Prologue

It's always hard to know what we shall become, what we shall blossom upwards from being after youth. This too was true for young Isaac and his best friend, Hector, for if they ever knew what was to become of them they'd have regretted ever knowing one another. Yet, how blissfully blind to their own fates they both were. Isaac was a youth of sixteen then, full of passions, rebellions, and idealisms, lean and long of limb, who would leer and cock his head and ask "why should I?" to all authorities. Of course, young Isaac's parents obviously thought nothing of this. His father was an obscenely rich Boyar, a nobleman, and no one would question his son. So the boy could wear his doublet undone, sneak about on others' land, and scramble through the marketplaces with pale-haired Hector all he liked; no one would say a word to him or his father-- not for fear of his father per se, who was a calm and soft spoken man valued for his fairness amongst his peers, rather, for fear of Isaac's conniving mother, who spent inordinate amounts of time at her husband's ear whispering deceitful thoughts too dangerous for a woman to have. Isaac got his nature from her, and nobody ever thought the boy would grow into a decent man. Perhaps they were right. But alas, he was just a boy, and boyhood, like chicken pox, is something a man should catch young and be cured of quickly, because if it comes any later it will be far worse.

The villagers claimed it was all evinced by the boy's bright red hair. It wasn't an unusual trait, per se-- it was because nobody embodied the color better than Isaac Laforeze. The emotional, melodramatic, temperamental young man let his heart drag him as if it were a horse and he was barely trying to hold it's reigns. When he had befriended (it was later referred to as "teaming up with") young Hector in their childhood a ray of light shone through the dust cloud that the miscreant redhead inevietably left in his wake. The blonde boy was logically driven with a clear and quick head on his shoulders, topped off by a curtain of platinum blonde hair, so blonde in fact it was nearly white. However, the hope that Hector would lead Isaac in the right direction was quickly snuffed out as it became increasingly clear that Hector was a trusty accomplice to Isaac.

The boys would run into the Forest of Jigramunt, unbeknownst to all but a few, and spend hours in the allegedly cursed place playing the games little boys play, firm in their belief that no curse would ever bother their brave souls. That was, until they stumbled upon the looming ruins one day. Where most other children would have delighted in the veritable (though primitive) jungle-gym of overgrown rocks, there was something inherently wrong with the ruins. They went home early that day.

The boys grew, and so did their antics. They learned how to ride, how to hawk (Isaac was often compared to his hawk, ironically by his own mother, who likely was the more hawkish of the two in many ways), to write and read... each new lesson was an opportunity, not only to learn, but to expand their troublemaking. At times they would cause what could only be called collateral damage, or blaspheme, or do something else that required punishment. Ultimately, though, the reckless pair regretted little, and found joy in the fact that at least they faced it together.

By that time, Isaac was always heralded by uproarious laughter upon entering his home, laughter which informed the occupants of various different things depending on their standing. To the servants, the arrival of the young Master meant that everything they had thus far completed would be swiftly undone. To his father, Audric, it meant nothing, he was too busy poring over papers. To his mother, Mirabel, it meant her only son was home, and she always greeted him with a noble mother's decorum despite her vast love for him.

"My sweet boy, welcome home." She would coo even as Isaac rushed past her, ruffling her skirts and finely styled hair. Hector always attempted to cover for his friend's rudeness, bowing to Lady Laforeze before passing, as if it made up for the discourtesy of his rushing past her shortly after. Though truly Mirabel didn't mind Hector, she secretly hoped the blonde would instill some of his calmer qualities into Isaac. Perhaps then the boy might be easier to control, like his father. Hawkish, calculating Mirabel always thought that it was for the best that all the men in her life were kept down.

To his sister, Julia, it meant to hide or leave the house, because Isaac usually brought his bizarre friend, whom she didn't have to see to know he was trouble. Julia also knew that the two of them usually tore the house apart, much like everything else. Thankfully, Julia had escaped before the two entered, accompanied by a few older handmaids to the market or, in today's case along the river to pick willow, periwinkle, and bells of Ireland.

"M'Lady, how can you be so sure that Master Isaac's friend is a bad man? You've never seen him," Asked the youngest of the maids (who, in truth, was about Julia's age, more of a playmate than a handmaid) as she walked next to the young Lady, carrying her basket whilst they passed along a softly babbling brook. The maid's gaze grew dreamy, far-away; she quite obviously had an image in mind. "Perhaps he is a fine young man who would do anything for you. Perhaps he would climb mountains, battle beasts, learn forbidden magics, and forge weap--"

Julia barked out a laugh, quickly covering her mouth with her hand to make the action seem more feminine. Rumors had already spread regarding her ill-mannered and boyish ways. "Vera, stop conjuring up fantasies of the men you would please to marry." She scolded. The maid fidgeted with the blue irises in the basket, drawing her hand back as Julia dumped a handful of jonquils into the waiting basket. "Any man who goes crashing through town with my brother isn't worthy of my attention." And she meant it, with every conviction in her young heart. As much as she loved her brother, she had no respect for the things he did so carelessly.

"My Lady, forgive me for saying this, but every man goes crashing through town at some point or another. If you don't pick one, you'll never be married." Vera flinched, as if expecting the sort of slap that Lady Mirabel normally branded her cheek with. Julia did no such thing. She instead was nudged in the ribs, nigh playfully by the young Lady.

"So be it. I will be a spinster who lives in the mountains, and takes care of animals, and brews weird teas!" Julia proclaimed, sending both girls giggling, and the two older handmaids behind them shaking their heads. They both knew that in all likelyhood, Julia would be married off to Hector by Lord Laforeze-- Hector's family was of good financial standing, good rank and reputation. The child could deny it as she liked, but it didn't change the plain fact that she was likely doomed to marry the very person she seemed to hold in such contempt.

But it is hard to say what youth will blossom into. All hopes were centered upon Julia becoming a beautiful flower of a woman. No bets were placed upon her brother becoming a flower of evil. In a case such as his, nobody could truly know his fate until fate itself had fallen upon him.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter 1

"Aren't you going to give me one of those?" Hector grumbled, ducking under the tall hedge into the sober garden of the Laforeze manor as his red-haired friend rummaged through a tattered sack he'd dropped in the grass. A bruised and shriveling apple struck his foot, the thing seemingly propelled by devious laughter. Hector picked it up, examining it, just short of throwing it at the back of Isaac's head, when Isaac stood, turning on his heel and snatching the apple from the blonde's hand with a speed that had never failed to surpass Hector's.

"Are you unhappy with it, Hector?" He teased, wickedness taking over his expression as he waved the wrinkled thing in front of his friend's face. He looked like some sort of imp out of hell, right down to the imagined flash of his hazel eyes in the overcast light. "I thought I might give you an apple that matches your balls-- perhaps I should have struck you in them with it!"

With a roar, Hector leapt upon Isaac, laughing despite himself as the two of them wrestled in the grass. Hector was the stronger of the two of them, Isaac the faster, and they made a fairly good match when they wrestled-- and they always wrestled. Isaac couldn't remember a time without Hector, the son of one of his father's equally influential friends. Hector, with his blue eyes and his pale, nearly white hair, struck Isaac as everything that he was not-- level-headed, rational, strong, and both able and willing to think things through. Hector always seemed to come out on top because of that. He made Isaac realize his own irrationality very acutely-- yet he didn't begrudge him that. He rather admired his pale-haired friend for his qualities, and thought of him as his other half.

The sun broke through the clouds, blinding them both briefly, prompting a chorus of startled cries and laughter. It was but a moment before Isaac lay prone beneath Hector, who had used the opportunity to pin the other youth down. Hector's quick wits had brought him out on top again, literally. "Do not forget, Isaac, that it was I who helped you in getting those apples." Hector proclaimed triumphantly, staring down into the narrow hazel eyes of the young man beneath him. "I am thereby entitled to all the good ones." A pause, as Hector stared pointedly at him. "Besides, you do not know what my balls look like. You have never seen them." Isaac snorted, and the two of them burst into laughter as Hector rolled off of him. They helped themselves to the apples they had stolen from old man Belmont's land in a particularly intrepid move. The pair crunched on the fruits in relative silence for a time, staring up at the sky.

Though Hector didn't see it, Isaac was smiling rather stupidly. This, he felt, was what he wanted to be like for the rest of his life. He wanted to spend the rest of his life laying in his garden, with the whole world seemingly at his mercy, next to his best friend. There was nothing else in the world that could make him happier. That scared him-- one day, he knew, he'd have to get up off of the grass and do something. Get married. Become the next Lord of the Laforeze estate, and spend the rest of his life under the foot of the monarchy, with a pen in one hand and a woman he didn't know but had to copulate with in the other. But Isaac was a hedonist in some respects, and thoroughly believed in living for the moment. Why not enjoy his freedom?

"Hector, there is one other thing I wanted to do today." Isaac remarked, almost absently, after some time. "I think we are long overdue for it, actually."

Hector glanced over at him, noting the tone of his voice. There was a serene smile painted across his features, something he rarely saw. He always seemed to look at least a tad fiendish. That likely meant that Isaac meant to do something good for once. "That's odd. You usually leave no stone unturned." Hector joked, but his friend's expression didn't change. Isaac quietly rose, ducking under the hole in the hedge that the two had used since childhood and walking with purpose now. This disturbed Hector somewhat, Isaac usually never walked so much as he swaggered shamelessly. He was actually serious. The blonde followed hastily, keeping silent most of the way as they detoured away from the town. His thoughts were tumbling with questions: what was Isaac planning? Where were they going? What were they so overdue for? Finally, the question dove from his lips. "Isaac, where are we going?" He received a good clap on the shoulder for this question, a far more jovial response than he'd expected.

"I thought you would never ask." Isaac responded, placing his hand on Hector's back and ushering his startled companion along. "When we were small, remember how we used to run into the forest of Jigramunt?" He paused, as if expecting a response, but allowed no time for one. "I went back recently, and--"

"You went back without me?" Hector interjected, sounding slightly offended. Isaac's slim hand rubbed his back almost soothingly. They were heading over pasture and hills, so far that he could see the canopy of the forest of Jigramunt. People still warned not to go there-- they said it was cursed, that the forest was filled with terrifying monsters who would kill anything they saw, that the taint of an unnamed dark lord still lingered there. Hector knew about the horrifying violence taking place in Transylvania, north of Wallachia. Transylvania was at war with the Ottoman Turks in addition to being "cursed" by the dark lord roughly 300 years ago. His father and the other Boyars spoke of organized crime as well as large-scale pillaging, looting, and blasphemy happening in the north. It was believed that Jigramunt was the so-called "barrier" keeping the curse back.

However, the forest had been a source of endless childhood fun for Hector and Isaac as the two of them staged mock adventures together, becoming explorers, treasure hunters, soldiers, highwaymen, criminals or heroes, truly anything their young minds could fathom. The sun always shone into the forest of Jigramunt, there were no monsters to speak of. For Hector and Isaac, there were only happy memories of exquisite togetherness, not a care in the world but for what adventures would follow. Hector was a little hurt that his best friend would return to what could be called sacred ground for their friendship without him. Yet the redhead smiled on, rubbing Hector's back.

"...And I found something that we had missed as children. I have been planning for some time to bring you to see it." Isaac had ignored the question entirely. Hector's pale brows shot up.

"What? Isaac, we knew that forest like the backs of our own hands!" Hector argued. "There was nary a thing we missed."

"We never did get too near the ruins, did we." Isaac did not make it a question. He knew as well as Hector that they never moved too close to the ruins. There was something about the ruins that inspired fear in their young hearts. "I did not dare enter, mind you. But I found this statue..." He trailed off as they set foot in the verdant woods. Both youths glanced up at trees that had seemed so much taller when they were younger. A concordant sigh passed between them as they relived a boyhood together in a moment's time. Isaac stopped in his tracks, gripping Hector's doublet where his hand had rubbed before. Then, with an almighty shove that sent the blonde stumbling aside and a bound backwards, Isaac snatched a loose branch from a nearby tree, and pointed it at his companion. "Ha! I, Highwayman Isaac, have stolen all of your gold! You shall never catch me!" He proclaimed. Hector, after recovering from the surprise of being shoved so suddenly, grinned. That was their favorite game. Hero and Highwayman. He grabbed the nearest branch he could find, and pointed it at the redhead.

"Beware, criminal, for this is your last day! You shalln't escape the law of the Lord-- or me!" He responded, and both dropped their 'swords,' as Isaac took off, and Hector gave chase. Admittedly Isaac had the advantage, he was faster and far more acrobatic, but Hector's stamina made for an excellent chase. He could hear his friend rustling through endless verdant landscape, never too far away, just like old times. They passed through a clearing with Isaac a little more than a yard ahead, his fiery hair standing out like an autumn tree in the spring landscape before they plunged back into the trees. But then the sound of Isaac's movement ceased. Hector stopped in his tracks. "Isaac?" He called out, looking around. When did the trees become so dense? He couldn't remember the woods being like this. "Isaac, I think I'm lost!" He called, scanning the area for a break in the foliage. Several feet away, a bush stirred in a flurry of rustling movement; Hector snapped his head over to look at it. There was nothing. Had they gone too far? Were there really monsters? His blue eyes darted to and fro until he spotted a point of red peeking through a cluster of leaves. It darted off like some elusive fish in a murky pond, but the fearful spell was broken.

A hazel eye appeared in a gap in the foliage, flashing at him, and Hector dove for it. "Isaac!!"

The redhead cried out; and Hector followed suit only after he realized where they were going. He was hanging on to Isaac as they fell several feet into a basin of clear water. The thought occurred very briefly to the blonde that he didn't remember a cliff being there, in fact that he didn't remember most of this terrain at all. Was it the poor quality of a child's memory, or had Isaac made a discovery? All of this ran through his head quite quickly, before Hector resumed screaming.

Before he could stop to breathe, the pair hit the water, and he released the flailing redhead to scramble weightlessly upwards for air. He surfaced first, gasping in desperation and flicking his long, pale hair from his face. He looked around, turning on the spot which he waded. He couldn't see a trace of his friend. "Isaac? Where have you gotten off to?" He queried, receiving only echoes of his own deep voice. He glanced into the rippling water, only to be blinded by the sun. Shielding his eyes with one arm, he shouted, "Isaac!!" Panic grew in him. Had he drowned his best friend in a moment of surprise? He started to dive under again, when he noticed a disturbance in the water. It swayed towards him, and bubbled as if boiling as something-- or someone began to rise. The red hair hit the surface first, and the youth came lunging out at him, plunging them both under again. "Damn you, Isaac!" He exclaimed as they floated up again, swiping his hair from his face. Isaac clung to him with one arm, laughing heartily.

"Hector, you panicked like no one I've ever seen!" Isaac teased, wading away from him slowly. "I must admit though," the redhead's voice echoed across the water, "that was exceptionally good maneuvering! Hector... bravo." Hector glared after the other youth, but it was hard to be too angry at Isaac after fearing for a moment that he had accidentally murdered him. Hector seriously considered murdering him now, however... and that brought a smile back to his face. He looked beyond Isaac, to a tall silhouette ahead obscuring the blinding sun.

"Is that your statue?" He asked, paddling furiously to catch up. Isaac chuckled, shaking his head as he dragged his wet personage up onto the shore of the miniscule island. It was hard to believe they'd never found it before. The redhead remained on all fours, panting on the grass. It was very rare that he tired like that. "What is it then?"

"It is our statue. Let us say it's a monument to our friendship." Isaac held out a dirty hand to Hector, who took it as he pulled himself out of the water. For a while, the young men just idled there, on hands and knees, trying to catch their breath. The moment they met eyes was the moment they burst into laughter, hearty, mirthful laughter that trailed off into a pleasant silence as they sat next to one another. They often enjoyed silences such as those, moments where there didn't have to be words to express their camaraderie. They glanced up at the statue, which was carven from a large tree stump. The monument had likely been carved from the tree that had once been there, depicting two men standing together, their wrists held together. Beneath them, someone had carved the words "Et in sanguine fratres." Brothers in blood. Behind the monument itself, what appeared to be a spear jutted from the wood. It was rusted over, all but for the fine point, and the edges on either side of said point, both of which bore a curious resemblance to a bat's wings. The sharp edges seemed to stubbournly resist the age and decay that had overtaken the rest of the spear.

"Isaac, what is this?"

Isaac's serene smile returned at last as he got to his feet, offering his hand to Hector, who took it gratefully. "Well, I had thought we were long overdue to go through this. You see this monument? This is a milestone to the friendship of the figures here," He gestured to the carven images of two noble looking men, one wearing a crusader's armor, with the pride of a fearless lion etched into his face, and the other robed heavily, with long hair and a noble knowledge to him.

"It's said that these men shared a timeless friendship. They trusted each other completely. Together they had survived the crusades. Legends say this one..." Isaac reached out and tapped the nobleman's figure, "...lived forever, while the other..." He tapped the crusader's form, "...died, but left behind a continuing legacy that his best friend would never be without. I wonder who these men were." He paused, looking to Hector in contemplation. Both had heard stories about men like them, but never gave them a great deal of stock. "Well, it doesn't matter." He pressed on, beckoning Hector closer. "You see, they are sharing blood. They are becoming brothers in blood." Isaac shoved up one sleeve, climbing onto the ringed stump only long enough to draw his wrist quickly across one of the winged edges of the spear. "Hector, become my brother in blood, so that we may always be together as allies-- and friends." He extended his wounded wrist to Hector, who stared at him, flabbergasted.

Hector stared at Isaac's bleeding wrist for a moment. He was all at once startled and moved-- Isaac never struck him as one for symbolism or ceremony, yet the fact that he wished to undergo such a rite counted for a great deal to Hector. And something so deep as the trading of blood... He finally climbed onto the stump, pulling up his sleeve opening his opposite wrist with an unflinching resolve. He placed it against that of his best friend, the warm blood slickening the contact, but the warmth seemed to pass all the way up his arm. Isaac's hand came up to press their wrists together.

"Hector, listen to me. Our blood runs together now-- we are brothers. Let us never fight against one another, but always at the other's side. You have always been with me, my friend, and there is nothing in the kingdom of the Lord that I would trade our time for. I cherish our friendship more than gold and gems, more than the greatest fortunes of man. So stand by me, brother, and know that you are never, ever alone. I will always be your brother, Hector." There was none of Isaac's devilish mischief in these words. His eyes were fixed upon Hector's. The blonde's eyes were like a furnace of emotion, the lashing flames were all sorts of overwhelming emotion. Hector finally lay his hand over Isaac's, and squeezed lightly. He had no words for the tumult of his thoughts-- Isaac had always been the word-smith, not he. Blood trickled up their arms, down onto the grass, marking the ground with their mingled blood, gracing the land with sanctity of their brotherhood. Hector was nearly moved to tears, something not common of him with his rational mind, but he swallowed down the lump in his throat. Isaac's words held true, Hector could not imagine life without his hell-raising companion, his seeming other half. Moments passed before their wrists parted, and they silently, reverently cleaned the shallow cuts in the surrounding water, each tying their own kerchiefs about their wrists.

It was only then that they noticed that they were soaked, and cold. They stripped down, placing their clothing aside to dry on the opposite shore, trailing their clothing along the surface of the water like red and blue streamers, before swimming back to the island. The pair sat back to back in the waning sunlight, unashamed of their own nudity. They were alone in their own little world, their own little island of their sacred fraternal bond, truly believing that there was nothing in the world that could corrupt such a thing. Such is the sweet naivete of youth...