Spain would have been a wonderful place to grow up in most people's opinions. Not in Antonio's. He loved the climate, the land, its people. But he hated the memories of his childhood.
If he were to say that out loud he would probably be accused of being ungrateful. Everyone said that he had had a great and wonderful childhood. And perhaps he had compared to some people he had met.
He grew up as a single child with both of his parents. Both their attentions on him with no end and no sibling to rival that. The land was owned by the Saviour and everyone was loyal to him. Antonio had grown up in a town that saw the Saviour as the new god of the world.
Every Sunday he would go to market with his mother, and Tuesdays they would go to pray at the cathedral. The town was quite wealthy as were his parents.
His mother, was the daughter of a well known and quite portly merchant. This man enjoyed picking on Antonio for being too thin and wild compared to his silk wearing mother, who was also fairly round, though any man who saw her thought her lovely.
His father was a warrior who was high in rank and in charge of the town and it's some three thousand people. He was friendly to everyone he had met. He took after his own father who had died in battle and his mother was an old crone who whispered unbeknownst curses on anyone who crossed her path.
Growing up with such a mother had made Antonio's father, though as said, friendly, strict and determined to make his son a fine man and warrior.
So while he had been teaching the boy to fight, a good hard lashing for every mistake, his wife smiled from the window as she watched, too concerned with her embroidery or perfume to worry about the blood of her blood that stained her garden.
It was cruel. Twisted even. But it was what Antonio thought was right and he grew up as a fine warrior. It should have made his father proud, but the man was stubborn and the now seventeen year old was a cast away disappointment. Antonio took that however, taking his own home now, and serving in the defence of the town under his father. He went to every prayer session and had been put in an arranged marriage with a woman his mother's father thought fine for him. She had a pretty face but was rather dull… but it pleased some of Antonio's family so he nodded and said 'Si'.
It was around the time of his eighteenth birthday, he was laying down, ready to go to sleep when his father burst into his small home, dressed in his armour and ready for battle.
He ordered him to get up and get dressed. The Shadow lord had commanded an attack on their town.
True to his duty and his father, Antonio, was soon dressed and ready as the scarred man. he followed him out and to the east side of the town where there were many fires.
"What happened?" Antonio asked as they ran.
"The Shadow lord slipped in while every one was sleeping and slit everyone's throats."
"But the orphanage is on the east side?"
His father said no more and though he had a hate of the man, he felt his anger seep in with the realization.
When they came to the east side, there was no time to prepare. They were thrown head long into battle with the Saviour's soldiers whom he had stationed there recently. It had to be a blessing that the elite units were there to help them.
The fight had barely been going for twenty minutes when Antonio spotted someone heading to the town markets. He looked to be about his own height with green eyes and blonde hair.
This had to be the Shadow lord he had been trained to hate since birth.
He ran after the male, abandoning the fight to stop whatever plan that this man had. Trained meticulously, he caught up with no trouble and tackled the man to the ground. Neither male barely made a sound of protest, the blonde taking the brunt of the fall. But he happened to be fast and a fist connected with Antonio's jaw as the other scrambled out of his grasp. He got to his feet, turning his back on the Spaniard. Antonio got up as well after the shock of the hit, drawing his blade. He swung, aiming for the guy's shoulder, to maim him.
But there was a flash of light as the blonde turned back around and raised a gloved hand, stopping his sword with a shining shield that almost blinded Antonio. There was a suspenseful moment before the sword shattered and instead of falling forward, Antonio was pulled back, an arm around his torso, holding his arms in place and a hand on his mouth to stop any noise he might make.
"Calm down, da~ We might yet not kill you and feed you to the dogs~" There was a chilling chuckle in his ear.
"Settle down Ivan, aru…" A third voice added with a soft sigh. "it's no wonder people think we're the bad guy…"
"Sorry doroigi… you know I'm not serious."
The light before them went out and the blonde lowered his hand. "Thankyou Ivan…" He said. He had a different accent from the other two that sounded more northern. Antonio hadn't heard it before but he was more surprised at this man's appearance. The Saviour was some all powerful demon warrior, or so he had been told, and this person was maybe around Antonio's age, if not younger. His hair was messy, like he couldn't be bothered fixing it or he just couldn't fix it all together. His eyes were the same green, except they held a fire of some passion, which he duly assumed was evil, and rather thick eyebrows.
"Not a problem… so what do we do with him, Arthur~?" The colder voice asked in a childish kind of curiousness.
"Well, I for one, disagree with feeding him to Luddy's dogs." A fourth voice joined the fray and it came from above, appearing in the corner of Antonio's eyesight, an man with a pale complexion and white as snow hair dropped to the ground, a little yellow ball of fluff or feathers perched atop his head.
"Yeah… me too. What kind of plan is that?" Another blonde stepped into the scene, sweating and bearing a few wounds and walked over to Arthur, draping an arm over his shoulders. He was slightly taller but again, still slightly boyish in appearance. Maybe sixteen years old.
There was the sound of dogs barking and soldiers shouting, footsteps soon becoming heard.
"We can't take him… But we're NOT killing him." Arthur said, his tone that of definite finality. He was the one in command whether anyone liked it or not. His word was final. And he was the Shadow Lord. And he now turned to Antonio. "You are not going to die, so trust me and listen and hear me, Spaniard… we didn't kill those people. Look at our clothes… there is no blood on them. So look again at the Saviour's soldiers… Aren't their uniforms meant to be white or blue? So why are they red? You are being deceived."
That was it, there wasn't another word after that. It was just like they were gone after that. Antonio had no idea how suddenly they had disappeared. Even the person who had been holding him in place had vanished. And he had been left there, staring dumbly at the spot in which the ultimate evil of the world had stood… but he claimed trickery… He said… that the Saviour… the person who fought to free them, was in fact the evil one.
So many thoughts churned through his head, arousing conflicting emotions… Until a fist connected to the side of his jaw. He stumbled and his feet collided with each other, sending him to the ground. He was still in shock as he supported himself on his arm and looked up at his every angry father as he wiped a bit of blood away from the corner of his mouth, glaring at the man before him.
"You abandoned the fight! And you let HIM get away!" The elder Spaniard screamed in rage.
"I could not help it!" Antonio yelled back, defending himself. "I was just trying to help!" He huffed, that annoying part of him feeling hurt that he couldn't prove himself, telling him that he really was a worthless piece of shit just like his father said as he climbed unsteadily back to his feet. "And another thing…" The younger male blinked, frowning at his father's uniform.
"What? Lost your tongue?"
"N-no… there's blood on your uniform…" Antonio said dumbly.
"Of course!" His father glared. "From injuring one of the enemy… Like you failed to do!"
"But none of them had blood on them!" Antonio counteracted. He didn't know why… it went against everything he had ever believed or been raised to believe. "And… you have…" He looked around, a few of the Saviour's soldiers had blood on their cloaks and uniforms as well. "You only get blood on you when you've been hurt… or… you've… slit someone's throat…" He said the last part to himself more than to his father. Why? It made sense… He was piecing the pieces together, and then the image of families lying dead in bed flashed in his mind… Orphans that used to bring him water and food and little paper dolls when he was on look out to keep him entertained… throats slit, eyes closed, tanned skin pale…
"It was YOU!" He looked up and screamed at his father and the soldiers behind him. The man who had fed him so much hate all his life, growled and gave the order to KILL him! He yelled that he was a traitor.
And before he knew it, Antonio was running, the hounds on his heels. He had no idea where to go but he knew, the kind of man his father being, that he would blame everything on his failure of a son. Including the murders… who cared about the Shadow lord when you could blame Antonio and make yourself look good?
He had no time for anything… He managed to lose them for a short while, deserting his uniform for a simple shirt and pants, going barefoot as he snatched a sack and stole some bread and a flask of water, tossing it into the bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He knew he couldn't stay here, and he knew he had to leave. He had no idea where, but he wasn't keen on the idea of dieing right now.
Tying the sack over his shoulder, he climbed up a tree and onto the roof of the house it's branches reached. He moved as silent as he could from roof to roof, trying to stay hidden. It brought back memories… he had always played this game as a child, but his father had beat it out of him, repeating over and over that it was a useless trait of no use to him. How wrong he had been. It was helping him know, and it was helping him to survive.
He was near the edge of town when a soldier spotted him. Now he no longer cared for being quiet, jumping from roof top to roof top, waking up countless families, no doubt as he fled the new volley of arrows that came after him.
You'd think that something dramatic and inspiring would have happened. That while mid air from one roof to the next, the arrow of his own father would bring him down. Maybe it should have been a movie worthy thing, a heart wrenching moment between the hate of father and son.
But it wasn't. The horribly made arrow of an acne covered soldier pierced his side as he was running across a roof. He stumbled and cried out, but that same human desperation for survival made him cling to the hope of escape and he clambered back to his feet and ran once more. One roof… Two rooves! Three and then he jumped over the Eastern wall, hindered slightly by the arrow and his foot clipped the top of the wall, turning the graceful leaping arc into a spiral, and he crumpled to the ground as he hit it. He had never known how high the wall had truly been until now. But he was out of the town and it would buy him a few minutes to completely disappear. They would probably forget about him after awhile. It wasn't like he had really done anything. His father had just been looking for the right excuse to get rid of him, and he had found it.
The injured Spaniard winced as he sat up, moving under the cover of a large patch of mulberry bushes so he could pull the arrow out. He tore of the branch of one bush and cleared it before wrapping it in leaves and putting it in his mouth to bite down on. Sighing, and wanting to get it over with, he grabbed the arrow and began to pull slowly. Cursing himself as he winced, already biting down hard on the stick, he decided to forget about the pain for now and just get it over with. Grabbing hold one more time, he yanked it out, tearing the flesh slight and he did his best to muffle a groan of pain as he bit down harder than he thought possible.
He gave a moment for the shock of pain to pass and he pulled the stick out of his mouth, the leaves falling to the ground. Then he pulled the sack off his back and snatched the flask of water, splashing a bit on his wound and then drinking some. It was sealed and tossed back in the back along with the arrow, the stick and the leaves that he had used. He couldn't leave a trace behind.
He knew he needed to hurry, but not knowing how long before he could get a good meal, he gathered a few large leaves and filled them with mulberries, needing as much as he could get as he wanted to make that loaf of bread last as long as it could. The berries might not be much, but if eaten quickly the sweetness made you feel a little nauseous. Not the best way to feel, especially when escaping, but it gave the illusion of a full stomach and it meant he wouldn't eat for fear of being sick. Also not the most healthy for his body, but he could only do so much.
After he had about five large leaves with a pile of mulberries in them, he folded them and used some of the stringy bark to tie it together before putting all the parcels in his sack and tying the bag back on.
He did a quick check of the area to make sure there was no one looking for him and at last deemed it safe, moving out though keeping low for the time being. He wasn't satisfied he was out of the clear until he had travelled about half a league and he stood up straight, stretching, despite the pain of his wounds, and eased the cramped tension of his muscles. The horizon was tainted pink and he could see the sun rising. In a few hours, the whole town would rise and his father and the Saviour's soldiers, would tell them of his evil deeds... how he had laughed maniacally while ripping open the orphan's throats.
He sighed and shook his head. After only a few short but long hours, he had come to accept that it was behind him. Right now, he needed somewhere to rest.
As he walked, something made him smile. A real smile… The rising sun warmed his face… and though the circumstances horrible… he was free… out in the wide world he knew nothing about. If he had the energy he probably would have broken into a run. Instead, he kept searching for a safe place to rest.
As the sun rose it became higher and higher… Sweat prickled along his brow, hair sticking to his face and the back of his neck in an irritating fashion. He sighed, taking a drink of the water in the flask when he spotted a cave. It was a small cave with a knobbly, crooked looking opening. But it would be cool inside. He put the flask in the bag again and quickened his pace as he approached the smaller than he though cave. Oh well… He got on his hands and knees and crawled through the entrance into a large enough cavern, about the size of his bedroom… well, his old bedroom. It would do anyway… it appeared empty of any crazy convicts or wild beasts and he curled up in the far corner, embracing the coolness of the rock floor, hugging his bag close. The smell of the mulberries, the bag, the bread, the leather of the flask and the naturalness of the cave sent him to his dreams, which consisted of bright white lights that could turn weapons to dust like in the stories.
Not too much later, the sky dark orange by now, he felt something wet on his face. He couldn't be crying. But it was different, like a dog's kisses. Frowning slightly, he opened his eyes, which immediately widened in fear, and he stayed perfectly still. He had apparently fallen asleep in a wolf's den… that or the smell of his blood had attracted it. But it didn't seem all too fierce. Domesticated animals were rare, so it was an obvious wild beast.
It seemed suspicious of him, so not some friendly puppy like thing, and it bore scars from years of defending his territory. He shuddered softly at the smell of its breath and that's when it stopped and looked at him. In all his life, Antonio had never seen such wisdom as what he saw now in the wolf's eyes, its black-brown fur coarse with its history.
It didn't regard him much longer before backing away and sitting a few feet away from him. Swallowing, Antonio sat up slowly, biting his bottom lip as he leant against the wall and watched it back. It tilted it's head slightly, no longer seeing him as a threat, before dipping it's head and pushing something towards him.
Antonio frowned and looked at the object. It was a piece of meat, with a bit of coarse brown hair still on one side. Maybe a deer. When it was at his feet, the wolf sat back and looked at him again, it's pink tongue lolling out as it panted.
He'd never eaten raw meat before, but it made him smile, and he nodded. "Gracias… friend…" He smiled and picked up the piece of meat, it was about the size of his piece of bread. He was a little hesitant before he gathered the courage to take a bite. It was tough, stringy and dripping with blood. But it didn't matter at the moment. He realised as he took the bite just how hungry he was. It seemed like the polite thing, even to a wolf, to eat what it had offered, but he ate most of it anyway for the sake of his hunger. It wasn't even that bad as by the fourth or fifth bite he was use to it, and when he was done, he smiled, feeling embarrassed at his ravenousness and held the rest out for the wolf.
Again the creature regarded him suspiciously, before it snatched up the scraps and ate as if it hadn't eaten in days.
Antonio smiled as he watched it. The day his life had turned upside down, seemed to be full of smiles. But he couldn't help it. The wolf reminded him of himself. It was hungry, scarred and somewhat… a loner. He waited until the wolf was done before biting his bottom lip. He had nothing to lose. He stretched out his hand slowly and the wolf flattened it's ears. Antonio flinched slightly at that before turning his hand over to show his palm and held his hand out again.
The wolf regarded it, but it wasn't too long before it began to lick his fingers and Antonio smiled, waiting a moment before he scratched the wolf's chin. It seemed shocked at the action but didn't pull away. The Spaniard smiled and continued, working his way to the creature's shoulders and behind his ears. By now, Antonio was sure that if wolves could purr, this one would cause an earth quake. When he was done, it lay down beside him, resting it's head on it's two front paws.
Smiling, Antonio, sat back against the wall again and lightly continued scratching behind the animal's ears. He watched the wolf close it's eyes and drift off, staying close for warmth, though he could hardly believe it needed it what with all that fur.
"Gracias…" He whispered. "For finding me…"
It had only been two weeks since the wolf had come to him now. It had refused to let him out of the cave for the first couple of days. It puzzled him, but it seemed particular about cleaning the wound at his side each morning and night. And it was on the fourth day, when the wound began to close, that the animal let him out. So… maybe it was concerned for him.
Now, he was exploring the area, his feet just starting to toughen up to the terrain. He'd found a place to refill his flask, at a small stream about a mile north of the cave. The bread and berries were long gone, now he just ate what either the wolf brought back, or what he could find himself.
Currently, it was like the wolf was teaching him to hunt. It was laughable, but he found ways to use the animalistic techniques and it was helping him survive.
But a sound not so far away made them both stop following the deer. It sounded like a hunting horn. The deer seemed to realize this and attempted to bound away, but an arrow struck its side and it collapsed.
The wolf at his side let out a low growl, its ears laying flat against it's head. It probably would have bolted but it stayed at Antonio's side. The Spaniard himself was curious as to who had shot the arrow, so waited for the hunter to appear.
It was probably another five minutes before he did. It was a small hunting party. The saviour's soldiers and a man at the head. It was Antonio's father.
The Spaniard tensed as the man dismounted his horse and walked up to the wounded deer and ending the creature's life with his dagger before pulling the arrow out and re-sheathing it in his quiver. One of soldiers also dismounted and walked up to the silent male as the other soldiers mumbled amongst themselves.
"Sir…" The soldier said in hushed tones, but Antonio was just able to hear. "… I'm glad we have new supplies from this hunt, but we will not find your son. He was wounded and the smell of his blood has probably attracted a wolf or bear and he has fallen prey to it. The most I believe we will find is gnawed upon bones."
"Gnawed bones would be preferable, si… But we must make sure that my son is either dead, or will forget that night and return as a loyal servant to the Saviour. If not, he might spread wrong words of our Lord and even if few people believe his words, there will still be a change in peoples' minds. Do you understand?" Antonio's father gave the soldier a stern look and such a look crumbled the man's defences.
"Yes sir… Forgive my curiosity."
His father nodded and the soldier returned to his mounts. Now alone, the elder warrior frowned, as if speculating something, staring right past Antonio's bush. Curious, he stepped forward.
Antonio tensed; feeling trapped and searching for a way to escape, even thought there was obviously none. The wolf at his side sensed his unease around the approaching male and let out another throaty growl. Antonio did his best to quieten it silently, without alerting his father of their of presence, but the wolf ignored him and without warning, leapt from the bush, tackling his father to the ground.
Even surprised, the older Spaniard reacted quickly, holding his arm up under the wolf's neck to keep it's shredding teeth away from him and he pulled his dagger from his belt once more.
It wasn't an epic struggle, more of a five second suspense before the wolf yelped and crumpled… just dead, the life gone from it so simply.
Antonio couldn't help himself, crying out in sorrow and rage as he followed the wolf's action, attacking his father just as the man claimed his feet once more.
He was still weak from injury though and his father's strength never faltered, merely pushing the younger away. Antonio stumbled and waited a second before trying to attack him again. This time he merely got tossed to the ground.
He winced slightly as the flesh around his wound tore open again and the blood flowed again. He glared up at his father, already feeling exerted. He knew damn well what he looked like to them.
Feral. Exactly what his father despised.
Hair greasy, unkempt and messy. Clothes dirty, feet bare and the front of his shirt stained with animal blood.
"Disgusting…" His father sneered and drew out his sword. Apparently he had forgotten his earlier words, and was dead set on killing the younger male right now. The tip of the blade pressed to his neck and Antonio glared at the man above him. If death was coming for him then he'd take it. He wouldn't run, and if he couldn't fight, then he would die bravely and not cowering in fear.
And THEN something amazing and spectacular happened. It wasn't a awe worthy fight between him and his father. It wasn't a decisive struggle.
No, it was something amazing that happened at the right time.
A flash of white light, and his father was thrown backwards into the shrubbery. The saviour's soldiers were befuddled by it, but with a cry of rage at the new participant, the drew their weapons and charged.
Antonio was too bewildered to move as he watched the same young blonde from last night, sword in hand as he blocked and parried, bolts of white light from one of his gloved hands, sending the soldiers one by one into a sprawling mess. The horses whinnied in fear and scattered, soon disappearing with the thundering of their hooves. And when all lay still, the soldiers lifeless, Arthur looked down at Antonio, speculating him the same way the wolf had, before calling someone; he didn't quite catch the name.
The next minute passed before a boy with dark reddish brown hair stepped into the clearing with a bag, the albino from the previous night not far behind, looking around. He walked over to Arthur and started a conversation but Antonio didn't care what they were talking about.
The boy sat down beside him and opened his bag, pulling out some water, bandages and some cream in a jar. The Spaniard watched as he cleaned his wounds without question. Then he put the cream on them, which stung a little, before helping him to sit up and take his shirt off so he could bandage him. He was silent the whole time, but Antonio didn't really mind. The last thing he remembered doing was saying, "Gracias…"
The boy faltered in his work, only slightly before whispering back. "… Si…"
Antonio smiled and closed his eyes, leaning against the boy's shoulder as the part of his mind that was probably still active, drifted off.
/
Berwald sat bolt upright, feeling like he'd been underwater for days but unable to die. It was a horrible feeling and inescapable. The last thing he could truly remember was hurting himself in the sandstorm and the rest was a confused blur. Though, he sure as hell remembered that sand felt nothing like cool cotton sheets. And there hadn't been any space in their little shelter. Not to mention, Tino wasn't there either.
Frowning, he tried to see his surroundings and figure out where he was. But everything was blurry and when he felt his face, he confirmed that his glasses weren't there. The most he could gather by his sight and touch was that he was in a small bed, in a room, well lit by two or three windows. And the atmosphere had cooled considerably, compared to the heat of the desert.
Curious as to where he was, he lifted away the blanket that was over his lower half, swinging his feet over the edge and placing them on the floor firmly. He felt a little dizzy, but in his stubborn nature, ignored it and stood up. He fought to keep his balance, and even when he had won that gravitational battle, the floor still seemed to be moving. So, maybe he was on a boat or something… or he just wasn't as steady as he thought.
Not really caring for tentative steps, he just started walking forwards, and after about three steps there was a tug at his wrist and he slipped backwards, hitting the back of his head on the edge of the bed. He winced as he felt the fast growing bruise through his hair, before glaring down at his wrist. He had no idea how he had completely failed to notice the large iron cuff around his wrist, his vision now just making out the chain that linked it to the wall.
Oh goody… the first two words to enter his mind. So he wasn't on some boat or even in his home. He was a prisoner. A captive! And he had no idea how it happened since he'd fallen asleep.
It was around that time that the door to his room creaked open and he was able to shoot his most terrifying glare to the new source of light. Whoever it was that entered let out a soft, yet nervous giggle, and approached him in a relaxed manner. Next second the world around him came into a less blurry focus as did Tino's face. His glare disappeared, a little.
"Wh're th' h'll am I…?" The Swede asked as he was helped by the smaller male, back onto the edge of his bed. He was able to take in his surroundings now… as well as himself.
The room wasn't the largest, but it wasn't small either. It was spacey… made of a dark reddish brown wood. There were in fact, four windows in the room and the door, a small bedside table to his left and a wardrobe that was obviously empty, at the foot of the bed.
And he himself had a new change of clothes. Loose black pants and white shirt. At the end of the bed on the floor was a pair of black boots, like he had been expected to get up and walk around. Whoever had put them there was REAL smart.
"You're on the Shadow King's ship…" The small blonde said with a smile and Berwald's attention was back on him, along with a frown. Pressured by the taller man's expressions, as always, Tino gave a nervous laugh and scratched the back of his head. "W-We're headed to his city…"
That caused the Swede to lose his expression. Part of this filled him with wonder. The Shadow King had kept his city hidden. So well in fact that no man had ever come across it via pure coincidence or when searching for it, making it something more of a myth and fairytale. If they were going to see it, he figured that he would be one of the first of the Saviour's soldiers to set foot inside. Leaving alive was another matter.
But what he did know about it and it gave him something to picture, was that the Shadow King, though obviously evil and murderous and no good, enjoyed gardens. So if you were lucky enough to set foot in his city, you would be graced with visions of tall marble pillars, statues and fountains, plants growing so wildly that it was lush and beautiful. Birds and animals not seen in hundreds of years still existed in this one place and roamed free and sacred. Exotic fish swam in the ponds and fountains where you could throw coins to them for good fortune before battle or offer bread crumbs for good health and dreams.
It didn't alter the fact that this was one of the only things that succeeded in scaring the man. He was petrified. Though yes, it would be a great honour to see inside this fabled city, even if it was that of the enemy, the most pure form of evil, it still scared him. And it wasn't the evil man that scared him. This city was unknown. Something believed as more of a fairytale and not as fact. Like the long forgotten past, it was a legend and didn't exist to him. To have what he had been taught and what he believed thrown right back in his face, was a terrifying thing. It only gave him grounds to believe what that albino had said to him, or what Tino had said to him, or even what that beguiling voice in the back of his head gave in soft whispers.
Maybe… everything was just one huge… mistake… was he fighting on the side of the people that had killed his wife… his child…?
His friends… Mathias and his lover… where they all being mislead…? Or had they known the whole time…
Had the Shadow King been there too late that day… had he tried to save his family…? Had the Saviour killed them?
"Berwald…? What's wrong?" Tino asked, tilting his head with a frown of concern as he looked up at him.
Berwald blinked and shook his head. "'M f'ne…"
No… he couldn't accept any of it. The Shadow king was evil. And if he was being given this opportunity, then he would take it. The Shadow King had taken the life of too many innocents, and for that he would pay. And Berwald would fulfil this duty to the Saviour at all costs, even if it cost him his own life.
/
N'aaaaw such nice thoughts there dear Berwald. So what do you guys think eh? A lot of you were thinking Antonio was the Saviour. Betchya can't guess. Dun worry, it'll all come together, I'm introducing him again in the next chapter. –hearts you all-