Part 3: Gilbert

The dust didn't move despite the light breeze, the base of the cross rising up from its depths and the ropes that once bound a spellbinder to its appendages strewn half-hazardly atop it.

"This is what happens to people like me," Roderich said quietly. He didn't look at the dust but at the crucifix above it. He said it again to make it real. "This is what happens to people like me."

Gilbert frowned. That was the reality. Spellbinders were not respected for their craft. They were executed as witches. He placed a hand on his older friend's shoulder and opened his mouth to speak.

"Yeah, it is," Gilbert frowned. Elizaveta approached the pile of ashes and kicked the crest of the pile to the wind. The boys both winced. Her eyes were oddly cold as she looked disdainfully at the human remains, a blade of grass wedged between her front teeth. "You burn."

"Lizzie!" Gilbert snapped harshly, turning back to Roderich. His face was devoid of emotion. He was in himself somewhere, trying to answer the questions he could not with his mind with his heart. "I_I'm sorry Roddy."

"I didn't know him." Roderich said coldly, reaching his hand over his shoulder and pulling his rucksack off his back. He kept his MagicBook in that rucksack, so his hands would be free but it was close on hand if he felt he needed it. In the six months since he had bonded with his book he had discovered he was almost as good at magic as he was at music, and had found hundreds upon hundreds of practical uses for many of the spells in his book. He opened the flap and pulled out the red-bound book. Instantly he seemed to calm, the mere connection of his skin to the leather bringing peace to his harried mind.

Gilbert looked between his two friends. Elizaveta looked much older now; she had hips and the beginnings of a bust, and her hair had grown down almost to her shoulders. Roderich also looked older; his face was lean and his shoulders broadening as he began to cusp puberty. Gilbert had remained small and young looking, even though he had recently turned eleven.

"We should…at least give whoever it was a proper burial." Roderich said, waving his hand over the cover of his book. It flipped open to a page near the end.

Elizaveta scratched the back of her neck, looking down at what was left of the pile with mild disgust. "So what, you gonna dig a fancy grave with that book or something?"

"No," Roderich said, shaking his head. "A proper burial for…us is different than it would be for you."

The girl snorted. "Us." She rolled her eyes.

"Try showing a little compassion, Liz," Gilbert groused, lowering himself to his knees beside his friend. "We're all people here. It's not like we're made of different stuff. Says so right in the book; 'we're all made of the same stuff, ultimately, be it stardust or coaldust'."

"I don't listen to those stupid stories Roderich tells you before bed. I don't need to listen to someone else talk to fall asleep anymore." Somewhere above them a bird cawed. The high sun beat down harshly on all their heads, but especially Gilbert's. He was so pale he burned in minutes. "I'm not still a dependent child."

Gilbert stood back up, dusting off his knees and scowling. "Hey, I'm not the one who told me to run away. This was your idea in the first place!"

"What, you would have stayed? I honestly didn't think you would just let your father comb you into the perfect little clergyman, I'd thought you would run away anyway, before he stuck you in a monastery for good this time!" Gilbert flinched. That was a low blow and Elizaveta knew it.

"Of course I would have run away, maybe I would have just waited a little longer first! You know, until my head at least reached the top of the kitchen table!"

"He was sending you away that very next morning and you know it, so don't pretend otherwise!" Gilbert opened his mouth to spit something particularly hurtful about dresses and needlepoint but an outstretched arm from Roderich stopped him.

"Please," He whispered, eyes shadowed by his unwashed bangs. "If you two must argue, do so somewhere else. I don't think this is the right place."

The arguing parties flushed and looked somberly at the pile that had started their quarrel. Roderich was right; a grave was no place for fighting. Elizaveta crossed her arms over her chest and turned her back to the pair. "Fine, do what you will. I'll be over there, pissing." Gilbert watched as she stalked off to find a tree or bush or something. Ever since Roderich had found his Book, Lizzie had been acting very oddly. She was loud and unsympathetic, going out of her way on more than one occasion to insult Roderich's magic and BookHolders in general.

Gilbert felt a little awkward getting back onto his knees now, especially considering the topic of the previous argument. He hoped that Roderich would not ask what he was doing, but he did and he sounded amused.

"I'm, ah, I'm praying. For the dead guy." Gilbert answered lamely, his cheeks burning a cherry red.

"And why are you doing that?" There was a smile in his voice that his face refused to show and Gilbert wondered, not for the first time, if his prolonged discomfort amused his longtime acquaintance.

Fumbling for words, Gilbert ran his fingers nervously through his hair. He did not function well under scrutiny.

"Well, I, ah, I mean, he probably went to church before he was chosen, right? And just because you have a book doesn't mean you don't believe in God. And I know that if I were to die in a fire and be left for fertilizer I would like it if someone would at least…say something for me. Put me in the favor of the big man upstairs, you know?" The boy knew his irrational nervousness made him sound stupid but there really was nothing he could do about it. He hoped self-confidence came with puberty.

"Gilbert, you punched a monk in the face. Absolutely nothing anyone could say at your funeral would put you in God's favor." Gilbert smiled as the tension ran out of his body. He could still feel the old coot's blood running down his knuckles. There was silence for a moment as Gilbert remembered the deliciously sickening crunch of a nose being crushed until the elder cleared his throat. "Well, are you going to say something or not?"

Gilbert's eyes widened and he adjusted his position before clearing his throat loudly and beginning. "Dear, uh, God, please watch over this…dead guy. Or girl. I'm not sure, there are no parts left to me to – anyway, please make sure that this person gets where he or she is going. A-and! Please let that be heaven. Or purgatory. Whichever, because ahaha, either one really is better than the alternative." He looked up at Roderich, whose eyes were closed and head was bowed. One hand hovered protectively over his open book. "And, ah, please just…judge…kindly or whatever it is you do. And if BookHolders really are damned like the Church says, please remember that they, ah, didn't choose to be the way they are and they don't deserve what's comin' to 'em. Thanks for listening. Love, Gilbert."

This time the silence was suffocating. Gilbert licked his lips and unfolded his hands, letting them rest open-palmed against his thighs. "The End." He said after a moment, just to be sure that Roderich knew he was done.

He heard the BookHolder inhale deeply but did not look up to meet his eyes. "Gilbert?"

"Yeah?"

"You would have been a terrible priest."

The blond looked up and smiled, grabbing the outstretched hand offered to him. "I know, right? I don't know what Father was thinking. Me? A priest?"

"He was probably hoping a life of quiet solitude and reflection would calm your bloodlust. God knows I did," seeing the look on his friends face, he amended his statement. "Not that I was in favor of shipping you off, I had just hoped that whatever happened you would get the best from it you could. You understand." Gilbert nodded. He did understand. There were times he himself wished he were a bit calmer, but there was no way would he have done well under the constant reprimand of a monk, Priest, or Sister of the Church.

Gilbert moved to the side and gestured in the direction the crucifix. "Do you want me to move that or something?"

Roderich shook his head. "It's fine. I can work around it." He placed the hand he had offered to his junior back over the pages of the book and fixed his gaze on its pages. He flexed his fingers and the letters on the page began to glow the color of Roderich's soul – a bright carmine recognizably similar to those of Gilbert's own irises. A cool breeze swept up around the pair's feet and carried on it what had been kicked away of the ashes. The pile was circulated and condensed into a lumpy-looking sphere before it was lifted off the ground to float at the cross section of the crucifix. It morphed in the air as though gravity did not affect it and Roderich moved his hand to face it palm ahead, cupping under it slowly as though he were cradling it in his hand.

" Respice post te." He started, reading the words carefully from the page. Pronunciation was very important in such an art; he was swiftly taught this when he once mispronounced a word and set his trousers on fire. His book had an oddly human sense of humor. "Hominem te esse memento." The shifting blob began to glow a similar red as Roderich's magical essence flowed throughout and within it. Roderich's magic fascinated his younger companion. Watching it almost made him feel good where The Itch did its itching. "Memento mori." With the of-trail of his words, the sphere stopped shifting and the glowing died down until only the grey dust could be seen. Abruptly, the invisible force holding the ashes in the air gave way and it fell to the ground. The sphere shattered like glass and the dust was sucked away into the earth like sponge drew water. All that remained was a grey leather-bound book that was of a color suspiciously similar to that Roderich's book had been before it chose him.

"That was really cool," Gilbert said after a moment of silence. He knew that saying what was essentially a funeral was 'cool' was more than a little insensitive but he was unsure of how to otherwise word it. "How did that book get there?"

"It was under the ashes. The remains of the BookHolder always protect the Book from the mundanes who may want to destroy it. Only after the body is properly disposed of will the book reveal itself again." Roderich closed his book and stretched his back, eliciting small satisfying pops. He was tired now, still being fairly new to complicated spells such as the dead spell, and he yawned loudly.

"Pretty intricate security system, if you ask me."

"It works. Whether or not the book is burned with the body, a BookHolder can always find it in the remains. I'd hate to have to fish one out of a rotting corpse, but I assume it would work in a similar manner. Would you please fetch that book for me Gilbert? I would like to sit down for a moment if you don't mind." Gilbert wordlessly did as he was asked; Roderich only ever said 'please' to Gilbert when he was annoyed, aggravated, or tired, and any one of the three made the BookHolder difficult to deal with.

An almost anticipatory excitement bubbled in the pit of Gilbert's chest as he approached the book and he began to smile as he reached out for it, but it was quickly snatched from his path by a distinctly feminine but unkempt hand.

"Oh no," Elizaveta said, pulling the drawstring of her pants tight with one hand while she tucked the book away under her arm. "Nobody but me is touching this book. We're going to pawn it straight away at the next village. No more inconveniences."

A little something fluttered in Gilbert's chest and he frowned as he straightened himself to his full height. He was just barely above Elizaveta's shoulders. "Roderich's book's not an inconvenience." He said firmly, fixing his red orbs on her. Usually he could only involuntarily scare the pants off of someone with his eyes, and only when he was in one of those moods, but he managed to elicit a shiver from his female friend anyway.

"I never said it was," She said patently, putting a hand on his shoulder. He was tempted to shake it off. "It's just, I don't want either of you thinking we can hang on to it. Doesn't it need to find its next owner or something?"

"Holder, and yes it does," Gilbert's eyes rolled to where she was keeping the book between her arm and the side of her chest. She shifted so he could not properly see it. "But whatever happens to it will be what is supposed to happen to it. We can take it with us no problem."

Elizaveta held up a finger. "Big problem. These books attract trouble and exorcists. We've just been lucky that we haven't run into any so far! I'm certain that with an extra book we would be twice as easy to track. Don't you think?"

"No." Gilbert's expression did not waver; he leaned to the side so he could better see the book.

"Well, what do you know, you're just a–" She almost said 'rejected missionary', "Kid. Trust me on this, Gilly."

Gilbert reddened. Nobody had called him 'Gilly' since his mother's…untimely death. "Alright." He wanted to say 'Mumsy knows best" but that probably would have started another argument.

~Hetalia!~

Later that evening, the trio set up camp under the crucifix, right where the ashes had been. Roderich said it brought good luck but Elizaveta said it was disturbing. There would have been no point in reminding her that she herself had kicked the remains with her bare feet because she would have found some way to spin the situation in her favor.

As per usual, Gilbert could not fall asleep. He rolled over and over and over, but something about the moonlight and the sounds of the wind and the huge crucifix above his head kept him from sleeping. Elizaveta was unconscious a few feet away, her head leaning up against the stalk of the execution device. Gilbert did not understand how she could sleep with her neck crooked like that. Roderich appeared to be studying, a faint light emanating from the pages of his book allowing him to read. Gilbert poked the former upperclassman in the back and grinned sheepishly when he rolled over to look at him, glasses perched crookedly over his nose. No words needed to pass between them. Roderich sat up and made room for Gilbert's head on his lap, pushing his frames up the bridge of his nose. Gilbert took his usual position and looked up at the older man. He was slightly embarrassed and he could feel his cheeks turning pink but he really was still only a child and missed his father, as unsympathetic to his son's plight as he had been. Roderich was almost like Mr. Beilschmidt had been but far more understanding.

Roderich started from where he had left off the night before. "For centuries, those not Bookbound have argued over the practices of magic. The Mages, as the mundanes have dubbed them, while in possessions of the ancient texts of Magyik have not been chosen to hold books. They dedicate their lives to the learning of the arts but do not practice, as to do so would endanger not only themselves but all those whom which they associate." Roderich's voice was always level and smooth when he read like this, and that was partially what helped Gilbert to sleep. The other part he could not describe, but he suspected that the words themselves had something to do with it. "Many a Mage is noted for his or her outstanding…"

Gilbert fell asleep.

But he woke a few hours later to a strange itching at the back of his neck. For a moment he thought it was his affliction, nagging him to get up and do and hunt and hurt, but he soon realized that it was not. This itch was almost pleasant.

Gilbert.

He snapped up then flinched, worried he had woken Roderich. The older man was still asleep, straight-backed as usual. The younger still did not understand how his companions could sleep sitting upright.

Gilbert.

There it was again! He turned his head around but could not locate the speaker. Perhaps it was a Nightshader – one of the creatures described in Roderich's book – come to take his soul! He was tempted to pull out his rosary until he remembered he left it on his bedroom desk along with his bible and that damned iron cross he had always worn.

Gilbert, it wants you.

Ah! He found it! Slowly, he crept towards Elizaveta, tediously moving her arm to find the book. Yes, as soon as he touched it, he knew that it had been what was speaking. She hadn't seemed to hear it, considering she continued to snore on as if nothing had happened.

It wants you to open us.

The almost-albino looked at the book curiously. It had worse grammar than he did.

He flipped it over in his hand and peeled back the cover; it was heavy against his palm but moved almost effortlessly, as if he weren't even touching it. The grey was friendly but he didn't want to leave grease marks on it; the last thing he needed was Elizaveta finding out he had touched it.

The twirly and sharp letters written in there were similar to the ones in Roderich's book, but he couldn't be sure if they were exactly the same. They seemed to blur together slightly. He flipped the pages arbitrarily until one caught his eye. One line at the very top of one of the pages. Here the symbols seemed to squirm and he squinted to try and see them.

Ech…Ekk…Ekka…He sighed in frustration, leaning back on one of his hands. Trying to read in the dark was giving him a headache. Trying to read in general gave him headaches. A few minutes later he tried again, whispering the words quietly to himself. "Ecke…Ecce…M-mm..." He finally gave up. He knew he had bad vision, though he would never say so. But…he looked over to his sleeping companion; his glasses were perched on his nose.

He wasn't using them while he was sleeping, and he certainly didn't need to know that Gilbert was borrowing them so long as he put them back before he woke up. With a swish and a snatch they were in his hands and then on his face. He had never been caught any more off-guard. Never before had the world been so clear!

Down on the page, the symbols were whispering to him and he returned his attention to them. Reading the tiny print was almost easy now. "Ecce meus libellus verendus." He said it before his mind recognized it and soon the air was filled with the strong scent of lilac and there was a tingly dance going on on his skin. It was too dark to see much other than the book, which was now illuminated a crisp cerulean blue. It made him feel good and he smiled.

We are glad you like it. The voice said, the pages of the book flipping through themselves as an invisible paintbrush took interest in the back of his right hand. Now you may rest, it says.

He did. He fell asleep almost instantly, the book still glowing, his skin still tingling. For the first time in five years, he slept soundly, his book protecting him from both nightmares and memories.

A/N: I lied. This is the last time I describe when someone gets a book :P I didnt realise until after I had edited it that I do go into a little detail there, but not as much as the last chapters. Please tell me what you think, and if anyone wants to see a specific character later in the story, tell me who and what you would like to see them do! If they havent already gotten roles, I'll try to incorperate them! Please be sure to review and tell me what you think, especially how you think I could improve. Now, I must go. I have Chemistry homework and an essay to do, and I need to study for the MUN conference! I love you all!

Also, I lied about X Over Y too. The new chapter will be up by next weekend though.