Arc III
Chapter XXVIII
In Oculus Tempestatis
"Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, "The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance."
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines."
Pablo Neruda – Poem XX
When the careless guard saw that woman, he instinctively understood that getting in her way was not an option.
She looked deranged, dirty and disheveled, just as if she had been walking through hell; her body now bewildered and corrupted by the dancing flames of sin – her skin, covered in brimstone, and her eyes – emerald whirlpools fumbling towards a void so dark, not even the devil himself could have redeemed her.
Her reddened eyes, adorned with several tears and red lines, were lighthouses on fire. Her hair, loose and untidy – the palpitating shape of her veins showing underneath the soft skin of her hands.
Hadn't that man known her from before, he would have thought she was a runaway lunatic, trying to fit in amongst others in a world already filled with countless lunatics.
The guard took a step backwards to let her in yet the woman approached him and snatched the handful of keys the young man had tried to conceal in his back pocket. He didn't even try to protest; those incandescent eyes were telling him that all lines had already been crossed.
"Don't worry," Zarrabayeusse informed him, "I won't let him out – I need in."
Her voice had changed, the man noticed in a heartbeat, the worried wife was no more. All that was left of her was a smoldering shadow buried deep inside those stranded eyes of hers. The colors of her voice, no longer warm neither caring, had been quieted by the shushing impersonality of those who simply don't care anymore.
She had wandered the city streets all day long not really pursuing a clear destination yet her feet kept marching anyway, as if stopping could end her. She just couldn't go back to work, couldn't go back to the Palace – the place she despised the most, the lugubrious scenario of all her sorrow and anguish, yet she knew she had to see him.
Confront him. Unleash her demons in order to asphyxiate his own.
There was another option, of course: pack up her bags and leave everything and everyone behind just like she had done so many years ago when his unloving ways had detached her from everything and everyone she cared about. But she just couldn't afford to do that; not now – couldn't afford to let him advance, like he always did, and contaminate the little remains of life she still had.
She had let him advance way too much, way too far. No more; her passivity wouldn't get her anywhere now, there was no one to fight for now – only herself.
She stepped inside his cell as the gunslinger turned and tossed in his sleep. As she walked towards his cot, she removed his blanket and shook one of his arms rather violently. A confused Black stared intently at her, pupils swimming rapidly into focus. Her stranded look should have been a clue for him to stay quiet; those irascible eyes of hers should have been enough to warn him. Yet the man exhaled, still too absorbed in his own predicament, stretched his arms and asked:
"Where is my dinner?"
Zarrabayeusse slapped him hard in the face, the scorching marks of her digits now imprinted vividly across his bony cheek.
"Where is Aalem?" She retorted, voice cold and distant.
The mercenary rolled his eyes and cursed under his breath. He hadn't eaten in two days; he didn't have the energy to go through yet another one of his wife's witch hunts.
Silently, the woman got on her knees before him, sliding her fingers across his bare shoulders.
"I will ask you one more time – where is Aalem?"
"Sir, with all due respect, I think we need to talk about Black," Yvo whispered and the Kahn looked over his shoulder – the meeting had been a great success; his strategies had prevailed and now he wanted to savor the sweet elixir of tranquility.
"Maybe some other time," Kotal suggested quietly, brushing off the memory of the ungrateful ex-Earthrealmer as a half-smile took over his face, then he turned around once again to say goodbye to the rest of the barristers already exiting the Throne Room.
Yet the Official Palace Barrister moved closer to his leader, his forearm already brushing the Kahn's broad back.
"Now,"
Kotal took a deep breath but kept on smiling anyway.
"What is it?" The emperor asked, standing imperturbable even if the shape of the gunslinger had already begun to reappear in the theater of his mind.
"Zarrabayeusse has informed me of some rather… disturbing news, sir," Yvo said in a low tone, smiling as well at his colleagues. Formalities and appearances, the smoke and mirrors of politics, were the silent pencil sketching all of their interactions with dedication and precision – at least, while in public.
"It's only natural," the Kahn tried to dismiss him, "the woman's his wife and he is in prison – of course, she's going to worry about him."
"That's exactly what I thought – until the guards confirmed her words," the barrister was on his tiptoes now, reaching for the Kahn's ear to make sure their words will remain a secret.
Kotal remained calm as he waved goodbye to the departing barristers yet deep down he knew the day had already been ruined: coming from Black, he knew he was in for yet another unpleasant surprise.
"Wait until we are alone," the emperor finally said, as the timid grin adorning his lips quickly began to disappear.
"I told you, I don't know," Black said as he put on his tunic but she slapped him across the face again, even harder this time.
"How can you not know? You buried him."
Black jumped off the cot and glued his back to the nearest wall. The woman followed him, the deranged look in her eyes tormenting him like never before.
"In the backyard, that should have been your answer the first time I asked."
He eyed her speculatively: she wasn't just theorizing out loud; she was certain.
"Come on, now, Erron – did you really think I would have been mad at you?" She raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth twitching as she cornered him against the wall with both her arms. "You had already killed Dexitis because you fucked my sister. Then you didn't kill my sister yourself, but you were the reason why she committed suicide so, you kind of had some intellectual responsibility for her death. Now the boy is dead as well, I wouldn't have been surprised, dear; not in the slightest. You had killed my entire family already, my love! One more relative to add to the list wouldn't have made such a big difference."
Yet it did – it made all the difference.
"Well yes, you had promised me and Dexitis you would take care of him but that was on us, really. Believing in promises from a mercenary? Love, that's wishful thinking!" She smiled, a dark gesture to prove to him that the woman he had known was now long gone.
He fidgeted in silence, yet he didn't even try to break free.
"I didn't kill him," was all he could manage to say.
"How's that phrase you Earthrealmers say… you say tomato, I say tomato," Zarrabayeusse gave him an ironic, playful chuckle as the man shuddered. "You walked into our lives and Dexitis died, L'ampaghna died, I almost died, the boy died – see what I mean? Who cares who killed the boy…"
Yet who killed the boy?
Who was the murderer?
Black's inner turmoil took him far away from her for a few moments – right back to that night, right back to the cabin.
Who had been the sinister killer?
The Rebel-Seeker who had attacked him? He himself, when he guided the doctor's finger? Or the doctor, the one who had ultimately pulled the trigger, driven by his own desperation?
He had blamed Pareedis for so long that his own denial had prevented him from seeing the evident: he had killed the boy, but he hadn't killed him by pulling the trigger. He had already killed the boy the minute he ordered him to go outside, knowing someone was lurking in the dark, waiting for a chance to strike.
As tears started to stream down his face, the image of Alex invaded his thoughts: he had chosen to remain inside the cabin to protect the woman – yet he ended up abandoning her all the same. Now Aalem's death seemed futile and unforgivable; now those emerald eyes corrupting him were mad dictators eager to see him bleed.
"How did you find out?"
As the last barrister left the Throne Room, Kotal Kahn tapped Yvo on the shoulder. They walked together around the large wooden table placed in the center of the room until the emperor finally invited the Official Barrister to take a seat by his side.
He exhaled, as his eyes lost focus for a brief instant; his mind already embracing the trouble that was surely about to come his way.
"Now tell me what is it," the Emperor whispered as he came back down to reality, his broad shoulders already feeling a renewed sense of tension. "What is so urgent, so important, that you're willing to ruin this day for me by saying it out loud."
Yvo grinned, tenderly. They had worked so hard to achieve that elusive, desired stability that now it seemed he was about to sin just by opening his mouth.
That day hadn't been any other day.
That day had been the second anniversary of M'horel's execution; the first anniversary of the brutal attack that had destroyed a great part of the city, erasing the Marketplace in the process.
That's why Kotal had gathered all barristers that night, to analyze the outcome of his every security measure – all his strategies had paid off: peace was finally within their reach once more. No suspicious activity had been informed, no raids, no prisoners. The brothers and their black legacy of hatred and violence were finally in the past.
Yet the Official Palace Barrister was willing to talk about the treacherous gunslinger – the thought was unsettling, it still weighed heavily upon the Kahn's shoulders: he had chosen to hire that man and the ex-Earthrealmer had ultimately turned into one of his biggest headaches.
"Zarrabayeusse informed me that the guards are not feeding Black," Yvo began, his tone solemn and serious from the start. "And that's an outrage, sir – if the woman doesn't feed him herself then no one does. I reckon he has been deprived of his freedom and privileges as an Official Enforcer of your Office, but as a naturalized Outworlder, he has rights."
The Kahn took a deep breath yet he couldn't help the feeling of relief suddenly invading him. He had certainly hoped for the worst and Yvo's words were a soothing balm letting him know that things weren't as bad as he had anticipated in his mind. Of course, the Kahn wasn't a stranger to the deplorable conditions of the Maximum Security Pavilion of the Palace dungeon, he knew about the indolence and the inclemency shown by the guards and the disrespectful ways in which they treated the prisoners – yet Erron Black had once been a figure of authority, a representative of his Royal Office. The man had been convicted for abusing his power – now he couldn't allow common prison guards to do the same thing.
"I'll make sure he receives all his meals," the emperor ensured the barrister as he placed both his hands on the table.
"Thank you, sir," Yvo let out softly. "But there's more."
The Emperor shrugged, his incipient content getting washed away by the barrister's paused elocution. Ever the eloquent man, Kotal slid his fingers across the table and sighed.
"There's always something more, am I right?" He chuckled softly, almost giving up to the saddening acknowledgment that his triumphant day was indeed about to be ruined by the mercenary's ruthless nuisances.
"There is a body, sir."
"What?" The emperor's eyes widened in surprise. "Where?"
The invisible line connecting an imprisoned Black with yet another dead body was a very thin one – the connections in the emperor's mind, virulently reaching spheres and shapes strongly demarcated by Kotal's most private fears, were blinding him already. He cursed under his breath, already regretting his benevolence: he should have ended Black when he got the chance – that treacherous Earthrealm scum was clearly not done yet, he was a loose end now, and the emperor was beginning to feel that unbearable headache represented in the shape of that man.
"In the dungeon, sir," Yvo explained quickly, noticing the Kahn's elucubrations were taking him too far from the actual situation. "Our guards forgot to remove the body after the prisoner died, I'm afraid."
Relief filled the emperor's eyes as his gaze softened.
"Remove it already - you know you don't need my permission to do that."
It still struck him as a surprise, even after all his years in the Throne, how bureaucracy always seemed to get in the way of the most obvious decisions. The barristers and enforcers – no matter how eloquent or clever they could be, would not move a finger without consulting their decisions with the emperor himself. Maybe it was a defensive reflex that still remained after Shao Kahn's unruly tyranny – the omnipotent strength of their ex-leader still resonating inside their heads, filling them up with the incommensurable fear of punishment and blood.
Things had changed – yet politics were still politics. And fear was still fear. Those concepts weren't about to change any time soon, no matter the name of the authority sitting on the Outworld Throne.
"I'll ask the guards to get it removed in the morning," the barrister acknowledged.
"Is that all?" Kotal asked, tired yet motivated to discover if Yvo's concerns were nothing more than little bumps along the road, bumps that could be easily left behind. Yet the barrister shook his head rather pensively – of course, there was more.
"Black has been bonding with this rotting corpse, I'm afraid."
The emperor stood up abruptly, his menacing shadow towering over the bearer of such bad news.
"Are you implying that one of my best enforcers is losing his mind?" One of his fists fell violently against the wooden table, the empty cups and glasses all clicked in unison, awaken by the sudden jolt. A corrupted officer was still a recoverable, redeemable man to the eyes of a politician.
A mad man was not.
Zarrabayeusse chuckled softly as she leaned in to smell the fear impregnated all over his skin.
"Does it really matter, love?"
Of course, it did matter – Kotal Kahn was the only one other than Black himself who knew the boy was dead. The mercenary still remembered their last encounter: bittersweet, and corrupted by an obscene amount of political subtext, over a year ago.
Even though there was no need for the Kahn to betray him in such questionable fashion, Black could already feel the blood boiling inside his veins – he just couldn't see the Kahn's reasons, his ideology, his pertinence on the matter. He could only envision the cold stare of his former employer; that mocking demeanor letting him know that even after spending over two years in prison, even after being erased from the surface of a world that used to be his, he still was nothing but a disposable pawn in the emperor's intricate chess board.
"You've always underestimated me, dear," the woman said as enticingly as possible. She slid one of her hands under his tunic and caressed his genitals – a gesture so unexpected, so alien, it only made him flinch under her touch. "I work for the barristers now, I have my resources."
"Did Kotal tell you?" He knew he was playing with fire yet the doubt was not about to leave him be. He needed to know if that man had crossed the very last line there was to be crossed – the very limit of his privacy; the very limit of his patience.
Stranded and bewildered, Zarrabayeusse opened her mouth but no sound came out – the Kahn knew, she reckoned. As she tried to regain her composure, the hand still cupping his manhood closed violently on Black's organs – those soft fingers of hers were now a tight grip causing him a sort of pain he had never known.
"I was actually trying to help you, I wanted to help you out," she began, now yelling. "I read the transcription of your trial – you mentioned a wooden cross but if the doctor was still alive, then who was buried under the crucifix? Or was it just a decoy?"
Gasping for air and feeling his knees getting weaker by the second, the mercenary finally understood that it had been his entire fault. He had spent way too long trying to blame others for his own misfortune: the Rebel-Seekers, the Kahn… Now, with his back against the wall and his manhood mercilessly subjugated by Zar's hand, the obvious seemed almost ridiculous.
He had killed Aalem in order to protect the doctor.
He had lied to the Kahn in order to protect the doctor.
But he had abandoned the doctor, and the results of his own sacrifice were still haunting him today: the brave mercenary was nothing but a frightened shadow now, afraid of his own past, afraid of a solitary future.
He had lied to his own wife in order to save his own skin from that impertinent loneliness threatening his sanity. Now it was too late to reckon that, with her by his side, he would have never been alone. But the layers of his own cobweb of lies had been ripped apart – he was going to lose her but that wasn't the worst part: he had corrupted her; those belligerent emerald eyes of hers were the living proof of that. He had finally corrupted the one that had always been loyal to him – and as intransitive as his love for her was, her imminent abandonment was enough for his heart to shatter into a million incandescent pieces.
"I cannot say he's losing his mind, my Kahn," Yvo retorted quickly, his words were defensive and nearly desperate. "But Zarrabayeusse is positive that a complete state of isolation will alter his train of thought in time – if we don't do something about it, he will succumb to insanity, eventually."
The Kahn stood up, feeling helpless and responsible for Black's current predicament. He stared silently out the window, pensive and absorbed.
"Black has never had to face such a long term apart from the rest of civilization – and yes, we can say that five years, even ten years is a small amount of time for a man like him. That period of time will become an anecdote for him – in time, once seen from a comfortable distance. That period behind bars will become a dot in the nearly eternal line of his existence – but that's only going to happen tomorrow, sir. Today is still today; time doesn't move faster for him – he still is a victim of its inalterable slowness I'm afraid, he still has to live day after day, hour after hour." The barrister looked over his shoulder as he tried to talk some sense into that imperturbable man still standing motionless by the window.
"Maybe it was simply unfortunate timing, you know? That his term in prison coincided with such a remarkable vacancy in our dungeon – we have overlooked that fact, I'm afraid. We simply put him there; we didn't consider the chance that he would be all alone down there – we didn't know," the barrister considered.
"I knew," Kotal said softly, his eyes still glued to the sleepy rooftops watching him from a distance. "I was so angry at him… I knew the pavilion was completely empty."
"Perhaps removing the corpse might not be as beneficial as Zar thinks," Yvo pondered out loud.
The agonizing pain he was enduring was only going to get worse in time. The woman applied more pressure as Black closed his eyes and grunted. His legs went numb – it was the stronghold of her body the only thing preventing him from crumbling down. The sensation was blinding – as her hand grew warmer, the feverish organs between his legs became a single amorphous mass and she could feel it as well; the soft and delicate skin she was strangling oh so mercilessly had now become one single, sweaty mess of flesh.
As the mercenary began to breathe through his parted lips, his unexpected torturer twisted her hand, causing the man to cry out loud. The pain was simply too much for him to handle – no bullet, no knife had ever procured such a blinding agony for him.
"The women of your life truly are the weak spots of your filthy being, aren't they? They really do have that much power over you, don't they, dear?" His wife said as his jawline became rigid. "You let him die because you needed to save that Earthrealmer!" She screamed from the top of her lungs as tears began cascading down her swollen cheeks once again – it was the defining torture of her life; to acknowledge herself as the one he could not bring himself to love yet she had accepted that, she had learned how to satiate her feelings with the pitiful crumbs he would throw her way occasionally. She had accepted, long ago, that she wasn't even a consolation prize for him, that she wasn't even a replacement for all those hearts that had tried to tame his indomitable heart yet it was enough for her - to have him from time to time, to be nothing but a legal consort that was entitled to his love only when there wasn't someone better to take her place.
Yet Aalem had been the one to pay the price for all of his misplaced emotions – and that was something she was not willing to forgive.
She had already forgiven him for ruining her sister's marriage – all adults involved in such bitter acts had made their decisions, after all. Aalem had never been given the chance; he was nothing but a silent wild card for Black to protect his temporary queen. Such innocence, such nobleness had been buried in that backyard – along with the very last bastions of her own innocence and nobleness that were now resting right next to her fallen nephew.
With one last squeeze from her hand, she finally let him go and a pained Black fell on his knees as his own hands cupped his genitals almost instinctively; his breathing was harsh, uneven.
"You once said to me, the first time you told me about Amanda – it was love at first sight," the woman recalled as she backed away from him. "You and me, it was hate at first sight," the tears running down her face were not enough for Zarrabayeusse to erase his decaying image from her eyes, her sorrow now unleashed and attempting to soar like a hurt bird that tries to fly even with its wings clipped. "It should have stayed that way."
She left him there, crawling on the floor, paralyzed by such a sharp pain. He would be alright in time, she knew, yet once that physical pain had receded he would have to face another pain; a much obscurer, denser pain: his solitude, the image of himself on his knees, alone and forsaken by the only one who actually cared, the only one he should have protected.
As his eyes swam into focus, he caught a glimpse of her shadow walking away from him, out of his cell and into the dimly lit corridor. He closed his reddened eyes again, feeling heartbroken and defenseless like an abandoned child.
That was solitude.
Real, actual solitude.
The mercenary caressed the dirty floor of his cell as he mourned his dying love – a love he had never reciprocated; a love that had kept him alive.
He had betrayed the one that had only offered him her endless pools of love and devotion. Now it was much too late.
Black closed his eyes as his body caved in to the unbearable pain he was enduring: the truth too evident to be neglected.
She was never coming back.
The question lingered in the air and hovered between them – unsaid yet present, even palpable for both the emperor and the worried barrister.
"If we remove the corpse, that's it," Yvo said softly, and even if he was well aware that keeping that rotting body was an outrage, he was positive Black's mental condition could only worsen in complete isolation. "Zar told me he even gave it a name – Henry."
"The body can't stay," Kotal sentenced. The sole idea of contemplating the chance of keeping a dead body in order to preserve Black's sanity seemed ridiculous. "Find another way."
Confronting with the Kahn was never easy, yet the barrister stood up and walked towards the emperor: he was fond of Zarrabayeusse, especially now, after spending so many hours together every day. His worry was not only meant to help Black – he wanted to help her.
"He needs company; real company. Someone to talk to – Zar visits him every night but I fear that's not enough, and I honestly believe that adding such a heavy burden for her to carry all by herself is only going to break her as well. That doesn't sound fair to me, sir; she is a victim. She is doing her best and we are turning our backs on her."
The Kahn nodded in silence as he finally turned around to meet the barrister – it was only natural that such a lonely man like Yvo would develop feelings for such a caring woman like Zarrabayeusse after all. That candor in his eyes was begging him to help her. Kotal grinned tenderly as he placed one of his hands on Yvo's shoulder.
"It really takes a man to try and save a woman that's not even his – to try to see her happy; even if her happiness resides in the arms of another man," Kotal said softly as the barrister lowered his head. "Another man that doesn't even love her back – it really takes a man, my friend."
"A heart can be whimsical," the barrister said after a while in complete silence.
The Emperor chuckled as he walked past Yvo and sat back down by the table. The tension between them had somehow dissipated now. Yvo walked towards the door – always the enabler, never the protagonist; his own sense of humbleness could never allow him to embrace the blinding lights of being in the spotlight.
"I will consider our chances: I will evaluate the situation tonight, then I'll get back to you tomorrow with some viable options for us to solve this delicate situation," Yvo said, his hand already caressing the doorknob. "Yet you have to think, my Kahn – for all I can do is to facilitate mere arrangements for the man but all those arrangements shall be pointless unless you can find the answer to the only question that really matters now: once he serves his term, do you want him back, sir?"
The Kahn, alone in the growing shadows of the Throne Room, exhaled softly as his eyes unfocused.
The question remained lingering above his troubled head as the barrister exited the room. As his turbulent thoughts began to rain all over his imperturbable body, that simple yet extremely complex question was meant to stay there, hovering near him, filling up the low hours of his night.
The cold night air brushed her skin as the troubled woman walked through the empty streets of Z'unkahrah. She just couldn't go back to the Palace, not now that she had finally found the strength to let him go. The dense clouds of confusion that had blinded her way ever since finding out about Aalem's death were finally dissipating now; only the ethereal and tepid curtain of her own tears remained there, separating her vision from the image of a world that was still spinning relentlessly, completely alien to her sorrow.
She slid her hands inside the pockets of her green cape to find the key to the Barristers' Office – she could surely spend the night there, then ask Yvo for a proper place to stay in the morning. She was determined not to go back to the Palace; everything about that place, every object, every corner had now turned into a deadly beacon of evil light that could remind her of him and of everything he had done to all those people she had loved and lost because of him.
As she walked past the ruins of the place they used to call the Marketplace, the unmistakable laughter of children made her turn around and look over her shoulder. There were two of them, a little boy and an even littler girl.
The woman approached them, as she quickly ran her fingers through her messy hair, trying to look as presentable as possible given her state: if anything, she didn't want to scare them off with her strained appearance, and it was already late for those kids to be outside alone.
"Are you lost?" Zar asked them but the kids kept on laughing, not even caring about the woman. Frustrated, Black's wife leaned in closer to the girl: "you shouldn't be out here all alone at night, where are your parents?"
The girl shrugged rather mindlessly – it was the boy the one who gazed at the woman, eyes inquisitive yet distant. He stretched one of his arms and pointed one tiny finger towards the corner. Zarrabayeusse focused her eyes as she tried to take one good look at the man standing there all by himself.
The figure waved hello at the perplexed woman as the dark shadows of the night embraced him completely. The girl ran away as soon as she noticed the man had seen them talking to a stranger. Yet the boy stayed, his eyes fixed on that gentle woman.
"Is that your father?" Zarrabayeusse asked, beginning to fear for those children.
The boy nodded in silence as he looked down, busying his fingers with a tiny black box. By the time she realized what that box actually was, it was already too late. Kneeling down she took a good look around her shoulder: a rectangular charge had been glued to each of the doors around her; every house in that block was about to blow up.
In a matter of seconds, the boy's hand was pressed hard against the box. The many explosions that followed, one by one roaring like a concatenation of thunders, shook the night in bright colors. The houses crumbled in unison, the choked sounds of agony and desperation were soon buried under an ocean of concrete and bricks.
The boy and Zarrabayeusse were now eternally resting in the cold arms of a broken night. Their bodies bleeding out, tainting the streets with a renewed crimson. The bottom half of that little boy's dead body had been covered by fragments of the houses he himself had destroyed.
A few feet away from him, Zarrabayeusse's body lay on the ground. Her legs, also imprisoned by the deadly rubble. The back of her head, smashed against the concrete.
Peace and protection had turned out to be the empty promises of a cornered emperor. Politics were simply not enough anymore to stop the Rebel-Seekers.
Yet her face had changed, now that those emerald eyes of hers were never going to see the light of day again – a timid smile was curling up her dormant lips, as if relieved from all pain and sorrow, as if accepting the end as the beginning of a new path.
As the patrols and guards entered the scene, the man standing by the corner and the little girl disappeared in the uneasy embrace of the obsidian night. The boy would be another silent victim of their violence, just like Zar.
Alone and in the dark she died.
Because alone and in the dark she had always lived.