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Author's Notes: Anyway, I'm sorry it took so long for this chapter, I've actually had this chapter completed for almost a month now, but I've been busy with summer reading crap, and then my computer.. Well, you can find out why it took me so long at the bottom. This chapter contains a -dun dun dum- spoiler! But it's a tiny-minny one, so you needn't worry. The spoiler is that Kharl alters Garfakcy's form- The way he appears in the manga isn't the way he used to be. So in this chapter, Kharl messes with Garfakcy's look. Whoo. All right, go ahead and read- I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer:
The day all seven hells freeze over I'll own Kharl.
I checked this morning, and guess what? Hell's still hot.
Background Music: Sunshine (Keane)
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Cloaks
By Sarehptar
Chapter Four-
Kharl, the Alchemist
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I think they are waiting. Maybe they are making up their minds—to kill me now and "end" my suffering, or to leave me as I am, waiting for every drop of blood to drain from my veins. Ha. Suffering here or after death, it makes no difference. There's sunlight through the windows, but it is the sunlight of Kainaldia, red-purple, like the bruises that marred your flesh that day...
It was ironically, the Master's bed I laid you in. I should have forced myself farther after that, but in the end, I fell unconscious beside the mattress, the effort to remain awake simply too much. When I did awaken, several hours later, I laid still for sometime, trying to get a grasp on everything that had happened in the course of the day. The Master was gone. Gone. Gone. Gone! That one thought pounded in my head, over and over, again and again. He was dead. My savior, the one who had taught me everything, the only one in my life to offer me a kind word… He was dead, and I was alone once more, left only with his castle and his corpse.
If I had not unconsciously given up on my childish mind, I might have wasted away pining for his return. But in the moments when I first desired to kill, I had become an adult, a person so different from the youth I appeared to be. It was this blood-thirsty, analytical, grown mind that governed my actions then when I awoke on the floor in the Master's room, and for the days I slept after that awakening. And it only during that sleep that I, myself, the personality I had previously been, could imprison the newly-born heartless nature deep within, a barely controlled monster lurking beneath a child-like visage. Hidden inside the eager-for-praise, unknowing genius was the dark creature, one whose only passions were destruction and death. All of my life since that day has been a double existence, a youkai both evil and innocent, relishing blood, but desiring the simple beauty of a flower garden. Sometimes I wonder if I could have lived any other way. I gave up on laying beside the master's bed, freshly matured mind realizing that it was only wasting time, that there were bodies to burn, and you to deal with…
First the bodies of the humans. The mental-man that was born of my murderous lust wanted to lose no time by burying them, even in shallow graves for the wolves to consume at will. Oh no, the youkai at that moment wanted to devour them, a fitting action to defile the dead. Only the remnants of my child's nature, fighting to the surface for a bare second, kept me from sinking my fangs into cold meat and ripping it to shreds. The moment that matured youkai raised the dead flesh to my lips, I wretched unwillingly; emptying the contents of my stomach and losing my hold on the already corroding spell that kept the Arinain life-spirit my prisoner.
Immediately the ball of light sped off, intent on joining once more with its master. Knowing all to well that losing the spirit could mean the loss of my revenge, I followed it rapidly though the great halls as it searched for an exit. It was my instinct, not speed, which eventually halted it—I drew on what I had at the time: Ashes from a fireplace in a room off the corridor. A random creation spell, though cast wrong (it was meant to be a net), served its purpose, and the spear it formed pierced the spirit, effectively trapping the power. Wearily, drawing on the last of the power that had been returned in the hours of my rest, I completed seals that would keep the spirit there for hundreds of years. Weak once more, my child's body might have given out, even being a youkai, but my mind would not allow this, and so I dragged myself to the body of my master.
The words for Last Rites sprung unbidden from my lips. What blasphemy! A pray for forgiveness over one of Hell's demons, spoken by another of the like! I think the master might have enjoyed that sacrilegious act, though it was not from him that I had learned the passages. It was before him... Is it also a blasphemous act to toss away a bible? Indeed, I found it among the rubbish of a human village, and it was not long before I had read it cover to cover. I kept it with me even after the Master had taken me in. If he knew or cared, he said nothing to me. After all, what demon would believe in a human's "God"?
"Ye though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..."
The words were barely whispers on my lips and when they were finished the child's body of mine longed so deeply to give in to lie down beside the master and shut my eyes forever. Again, the man that had been born in me that day crushed the desire and lifted the corpse into my arms. The master's body, drained of blood, had almost too light and all too easily, I bore his corpse to a walled square outside the castle devoid of anything but dirt for a floor and stone for a fence. That day I dug the first and only grave I have ever dug. My fingers under delicately pointed claws ran with my own blood, skin rubbed raw by earth and granite.
It seemed like hours I stood by the newly covered grave, but it was probably only minutes. When I stumbled into the castle once more, I could hardly see straight, candid fatigue sinking its teeth into me. Dried blood cracked and flaked beneath my feet and haphazardly fallen limbs seemed to grasp at my ankles. How far my comforting room seemed then! When I did collapse into my bed, I knew the sleep that forcefully bit at my eyes would last days, and though I didn't want that, my mind could hold out no longer.
"...I will fear no evil..."
By the time I awoke (three days later, I learned from you) two things made themselves apparent. First was the fact that the blood-thirsty man I became the day of my master's death no longer controlled my mind. The child and man had now become one person, the person I was at the moment of that waking, the demon I was to be for the rest of my life. At that time I hardly understood this sudden melding of monster and innocent, and the feelings of bitterness and cheerfulness seemed like one emotion in my mind.
The next thing to reach my sleep ridden senses was heavy scent of fire and flesh-aflame. Sluggishly, I clambered out of bed and, half-awake, pulled myself to the window. Just off of the front walk, a tremendous pyre was burning merrily, consuming its fodder -human corpses- rapidly. That was enough to rinse the unconsciousness from my eyes. I hadn't lit that fire, and humans (at least those who were not hunting youkai) knew never to stray so far into the forest. Curiosity replaced fatigue, and I left the bedroom quickly and silently. Delicate noises, the kind that would have been inaudible to most, shrieked in the silence that assuaged my ears. Among the sound of muffled footsteps, skillful movement and the creak of wooden floorboards was the soft and labored sound of breathing. I moved down the stairs like a wraith, white cloak soundlessly fluttering along the steps. It was far from difficult to trace the noises the entrance hall. I hesitated for a moment, curiosity heightening into an anxious apprehension. Who could be in the mast—in my castle? My pause was only a second, and in the next I looked around the wall that blocked my view of the site where the Master died. Whatever I had expected, it certainly wasn't what I saw.
"...for thou art with me."
There you were, one of the sheets from the Master's bed wrapped about you like an apron, ragged flesh still marred by lacerations that seemed unwilling to heal and were (as I could smell) infected. And you sat there, using the other sheet to scrub splashes of blood from the now corpse-less floor. Where you, little battered human that you were, got the strength to even stand, I'll never know. I watched you mop for a long while, just watched your diminutive fingers run with from cuts reopened by the work. I stared from the doorway, fascinated by the way you ignored the pain that had to coursing along every inch of your tiny form. There was a fervent sort of passion in the way you labored, ears closed to everything but the near silent sound of wet rag against blood and floorboards.
The day might have gone on that way, me staring at the odd way you were cleaning, but the wooden bucket you had beside you ran out of water and you sat upright, wincing at the pain of abrasion-ridden skin and the crack of bone that had been bent over too long. Still cloudy emerald eyes met my own. There was a hollow silence between us. What do you say when you find a near dead human child cleaning the blood of his kin off a demon's floor? Then you wiped a bloody little hand across your forehead and barked hoarsely,
"This place is mess!" Yet another surprise, one I was hardly sure how to reply to.
"Hm." I offered quietly, partially agreement and partially acceptance of the situation. I could see you were aching to refill the bucket and finish what you'd started, but you were also reluctant to end the staring contest we'd unknowingly begun. In the end, I looked away, and you disappeared, limping to fetch more water. What was the matter with me? I could hardly bear looking at your torn and abused little face. At that moment, I was possessed by a feeling like emptiness, a kind of vacancy that gnawed at the pit of my stomach. This feeling, I learned from you years later, was guilt. If I had not gone out that day... If I had returned to the castle instead of going to the human village... If I had never found you, the Master might not be dead. The broken little body you wore, in essence stood for the child that caused me to sacrifice my Master.
When you stumbled back into the room, leaving scarlet footprints behind you, I realized I couldn't live with that feeling. I had to get rid of the memory, the trigger—your unhealing form. I could... change you, heal you... Just as you tried to reach for the sheet-rag, I caught your hand lightly, mirroring your wince. Unsure, surprised, suspicious, you stood and followed me, tiny bare feet trying to keep up with my own long stride. I knew my own small laboratory would not suit the magic required for such a spell and it certainly would not be a safe place for you. My only other choice was the Master's atelier. I'd been there many times, but only with him, and there were parts I had never seen... Still, as I pushed open the wide oak door, I tried hard to appear confident—like the master of the building, and not an apprentice who'd suddenly found himself in charge of a castle he barely knew...
The Master had been most meticulous in labeling chemicals, sealed spells and books, and it wasn't long before I was pulling useful (and less-than-useful) things off the shelves, leaving a horrid mess behind me. I had never been a neat person... In fact, it seemed that messes and household catastrophes followed wherever I went. Perhaps this habit had developed because I had never learned to clean up after myself. Before the Master I had simply left a mess behind in favor of a new sleeping place. In the castle, the Master's magical servants cared for our needs: cooking, cleaning, washing. But the Master's spells had died with him, and then there was no one to cater to me. Of course, you solved that problem nicely, but at that moment, neither one of us had been paying attention to the cleanliness of the room. I was engrossed in the task of find the proper materials, and you were undoubtedly wondering what sort of horrible experiments were about to be performed on you...
It must not have taken me very long to find the correct things, because I remember still being able to walk through the room without much trouble. I knelt down, bringing you almost to eye level, and cupped my hands around my mouth, whispered a spell that left them glittering a pale silver-blue, and ran my fingers through your matted hair. First I dragged slowly at the back repairing torn and bloody tresses and allowing it to become longer, glimmering claws drawing cobweb-like strands past your shoulder blades. My hands easily replaced tattered skin beneath the hairs with new follicles. Lastly, after restoring your abused mane, I allowed the magic to change its color from dull human brown to an intricate pattern of shading—a golden hue at the top, which darkened to honey, which in turn became a shade of black at the tips. I remember trying to read the look on your face at the time, when you realized your scalp was no longer in pain, when you realized that your bloodstained mop of knots had been replaced with clean, perfectly brushed hair. Of course, I could not place the emotion. You seemed, more than anything, confused. There was a slight lessening of pained expression, and perhaps a hint of forthcoming happiness in your verdant eyes.
I let the silver-aqua fire dissolve lightly in the air, choosing in its stead a pale red glass bottle. The little cruet contained a potion created by the Master to restore flesh. Generally it had been used to repair the skin of the Dead so that they could be resurrected to act as puppets or temporary servants. I was almost sure it would work just as well on living humans. Thankfully for you, I was not disappointed. Setting aside the ruby top, I tipped a single drop onto the tip of my finger, and brushing aside the sheet delicately, I pressed the droplet to the flesh above your heart, waiting on bated breath. It would work, wouldn't it? A pleasant smile swept across my face as I saw it sink into your skin, re-knitting muscle and arteries as it coursed through all your veins. A tiny and unpained grin formed on your cheeks, and for the first time I was greeted by clear green eyes, unglazed by anguish or anger.
I stopped the phial with its diamond shaped top and moved back a bit to look at you. Under the cuts, apparently, your skin had been a deep olive tan, and you had a pointy little chin and nose and wide, bright eyes. Even so baggy, I could clearly make out an emaciated form beneath the Master's sheet. I knew that would have to change. I certainly couldn't allow any specimen -at that time, that word seemed to describe you, after all, I had made a resolution to study everything about your human nature- I couldn't allow any enduring specimen of mine, even a very small human, to look starved or ill-treated. Creating illusion and healing were relatively easy magics. However, actually changing the form of a body was something I had never done before. Thankfully, the Master had kept wonderfully neat records of all his experiments, including those performed on humans. I was a bit wary of using his work, particularly since it pertained mostly to torture, but after looking through a few of his books on the subject, I was sure I could tailor a spell to fit. Like an invisible hound, the tightly woven hex raged through your body, hunting out undernourished and starving cells, strengthening muscle and filling out your frame to its very short potential.
That done, I moved to change the last bit of you—your eyes. But when I met your emerald gaze, I could not bring myself to alter it. Who was I to change the delicate forest-deep stare that nature had given you? Despite the fact that those green orbs might have then kept alight the minute flame of guilt within me, my hands would not move to change them. I seemingly had no choice then: I let those viridian pools of emotion remain. A reminder of the child I had unknowingly chosen over my Master.
Looking at you then, it seemed as if I were facing a very different juvenile than the half-alive body I had saved. You were looking at me with the oddest expression, and I know you wanted to ask, 'Why did you do that?' However, another worthy question escaped you first:
"Who are you?" You asked, voice unsure, and completely unlike the hate-choked utterance I first heard from you. I had not expected the question, and I found myself lost for words. Who was I? Of all the things I could have said -should have said- I choose the simplest, and the worst:
"I am Kharl... the alchemist."
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Author's Notes: Whoo! Oh my gods, it's FINALLY typed! (Party, party!) Okay, happy day! Anyway (whoa… rhyme.) I'm feeling great now, because I've FINALLY gotten this typed. You won't believe me when I tell you how hard it was. The world was against me getting this chapter typed! My computer crashed about 50 million times while I was typing, making me lose the typing I'd done (once I lost the ENTIRE thing) every two seconds. By the 100th or so time it crashed, I was saving after every other sentence. In between these losses, my kitten (whose name is Kharl, ironic no?) came and sat on my notebook, chewed on the corners and my headphones cord, effectively slowing my typing to a crawl.
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Review Responses:
Snakespirit: Thanks for the compliments. Actually, last chapter was my own take on the Kharl's Master situation, based on the five second discussion in book 8. As for wanting to be a writer… No, I actually want to be a Creative Writing teacher. Either way, writing is my passion. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Aquajogger: So, how was your flight coming home? Long haul, I know. I thought about naming my kitten Gil, but it just seems too matching. So it was down to Viarres and Kharl, and my family liked Kharl better. I loved your email about the elvish names! Makes me wonder if Mineko might like Tolkien. I hope you liked this chapter… I think it could have been better.
Stary Angel1: Ooh! Praise is not good for my ego! But thank you, so much. I like writing from Kharl's point of view, it's entertaining! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and will continue enjoying this story till its end.
Yami-chan and Unrealistic: Yes, angst is VERY good. And yep- The story is going to go right up to Kharl's death, and maybe a tiny bit afterward too, but I'm not telling you about that! I hope you liked this chapter. I put a lot of work into it!
Kuroya: Dankeschön! Danke, danke danke! Thank you, thank you! You're WAY to nice. My writing is crappy. I'm sure there are about a billion other people who could write Kharl lots better, but your compliments are so nice. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that you'll keep reading the future chapters- I started chapter five, and I really like how it's going so far.
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