Relentless Fire
This chapter is an interlude, so it is short, but still important. It's also set up as a drabble, which is why the format is so different.
Chapter 2: Death to Innocence
"There's no tragedy in life like the death of a child. Things never get back to the way they were." (Dwight Eisenhower)
Damian's world was an elaborate dream that played tragedies with heroes who never triumphed. Tragedies were frequent occurrences, the people within them corrupted and weak and never brave. They were all cowards who pursued their goals selfishly and disregarded anyone else who crossed their paths. The players were never genuinely compassionate in their endeavors and twisted each other about their fingers in some macabre form of a marionette act. Masks of deception were also normal occurrences and the players professionally switched roles to their likings as situation called. Loyalty was a word of heretics, trust a death sentence, love for blind fools, and justice a rumor whispered on the wind. The tiniest thread called hope resided in the abyss where few dared to venture and few came out of alive.
Damian's world never knew enough kindness to fabricate dreams that weren't nightmares, thus his perception of the world became distorted until he could no longer distinguish dreams from reality. No matter where he woke nothing tied him to one place or the other except for Crispin. Crispin was the sole aspect of his life that remained constant, that kept him sane, that reminded him life was worth living. His beloved twin was the anchor that prevented Damian from doing something terrible. It provided some part of his life worth protecting, worth choking down pain and the numb sensation of drugs for, the hope that he clung to and never released. Reality would slip through his fingers if he did so. His mind only wanted to save itself in the end, save itself from the insanity.
What other people said or thought didn't matter. They were only players that masqueraded across the stage with their own purposes in mind, who didn't understand Damian's world. They desperately tried to comprehend Damian and Crispin's suffering. Perhaps their consciousnesses believed they were compassionate if they tried to understand them. Damian did not want their pity, did not want their fake acts and fabricated words, and did not want to allow them to hurt him and his twin. The safest route was to remain as he and Crispin always had, together and alone, never letting outsiders too close for fear of betrayal. Everyone they had ever known before the camp had betrayed them in some way. In other ways, they also betrayed themselves by denying aspects of their lives that could not change, and when there was choice, they chose to remain in the dark.
After the initial murders Damian and Crispin did not have to worry much about outsiders who wanted to barge into their lives and act as if they understood their hurt when they didn't. The change at camp had been abrupt, its occupants having reached a stalemate on a checkered board. The king stood alone against the offending queen, his subjects dead, sacrificed and their usefulness expended. In spite of the hopeless situation they had tried to grasp at that thread of hope when it had long left their grasp. They were in denial of their own corruption that was slowly killing them. Damian cared little for the changes and even allowed them to pass through unnoticed for a time until he could no longer deny them either. That had happened when he and Crispin were sent on a silly quest and met the heavenly sky.
Quests were no longer filled with their former honor and glory, those who survived no more celebrated than the next. Quests became frequent occurrences to empty the camp, where demigods should have felt safe. The prospect of fighting monsters, who were so easily blamed, was readily chosen above the prospect of potentially being murdered by comrades-in-arms. After the war, such a prospect was enough to thwart the safe haven of Camp Half-Blood. It didn't matter what quest was assigned. Most were silly like the one Damian and Crispin received, to retrieve a long lost item of a parent, an item that would be disposed of later. Despite the ease of the quests, some half-bloods didn't return to camp. They were still alive, most of them, but had deserted. Murder and betrayal didn't seem worth the safety of Camp Half-Blood's borders.
Damian would have lied if he claimed that he had grown used to betrayal. He knew that no one really ever grew used to it. No matter how many times someone experienced it, a piece of them always stung anyways, even if they willed it to disappear. Damian hadn't grown used to betrayal, but accepted it as a piece of life he could not change. There were many aspects of him and his twin's lives that had always been out of their control. Some time ago they stopped trying to obtain that control and many things had hurt less afterwards. No one at camp realized that, which was why they ran away from what they feared and never returned. They weren't brave. Damian wasn't brave either, but he did accept what he could not change and left the matter at that. It might have kept him sane if the heavenly sky hadn't come across him and Crispin's singing that day.
Damian didn't remember what he and Crispin had been singing, only that it was a sad song. All he and Crispin knew how to sing were sad songs, tunes which reflected their lives. They had been singing some particularly emotional chorus when a deliberately slow clapping interrupted the song and a tall and slim figure emerged from the shadows. Instantly they knew this presence not to be a monster, but could they could not imagine why a god or goddess would bother visiting them, so Damian placed the figure's identity somewhere in between. The man, when he approached and entered the light, shone as if he were divine. His fair hair and pale eyes were similar to Damian and Crispin's only by the surface, for the twins held much more despair beneath their masks. This man held no worry in his posture or his face.
"My name is Caelestis," he introduced himself with an elegant bow. Mischievous blue eyes stared, transfixed, at the twins. Damian could not help but think his intentions were far from harmless. He didn't seem the sort of person to pass along information without an alternative motive. "Lovely voices the both of you possess, it's eerily delicate, as if you were a single person. The Muses must have gifted you two, yet so much pain lies beneath your words, your postures, and your tones, thus is the curse of the Muses, to live a burdened life….Say, how would you like the prospect of learning a new tune with ease? I will grant the both of you that much, I'm feeling generous today. I will teach you two a song that does not outright invoke sad and depressing emotions, but oh, they are there, which makes it possible for you to learn it. Do you want to give it a chance?"
Damian and Crispin were reluctant in their decision. Rarely had they ever been given a decision before, whether in their early life or after they'd discovered their heritages. Decisions were usually made by those with higher positions and if they were displeasing, that decision would soon become one-sided. Certainly this person was of a high ranking by his regal nature and the superiority in his voice, even if he was trying to sound kind. Damian didn't trust kindness from any party. It was one of the important rules he had learnt very quickly when he was young. Whoever 'Caelestis' was didn't have good intentions. He would hurt Damian and Crispin, yet the sudden offer of a choice was too hard to resist. Damian took a deep breath and said, "Alright, we accept. I'm Damian and this is my brother Crispin."
"A lovely choice, Damian and Crispin," Caelestis said soothingly, walking over and elegantly taking a seat before the twins. A smile was on his lips and a thoughtful peace overtook his mind. His eyes gazed at some event that had happened long ago, past the gardens in which he and the boys sat. "I was a minstrel for a good portion of my life. I've picked up many songs from many places along my way. I've heard and played many songs: romance, tragedy, war, humor, grief, happiness, and many more. I'll tell you a song of war now. I do not need any instrument and neither will you two. This song is special, it carries a tune of its own. You'll undoubtedly hear it in your heart and won't ever forget the words, I guarantee it. It's called 'The Lay of Araman'.
"Across the sea sailed Araman,
A hundred men he led.
His ship was black as death's left eye,
Her sails were deep blood red.
They sailed to Simra's distant shore
To answer Honor's call.
A hundred men sailed out to sea,
But none came home at all.
For Honor's price is blood and steel
And Death will be your brother.
A soldier's life is full of strife,
But I swear I'd have no other!
On the city walls stood King Mindar,
He watched the ship draw nigh.
Five hundred men were at his back
And gave the battle cry.
Then marched they to the battle plain
To meet the seaborne foe,
While Araman and his hundred men
Came all ashore below.
For Honor's price is blood and steel
And with your life you'll buy it.
But the ladies love a fighting man
And there's none that will deny it!
Then Araman strode on the field
And Mindar stepped to meet him.
'Your lying tongue has brought us here!'
Cried Araman to greet him.
'I see your force is greater,
You have numbers on your side,
But by my sword, I'll see you dead
'ere the turning of the tide.'
For Honor's price is blood and steel
Though flesh won't stop a sword.
The glory of a soldier's death
Will be your last reward!
Then on the plain the armies met
And sword rang out on shield.
Helms were cloven, limbs were hacked,
Yet neither side would yield,
Until the generals found themselves
Alone upon the plain.
Six hundred soldiers, brave and bold,
Would never fight again.
For Honor's price is blood and steel
And well the widows know
The worth of Honor to the lads
Now lying down below!
Then toe to toe and blade to blade
The two fierce warriors fought.
To steal the heart's blood of his foe
Was each one's only thought.
From their wounds the blood flowed down
To stain the trampled sward.
And when the tide was turning
Mindar fell to Araman's sword.
For Honor's price is blood and steel
For churl and lord as well
And generals often lead their men
Down to the gates of hell!
Bold Araman, the victor now,
Lays his blade aside.
From his wounds his life flows out
Just like the sea's great tide.
The price of Honor paid in full
With blood and steel and lives,
On an empty plain by an empty shore
The rightful victor dies.
For Honor's price is blood and steel
So hearken well, my son.
Honor's a damned expensive thing
If you're dead when the battle's won!"
Just when Caelestis had finished the song he abruptly rose and strode off into the garden, a smile still adorning his face, and Damian thought that it appeared solemner than before. Neither Damian or Crispin made a move after him and remained watching the serene foliage rustle with the wind for a time, releasing every thought that could burden their minds. When they were slightly more prepared to face reality the twins doubted their ability to remember that song, no matter what Caelestis had said. It had been long, but when they went to recite it the words flowed easily from their lips and Crispin gave Damian an elated smile. Damian didn't quite understand why they were so happy. Maybe it was because they finally remembered a song that wasn't completely depressing.
There had been no doubt in their minds that they would return to Camp Half-Blood after the quest. If not for camp Damian and Crispin would have still been locked away in that orphanage, suffering every moment of their lives. There was nowhere for them to return, nowhere they would have liked to return to even if such a place existed. Camp Half-Blood was safer in their world, even with the new changes and horrors that had befallen the area. The camp's residents were only children and children, as Damian had come to learn, were marginally less of a threat than adults. Children weren't completely innocent, Damian knew from experience, but children did not think as adults did and were slightly more predictable. The risk was worth taking. Any other choice would end in a foster family who would understand them even less than the campers.
The lyrics to the song remained in Damian and Crispin's minds as they slowly made the trip back to Camp Half-Blood. They recited it perfectly when few were present to listen, hummed the tune when they rode a crowded bus. They didn't have the will to completely understand the words, too afraid of what they would find if they broke down the meaning. The words came from a divine entity after all, so trust was ever harder to come by than before. Damian didn't so much care to dwell on it anyways. He preferred to sing with Crispin and ignore the strange looks the other passengers gave them though they sat in the last row.
When they arrived back at camp the next day chaos was amidst again. There were a few more campers than when Damian and Crispin had left and not a single one noticed their arrival. Crispin located one of their cabin mates, who Damian thought they had seen the last of when he had announced his departure after the murders. Crispin asked what had happened, because they couldn't see anything horrible around. There was nothing there but campers scurrying about with worried mutters and rumors on their lips. There was no body, no blood, no explosion. Rather innocently, Crispin asked, "Did someone die again?"
"Y-yeah, someone died again," the Apollo boy said nervously. His voice quivered with fear and his eyes stared skeptically around him. Damian didn't blame him. There wasn't much to trust at camp anymore. "What was her name? She is-was-a new camper, just ten. She wasn't even claimed yet. The satyrs brought her here a few days ago with some others, they were scared and happy to be here. I think-I think her name was Gloria. Her body's at the Big House, I don't know what she looked like. I just came because I heard the news, is all. She was strangled, her fingers were chopped off, I heard…I don't suppose this is going to stop? I shouldn't have come back…"
Damian and Crispin watched the boy leave hurriedly, skittish and upset. Damian couldn't help but think that boy was a fool to have returned because of a rumor. He wasn't even going to pay respects, which served to show how selfish people were in Damian's world. Damian wasn't going to visit the girl's body though, horrific as the incident was, because he and Crispin hadn't known her. Personal matters were all that really concerned them. They were only here because Camp Half-Blood was their de facto home. No tragedy, no murder would deter them.
When the funeral pyre burned that night more faces had gathered than Damian had seen in a long time. Crying children he didn't recognize were huddled around the Hermes campers, a few old faces who swore they'd never return standing on the edges. Gloria Pace had affected them even worse than the previous deaths of Shannon and Marcus. A ten year old child who hadn't even been claimed had been murdered. Damian knew the world wasn't fair, that the world stole away innocence and replaced it with hardened emotions. The murders had made clear that they wanted to tear apart the innocence of everyone involved. Parentage and age no longer mattered. That night around the funeral pyre Damian and Crispin reluctantly sung the song Caelestis had taught them. The words remained strong and sturdy though their confidence wavered at the sight of such sadness.
Damian lay beside Crispin that night in the bed they shared, awake and wondering about the world they lived in and the foolishness of everyone around them. They were too soft, they believed in the good of the world when the bad outweighed it in every way. Damian wanted to be like them, ignorant of the horrors in the world. Murder and betrayal wasn't the worst hurt. Damian knew worst. He knew nights of hopelessness spent crying over pain and choking down painkillers. He had never wanted to cry. Crispin didn't need such a weak brother even though he said he didn't care.
Damian's world didn't understand black and white. Grey was the only color that existed, the only color that mattered. Damian had never understood innocence and he had never tried to understand it like everyone tried to understand him. Innocence was a word that only existed in his imagination, in a world beyond dreams where he and Crispin had never been in that orphanage. Though Damian would want to trade their lives for better ones if he could, he knew that given the opportunity he wouldn't actually take the offer like he had with Caelestis. He held that ignorance everyone else had in reverence, but he was afraid of it, too. He was afraid that the world would hurt him and he would never realize it. That fear was worse than his life.
Above all, Damian was afraid that he would have lost Crispin. If things had been different, would they have grown apart? He knew that what existed between them was wrong to everyone else's world. What existed to them was loyalty and love, which was for the foolish. Damian knew they would be hurt one day, hurt beyond repair. One day there would come some hurt they couldn't escape, some hurt that would take away what innocence remained. Until then, they had their songs. They had the special song they sang that night, which no one had seemed to understand. That was enough for Damian. He didn't want to ask too much of his life. If he did, he was afraid that when that time came he would fall even harder than before.
In the end, they were all chess pieces on a board called life, a world where the pieces disregarded rules and the Rook became the Knight, the Knight became the Queen, and where the King became the Pawn. Who remained when all were sacrificed and gone was the King who wasn't truly the King anymore. To obtain that coveted spot, the King had throw away his life, too.
Notes/References:
• There are a ton of references to the quote by William Shakespeare: "All the world's a stage,/And all the men and women merely players" from As You Like It.
• The references to chess are a reference to Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler.
• I do not own 'The Lay of Araman'. It belongs to Lynn Flewelling in her book, Luck in the Shadows.
• The reference to choking down painkillers is to a book Counterfeit Son.
• Gloria Pace is an Italian name. It means glory, peace.
Thanks for the reviews. The last chapter might take a while to write, but it wraps the mystery up and solves the case.