, witch," he growled, dripping death onto Shion's unmoving body. "We'll find you."
Shion tossed and turned miserably, prickling pain lancing through each nerve ending in his body. He ached, his hands thrashing out and scratching desperately at anything within his grasp. Anything to stop the fire burning in his blood. His throat hurt as if someone had poured boiling water down it. He was tearing himself apart, the particles making up his being fragmenting and splintering within him.
In his nightmares, Shion walked alone in the heart of the forests. There were no roads here, nothing to mark that man had ever made their way into its depths. The thick trunks pressed together, cutting out the light from the sun looming overhead. In the depths of tree trunks and emerald leaves, Shion could feel raw magic bolting around him, energy that he could pull and twist beneath his fingers like thread, crafting something amazing and otherworldly with it.
There were creatures hiding in the shadows, hunters with knives and arrows aimed at his back. Years ago, Shion might have thought these creatures were the Mao, stalking him and desiring to cut him to pieces. Now he recognized them for what they were—the villagers of the place Shion had once thought as home.
Shion felt something solid beneath his spine. He gasped, and something firm and bitter jammed between his teeth to prevent him from biting down on his tongue. Shion's eyelids pressed together; he was too weak to pry them open and see what manner of torture device his captors were shoving him into.
Sharp pains pricked up the soft flesh of his inner arm; Shion wrenched his arms away, curling over them to protect himself from the onslaught he couldn't see coming. He screamed again and again, the bitter taste of the device sliding out of his mouth.
Cool hands brushed across his forehead, smoothing his bangs away from his burning forehead. Soft voices blurred around him, gentle hands caressing his neck and his shoulders, soothing voices calling to him from somewhere above the surface of the pitch black lake. Shion's heart hammered in his rib cage, his stomach clenching painfully tight. He would have emptied his stomach if there'd been anything inside left to expel.
A crackling, elderly voice drifted in through his right ear and out his left. Shion didn't recognize it. He thrashed, the image of the priest's hideous glare rising in his mind's eye. Something strong but gentle clamped on the sides of his face, holding him in place as icy liquid spilled into his open mouth.
Shion choked on it—and a calm, deep voice soothed him, brushing his hair out of his sweat-drenched face and swiping a cool cloth over his skin. He couldn't hear the words or understand what he was being told beneath the loud red thrum of agony, but Shion thought he recognized something in the voice that made him want to give in and relax. Panic bled out of him as exhaustion took hold, the icy taste of the strange liquid melting over his tongue, forcing away the fever that clouded his mind.
He whimpered as the darkness pulled him back beneath the surface.
⁂
"Do you have any experience with belladonna poisoning, child?"
"Not really."
"Mm. Well, if we're lucky, he should come to in a few hours. The worst of the convulsions have passed, and his breathing has returned to normal. Keep him hydrated and there should be minimal complications."
Shion exhaled, the world bleeding around him in a hodgepodge of purples and dark blues. A massive gray cloud drifted across his vision, even when he tried to peel his eyes open and see who spoke around him.
He vaguely recognized one of the voices... but where he'd heard it seemed to slip out of his mind like water through a cracked glass. He caught most of it, but the most integral parts disappeared through the shards, spilling out onto the floor and drying before he could stop them.
More cool cloths brushed along his forehead and his neck. His skin burned, like he'd spent the whole day out beneath the sun, and Shion sighed, rescued from the nightmares for only a brief moment.
Shion turned his head, unconsciously leaning into the warmth radiating from his side. Someone was perched on the edge of the cot, and when Shion shifted, they moved closer, looming over him. Rather than terrified, Shion felt calm beneath the shadows, subconsciously drawn to the comfort being offered to him without words. Fingers slid across his cheekbones and down his throat, stopping at the pulse point beneath his jaw and resting there.
Sleep came easily to him, and Shion drifted off once more.
⁂
The voice had been wrong.
Shion slept for three more days.
⁂
Shion woke up once and saw Nezumi hovering above him. Those startling silver eyes widened in surprise as Shion looked up at him, the edges of his vision blurring together in a soft haze that made him look muted and hollow, like a painting that hadn't been quite finished.
"Shion?" Nezumi pressed his fingers against Shion's forehead and brushed his hair out of his face. The feel of his skin was familiar, and Shion leaned into his tongue with a sleepy sigh.
"Out of all the hallucinations I've had," Shion murmured fondly, "you're the best one."
Nezumi reeled back. "Hallucinations? Is that what you think I—"
Shion's eyelids grew heavy and he fell back onto the cot.
⁂
Someone sang to him.
It was a beautiful song: slow and sad, and it made Shion's heart ache for the singer.
He wished he could focus on rest of the song, but the darkness claimed him again.
⁂
When at last the time came for him to properly awaken, Shion wondered if it all had been a twisted dream. As he blinked up at the dark wooden ceiling, he wondered where he was and how he'd arrived here. Had Yoming found him in the snow, severely weakened from the belladonna berries secretly mixed into his wine, and dragged him back to the church for judgement?
Shion pressed his lips together, tasting the remnants of belladonna berries on his flesh. The sticky juice clung to his lips, and when Shion parted them to take a deep, rattling breath, the dry skin stuck together and pulled uncomfortably. He flinched and clenched his eyes shut.
Beneath his spine, plush warmth shifted as he nudged backward. Shion felt a wave of confusion bleed through his sleep-drunk mind. He couldn't imagine the church would put him on a cot, let alone on a comfortable one. It seemed far more like them to toss him onto the cold, wooden floor beneath the storage room, leaving him to twist miserably as the poison worked its way through his system.
Shion rolled onto his side, drowsiness weighing down his arms and legs. He shifted his wrists, surprised to find them unrestricted by manacles or chains. If the villagers worried that he was an "evil witch", why had they left his hands free?
Questions built one after the other, steadily pulling Shion back into the land of the living.
He blinked up at the ceiling, piecing together the strange boards that held it aloft. It slanted into a point near the far wall, a clear point that the center of the building tapered into a point and the wall separated this particular room from the rest of the building.
Fully awake now, Shion realized he truly wasn't, in fact, trapped in a prison cell. He glanced around the room, taking in the strange collection of furniture. The room was sparse and simple, comprised of a single wooden bed with a plush mattress nestled on top—on which Shion lay sprawled beneath a colorful blanket that felt as soft as if someone had crafted it of the clouds—and a table with a small, unlit candle on it. A tall wardrobe crafted of dark oak sat in the far corner, and a little bookcase filled with tomes sat near the closed door. A thin bar of light ran beneath it, and after a brief moment of listening to the sounds of the building around him, Shion realized he wasn't alone in this place.
Terror shuddered through him, rattling his bones and chilling his blood. Shion's hands clenched the plush blankets, his trembling fingers too weak to ease his frail body off the mattress and seek a way to escape without being noticed.
He might not have been in a prison cell, but that didn't mean he was safe.
He turned his head and stared at the wooden wall beside him. The bed had been crammed into the far corner, and Shion wondered if it was a guest room in someone's cabin. But no, that was impossible. The room around him felt as warm as a spring day, like the walls of his own cabin, and none of the buildings in Kronos had effectively been crafted to keep out the harsh winter chill.
Above his head, Shion spotted a faint sparkling of lavender light. He looked up.
A flower charm—so similar to his own, back in his cabin—hung suspended from the wall above his head. The gentle scents of the asters comprising the charm drifted around him, and despite the terror, Shion inhaled the scents and slowly began to absorb the waves of warmth and energy it emanated.
The door creaked open, and Shion turned, his heart shooting into his throat.
"Oh, you're awake."
Shion blinked. He closed his eyes, count to ten, and opened them again. He took in the vision standing before him, radiant in the dim gold light coming from a soft fire crackling from the other room, and then closed his eyes to dismiss the illusion.
Because that's what it had to be: an illusion.
Shion wasn't in a prison cell, but he was positive he was still back in Kronos, awaiting judgment from the church and the priest who'd deemed him an evil witch. He couldn't be here, and he especially couldn't be here with—
The door clicked shut as Nezumi stepped away from it, entering the room. He held a tall clay mug in his hand, and steam steadily rose from it. "You look surprised," he said, a light grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "Don't tell me you still think you're hallucinating."
Shion stared at the tall boy before him, easing into a sitting position. Nezumi hadn't changed since the last time Shion saw him, though he'd dressed down from the thick cloak and heavy boots he'd worn the night he approached Shion's cabin for help. This time, he wore a pale brown tunic that brushed the tops of his thighs, and a pair of black trousers with one of the hems frayed. He didn't appear to be wearing shoes, but the floorboards were polished and warm, and Shion suspected Nezumi had no need of them inside this place.
"Y-you're—" Shion's throat tightened, and he doubled over with a fierce, rattling cough.
Nezumi hurried to his side and nudged the steaming mug into his hands. "Here," he said, slowly perching on the corner of the mattress and pressing in close to Shion to keep him steady. "Take small sips. You don't want to choke."
Shion grasped for the mug, and Nezumi helped him guide it slowly to his lips. The contents smelled heavily and tasted like diluted chicken broth, but it smoothed the crackling in his throat. Shion heeded Nezumi's warning and took small sips, his stomach tightening after remaining empty for so long. He grimaced at the wash of pain that came with it, but hunger and nausea warred within him, beseeching him to stop drinking and continue in tandem. It was madness.
While he sipped, Nezumi reached out and pressed the back of his free hand to Shion's forehead. The rough scratch of calluses made Shion jolt, but the warmth soothed the tremors shuddering through his fingers.
"Hmm," Nezumi mumbled to himself. "Looks like the fever's gone." He waited for Shion to finish drinking—despite the pain and the nausea, he forced himself to finish the whole cup because it made his throat feel better—and then he plucked it from Shion's fingers and placed it beside the useless candle on the side table.
Shion's hands echoed with warmth from the mug. He flexed his fingers, the pull of his muscles assuring him that this was no illusion. He'd collapsed into the snow, his mind twisted and muddled from the poison, but somehow Nezumi had found him and guided him back from the brink.
"How..." Shion shook his head, exhaustion creeping like a gray cloud in his mind. "How did I...?"
"You should rest awhile longer," Nezumi interjected. He eased Shion back onto the mattress, far stronger than Shion could ever hope to be. "All that matters right now is that you're safe and you're going to recover. We can talk about the technicalities when you've rested."
"B-but I—" Shion clenched his eyes shut, nausea rippling through him. He groaned and turned his head to the side, burrowing his face in the pillow.
"Hush." Nezumi pulled the blanket up to Shion's chin and tucked it in gently around his sides. The fabric smelled like lavender, and Shion wondered how he hadn't noticed before. The scent tickling his nose and brought to mind memories of a night not too long ago, when Nezumi had lay beside him, dozing lightly while Shion relished in the warmth of another person in his bed.
"Get some sleep," Nezumi said softly. He slowly eased himself from the bed.
"The charms."
"Hm?"
Shion looked sleepily up at the purple flower charm suspended on the wall above him. "You... you made flower charms, too?"
"No," Nezumi said simply. "Those are yours. From your cabin."
Shion's eyelids fluttered. "You went to my cabin and... got them for me?"
Nezumi's lips quirked up in a crooked, mischievous smile. "It wasn't as difficult as you think." He turned and headed for the door. "Get some rest. I'll show you the rest once you wake from your nap."
Shion settled back into the darkness, thousands of questions circulating in his mind. If Nezumi was here, did that mean Shion had somehow made it to the Mao village? And if Nezumi had gone back to retrieve his flower charms, did that mean the other items in his cabin were safe from the villagers of Kronos, too? His mind whirled with confusion, but the lulling scents of lavender and aster petals drifted around him and guided him back into a comfortable slumber. As he began to doze, he heard Nezumi singing in the next room.
To Be Continued...
