Chapter 5
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Trouble emerged from the bushes, tugging up on trousers that were already well fastened. It was another way of pulling on Yuuri's chain. And, by the looks of it, it worked. Yuuri's annoyed glare, which was quickly becoming a permanent fixture on his face, spoke volumes. He turned his head away with a "humph."
Trouble smiled impishly and went for Wolfram's white steed, taking the rains from Conrad with a slight bow.
"Well, it looks like someone around here gets respect from Tra'va," Yozak said with an approving smile.
"Of course," the spirit said, swinging a leg over and getting comfortable in the brown leather saddle. "He is the strongest warrior here…and the most loyal." Eyes fading from red to a dusty rose glanced at Conrad before settling on the road before them. And, forgive me, but… when I look at you, I see someone else. After all this time, I still miss him…a little too much…
Trouble urged the white steed forward and it obeyed without question.
They rode on in silence for another half hour—the road now cutting through a thick patch of forest with trees standing close like soldiers. Trouble would stop intermittently and listen to the rustle of leaves or caress the wind. It felt good on Wolfram's skin—velvety bands of the breeze softly brushing against him, leaving a cool touch behind.
A sudden gust blew across their path. Brown leaves from the road tossed up into the air and fell like confetti.
"Whoa!" Red eyes shot open in alarm. The horse reared. Trouble pulled back on the reins hard and fought to steady the horse underneath.
"Trouble?!" Yozak called, urging his horse forward.
Trouble struggled—fisting the reins, pulling back again, and refusing to be bucked off when it came back down on all fours only to kick up the hind legs into the air. The struggles with the mount continued and the spirit held on. Finally, the horse felt winded and settled down, but looked wildly at the road before them, still afraid…still searching. The spirit, feeling Wolfram's heart beating hard, tried to push everything aside even though a sudden light headedness was coming. Trouble leaned over, spoke soft words to the steed, and scratched him between the ears as Yozak came up along side.
"Are you okay?" the spy asked. He got a nod as a response.
Murata, who had been riding next to Yuuri at that point, found himself suddenly shivering.
Yuuri tore his eyes from Trouble and turned to the other double black. "Are you okay?" Yuuri asked him, eyes a little concerned.
"Yes, I don't know why I did that," Murata said, slightly embarrassed.
"I felt it, too…and so did my horse," Tra'va said without turning back. The steed got another gentle pat on the neck. "But it was just a spirit journeying past." Trouble nudged the horse forwards. And they began again, but it took more assurance from Trouble before the horse finally worked into a comfortable rhythm of trotting on the dirt road.
"A spirit… Really?" Yuuri mumbled, having a hard time believing a wayward spirit would be roaming the forest in the daytime. It just had to be a gust of air. Besides, one spirit in Yuuri's company was enough.
"But she's in visitation," Tra'va added with very little real interest in the subject. "So, once she visits her relatives, to watch over them, she'll go back to the heavenly realm."
Yuuri thought about it for a second and then asked, "So, what does that make you?"
Murata muttered "ouch" under his breath and smacked his hand over his face. Yuuri scratched his head in confusion—only understanding that he'd said something either incredibly insensitive or incredibly stupid—probably both.
There was a sudden angry, red-eyed glare in Yuuri's direction. Wolfram's face seemed to stare at him with that all too familiar look of anger mixed with pain. Having enough, the blond head whipped back around. "I'm a grounded spirit. I can't move beyond my earthly boundaries or cross water without a host."
"A host?" Yuuri's black eyes blinked at that.
"That means 'Wolfram'." Murata muttered it as a quiet groan. His friend could really be dense sometimes.
"A host…vessel…crib…receptacle…container…" It was followed by a weak shrug. Tra'va's empty stare didn't stray from the road.
Yuuri frowned at that. "Wolfram isn't an empty box for you to fill." He had to work hard not to clinch his jaw at the thought. "And, while we're on the subject… You could have ASKED one of us to volunteer, Trouble." With each passing second, he found himself getting angrier and angrier. This had been building up for awhile now. "You just took what you wanted. And, now, look where we are!"
The response was an angry, contemptuous Wolframish laugh laced with an animalistic growl. "I will admit that I stayed too long at Blood Pledge Castle as one of the ghosts because I liked it there. But I knew that, after twenty years, I would have to continue my journey or fade away to nothing. So, yes, I was a little desperate to find a new host." Another bitter chuckle followed at the memory of all the chaos that happened and how they all met at the old well. "I almost chose the maid, you know. Her soul was bright, fiery…strong…"
"And that would be…?" Murata asked because he wasn't there.
"Sangria," Conrad said, remembering the confusion and the shocking image of Wolfram in Shadowman's arms.
"But, then, Wolfram came…and I found someone like me…a fire wielder with a bright soul…covered with scars…"
"Scars?" Yuuri said incredulously. "But, I've seen him in the bath. He doesn't have scars all over him."
"Just curious, Yuuri," Tra'va said turning the blond head to look at him. "Have you ever killed anyone?"
"Of course not!" the double black said with revolution. His eyebrows pushed together.
"Well, everyone else here has," the spirit said matter-of-factly.
Conrad and Yozak tossed glances at Murata, who could only nod in agreement. Even though his present body and life had no experience, he had the memories of past lives—many had seen too many battlefields, including the Original Great Sage.
The spirit went on. "And that includes me… When I was alive, our village was raided by a gang of humans who thought attacking at night was an easy job. What do the humans call it? 'Stab and grab?' I killed the man who broke into my home and pressed a sword against my chest." Red eyes locked with jet black ones. "I set him on fire and watched him burn."
Yuuri cringed openly and turned his head to the side.
"Thanks a whole hell-of-a lot, Yuuri…" I was terrified at the time. I should have known better than to expect sympathy from you. "I know it all sounds pointless now that I'm dead and the centuries have passed—now that my punishment is to visit every holy shrine and every piece of holy ground in Shin Makoku. And if killing that human had been the reason why I have to go through this journey…it would have been worth it. But, of course, it isn't…and it's not." Then, Tra'va laughed a little with contempt. "But, I'm straying from my original point in bringing this all up." As pissed off as Trouble was, Wolfram's body began to slump a little in the saddle. Yozak noticed it and made sure that his horse rode as close to the spirit's as possible in case he was needed.
"My point is that I see the soul before I see the body that owns it. I chose Wolfram for a reason. And, most definitely, I did not steal his body."
"Then," Murata said with a finger pushing back his glasses, "you made a deal with Wolfram to borrow his body."
"A contract." It was followed by an impatient hiss at the Demon King.
"I'd like to see proof of that," Yuuri said giving the back of Wolfram's head a steely glare. Tra'va didn't notice it-watching the road instead.
"Now, Shibuya, that's not like you…to be so judgmental so quickly. It sounds more like you in 'maou mode' than your ordinary self." A smile followed. Murata enjoyed his little critique of Yuuri.
Red eyes narrowed into slits as the head and shoulders turned back in Yuuri's direction. "I suppose, it doesn't matter if you accept my explanation or not. Once you have Wolfram back, you'll know that everything I'm saying is the truth." With a quiet sigh that Yozak could hear, the spirit turned to face forward once more. The body rocked a bit with each step that the horse took. Tra'va had to admit, fatigue was setting in, and Yuuri wasn't making it any better.
I used up too much energy fighting those humans back there. I needed to conserve my strength instead of play. How much time do I have left in this body, I wonder?
"Pear?" Yozak asked, suddenly offering the polished fruit that he'd gotten from his saddlebag.
Eyes sparkled at it with appreciation.
"Thank you!" Tra'va practically gushed, taking the fruit with the left hand and suddenly seizing upon it with small dagger-like canines. The spy's sky blue eyes widened as he watched the fangs digging in. They helped break up the fruit, and then—as was normal for that race—the fruit pieces were smashed up on the roof of the mouth—making a pulp before chewing and swallowing. Pear juice dripped down to the chin. The back of Wolfram's hand wiped away the juice only to have a pink tongue lick at it leisurely. More juice flowed and Wolfram's mouth was sucking glistening juice, oh so slowly, from slick fingers. The sexy little moans were back.
From behind, Yuuri saw it all—not sure if he should be embarrassed by the shameless display or revolted by it. Most Japanese considered finger and hand licking disgusting. The double black just shook his head and tried not to say anything. Barbaric eating, which was not the way Wolfram ate even when he was sick, was perfectly normal for someone like Trouble. And, not surprisingly anymore, Yuuri felt more distant from Wolfram than ever before. Even with this group of friends around him, he felt lonely. And, in the back of his mind, he wondered what kind of deal Wolfram and Trouble had made to form this arrangement. Surely, Wolfram had to have been tricked by Trouble into agreeing to this because failure to get to the holy site meant death. I'll find out what it is, Yuuri thought, and I'll find out why Wolfram would do such a thing.
The glowing core of a well-gnawed pear was broken in half and flung into the bushes. The leaves rustled briefly.
"Grow into trees," the spirit said with an unusual lilt in the voice.
"You like trees, don't you?" Conrad asked from behind, slightly amused.
"Yes," the spirit said with a soft smile, remembering the past. "My clan group had an orchard. I picked fruit a lot as a child." Then, pinkish eyes glanced back at the place where the core was thrown. "I placed a little of my magic on that core. There should be some beautiful trees in a few years."
Trouble took a slow breath and let it out. The fatigue was slowly overtaking Wolfram's body and the spirit knew it. But it was just a little magic that I parted with. And the trees will be worth it. I wonder who will eat the fruit? Maybe I will, in another twenty years, when I walk this way again…alone.
Another gust of wind.
The spirit stopped, chin turned to the sky.
Looks were exchanged. Was this another spirit crossing their path?
Nothing. There was nothing in Wolfram's eyes but a distant stare—eyes focused on something miles away.
"Trouble?" Yuuri said, his horse drawing near.
A deep rumbling sound came from underneath them and the ground trembled slightly.
The white horse tensed up again and, with a flash of white light, became immobilized—the tail's hair, in a swish, had frozen in place. All of the other horses instinctually backed away from the energy, but Yuuri urged his forward. I need to be with Wolfram.
Wolfram's body began to glow with a faint purple light. His blond hair blew around his face as though walking in a gale. The clothing rippled against his body, tugged by a windy force that only he could feel.
As if on cue, Morgif moaned—harmonizing with the rumbling sounds that the spirit made. The double black's first instinct was to shush him.
Red eyes shot open and Yuuri, wanting to be as close as possible to Wolfram's side, jumped at that.
The purple haze dissipated and Wolfram's body slumped forward, leaning against the horse's head.
"Oi!," Yozak said, riding his mount forward—and then leaning across and giving Trouble's shoulder a shake.
"A storm's coming," the spirit said, feeling more fatigued than ever before. "I felt it on the breeze, but needed to check for sure." Tiredly, Trouble raked fingers through a blond mop of hair. "And that storm's going to be pretty bad. I think where ever we have dinner, we need to bunk for the night. Just stay there—no camping out—because this storm is going to be a strong one." Then red eyes turned to Yuuri with a tired but impish glint. "Well, actually, I'll enjoy it because I could use the energy. You, on the other hand, could be struck by lightning and killed. So, it would be better to find a place to sleep and let the storm pass."
Forcing a smile, Trouble turned to Yozak and said, "So, my night-time husband, why don't you show us the way to a warm meal and, maybe, an even warmer bed?" It was followed by a wink.
With a slightly embarrassed chuckle and a quick glace to Conrad to see if it was okay, he pushed forward and the rest followed. "There's a town not too far from here that has a tavern and some rooms for rent upstairs. If we're lucky, we can get the converted attic. They have three beds up there that they usually rent to troops passing through."
"Good to know," Murata said in a jovial tone.
It was dinnertime at the White Lion. Sitting at a rustic wooden table that had water rings, scratch marks, and deep green stains that even the Great Sage didn't want to know the origins of, the little group waited for the server to bring them their orders.
In one corner of the room stood the bar with several wooden barrels of wine stacked off to the side that the barkeep kept handy. The local spiced wine which was made with cloves, cinnamon, orange peel, vanilla, and juniper was a specialty. And they'd go through a lot of it in a single night. And, the other side was packed with tables, people, lots of drinks, and pub food—all heavily laced with salt to make the customers want to drink more.
With a wrinkled nose of disapproval, the server—a young man with short, blue-green hair and eyes to match—put down a bowl of fruit in front of Trouble the way someone would slop a hog. The bowl consisted of one apple, one peach, and some green grapes all nestled together. A flagon of cider followed, sloshing onto the table carelessly. The rest of them ordered the small meat pies and spiced wine.
Trouble glared up at the man and ran a finger up the flagon's dripping side. It just so happened to be the middle finger. With a defiant stare in the eyes, Wolfram's mouth sucked on said finger a little longer than necessary.
The server gave the red eyed spirit a nasty look. "Anything else?" he said to the table, but kept his eyes on Trouble. He didn't like the snobby "pretty blond boy" sitting before him. Someone with eyes as red and ugly as that certainly didn't deserve, in his humble opinion, to be getting this much attention—even if the rest of his body was almost that of a perfect angel. The server rolled his eyes when he caught the glances of just about everyone at the table watching "blondie" and it didn't seem fair, not fair at all. Not only that, but the guy wouldn't eat a bite of the meat pie, a specialty of the house, that was offered to him. No… He had to have fruit and cider. Whatta wuss he thought as he watched the spirit drain half of the flagon.
"I can get you another cup of…cider," he added to Trouble with a nasty edge.
Trouble covered a belch that ended up becoming a deep throated growl.
"No thanks! But it was very kind of you to offer," Murata said cheerfully, trying to talk over the spirit's threatening sounds so that they wouldn't draw undue attention. At the same time, he was confused as to why the son of the owner would take such a sudden dislike to a relatively well behaved "Trouble." Since they were staying the night, he would definitely have to keep a closer eye on the spirit. They didn't need to have more problems tonight with the storm coming and no where else to stay.
Yuuri squirmed a little in his seat, pretending not to have witnessed the friction between Trouble and the server. Instead of dealing with it, he decided to mind his own business. He started up a conversation with Conrad.
"Fine, then," the server grumbled.
As the young man walked away, wiping his hands on his thin black apron, the sage's eyes opened wide as he saw Trouble spit a spark into Wolfram's palm and then flick the burning flame onto the back of the man's neck. Making a quick, burning hiss as it died. "Ouch!" the young man said, swatting at the sting.
Trouble smirked darkly and turned to the window.
"Sorry, Heika," Conrad said, taking a sip of Yuuri's wine. "We can't be too careful with what you eat or drink."
"That's 'Yuuri,' because you named me. Right, Conrad?" The tone was goodie-two-shoes cheerful.
With an elbow on the table and a cheek in one hand, Trouble's pinkish-red eyes moved past Yozak's profile and continued to stare out the window. Wolfram had heard this "Call me Yuuri, not Heika" script too many times. And, even the memory of it was frightfully boring to Trouble. A purple fingernailed hand reached into the bowl. Without looking, Tra'va bit down. Sharp fangs tore into the peach.
The dark clouds gathered outside, threatening to rain.
The spirit felt drawn to it. Something powerful yet to be. The smell of rain and the feeling of energy, almost like static, spreading out. To touch it. To simply reach out and do that much was tempting. But, of course, that would be impossible in Wolfram's body. He would die.
"Trouble?" Yozak said.
"Hm?"
"I just asked if you liked your dinner. Was it good?"
"Oh," the spirit said, looking down at the empty bowl with mild surprise. "It was." Then, Wolfram's body leaned in closer, whispering a quiet "thank you for the meal" in his ear. One hand rested lightly on a thick, meaty shoulder.
Lightning flashed out the window and Tra'va's eyes were instantly drawn to it. It was beautiful—nature's fireworks. Bright and powerful. Pure energy being released. Feeling better, the spirit sat up a little bit straighter. The hand dropped from Yozak and hung loosely down.
"Well, you're unusually quiet," Yuuri observed, suspicion nagging at him.
Lightning flashed against the window this time, lighting up the spirit's face. Across the table, Murata jerked at the thunder rolling practically overhead as did the rest of the patrons. Some of whom, with a bit of eagerness, decided that it was high time to pay up and leave for home before a downpour started.
Trouble only brightened. "I think I'll head up to our room." The spirit stood up from the chair and the dull sound of wood scraping against a tacky, half mopped floor came to them.
Yuuri put down his spork and glanced up with determination. "I think I'll join you."
The spirit rested hands on hips with a slight frown. Here we go again. "That's fine, Yuuri," Tra'va said and then turned to Yozak. "Come to bed when you can, night-time husband." Yozak got another kiss on the cheek on front of the whole restaurant—which was a surprise to nobody because it wasn't unusual at all. Yuuri blushed bright red, feeling really annoyed—at Yozak, the blond, and the whole room—for reasons he didn't want to identify. Meanwhile, Yozak had briefly flushed a pinkish color while locking eyes with Conrad who was sitting across the table from him, forcing his face to be perfectly still. In fact, Conrad had to hold his breath to keep from laughing out loud.
Thanks to a few silver coins in the landlord's hand, Yozak had managed to rent the whole converted attic room on the top floor. The bedroom was long with angled walls that came to a point overhead. There were three full sized beds, all in line, with nightstands between them. Extra blankets were folded neatly and tucked away in the only closet which was a dull looking rectangular box near the door. The curtains were white and thin. They barely covered the single, oversized window that opened inwardly. The rest of the room was drab and drafty—making the candle on the center nightstand flicker and dance.
Having stored Morgif under the bed, where he would be attacked by merciless bands of grey dustbunnies all night, Yuuri reached over to the corner and found his things. Yuuri put his pack on the middle bed, opened it, and started rummaging around for his favorite blue pajamas. With only the light of one candle, Yuuri contemplated lighting another. The room was dimly lit and finding his pajamas a bit of a chore. He glanced up to see a very beautiful silhouette at the window—pulling back the curtain with a slow, determined motion. The curtain's rings slid on the rod with a sharp, metallic sound.
A thin finger of lightning pointed to the east. Wolfram's face lit up slightly with it while the rest of the body, standing casually with arms folded against the window frame, remained in darkness.
Yuuri thought back. It was only a few nights ago. But, now, it feels like it has been forever.
"Wolfram?"
"Hm?" the blond said, lowering the book that he had been reading since after dinner. He rested it in his lap.
"Umm… I was just thinking," Yuuri said casually, turning his back to the blond and removing his clothes to put on his pajamas. "Do you have to sleep in here tonight?"
"Why?" Wolfram asked darkly, putting the book on the bed next to him. He sat up a little and the stare quickly turned into a glare.
Turning to see Wolfram's reaction, he noticed the look on his accidental fiancé's face. There was anger there and determination mixed with a bit of hurt. No, not just a bit. As the moments ticked by, he realized that there was a whole lot of it. It was the same look that he got during dinner, too. Yuuri turned back awkwardly and continued to hastily button up his pajama top. "I mean… You really should have your own place to sleep. And…I'd…well…prefer it…"
"WHAT?!" Wolfram bellowed.
Yuuri turned around in time to catch the red book that was flung in his direction. Yuuri's house shoes and every pillow on the bed followed.
"Wolfram!" Yuuri thundered back. "I'd just like to have my own space at the end of the day!" He ducked again. This time, he had no idea what just flew by. He didn't care to look, either.
"WIMP!" Wolfram fumed. In seconds, he was almost upon the double black before his mind could register it. How could he move that fast? "Just tell me, damn it!"
"What?" Yuuri said, cowering a little with his hands out in front of him defensively. "I was just being honest, Wolfram. Sheesh!"
Emerald eyes bore into him. They were glassy with tears. "You are many things, Yuuri. But, 'honest' isn't one of them."
With that, Wolfram flung his arms out—sending out streamers of pure flame. In seconds, every candle was burning with an eerie brightness, sending melted wax pouring down the sides.
Between gritted teeth, Wolfram said, "I can't believe I trusted you."
Yuuri remembered the door slamming shut and the sound of feet running away. Wolfram avoided him after that. At the time, he felt Wolfram had overreacted. He needed some time to calm down. That was all. But, now, Yuuri wished he knew the reason why the blond had behaved that way. It wasn't like him.
The double black looked at Trouble and frowned. Yes, Wolfram could be immature at times. Still, Wolfram's antics were preferable to Tra'va's crudeness and impossible to accept ways.
The silhouette at the window watched the patch of sky with the brightest lightning—stroking the glass with a finger absentmindedly, making the pattern of a lazy eight, the symbol for infinity.
Wolfram, Yuuri thought, we'll get you back. Just be patient.
"I'm getting ready for bed," Yuuri said flatly. He was drawing the string to his pajama bottoms as he spoke.
"Me, too," Tra'va said. "This body is starting to tire." With lethargic movements, the blond head lolled to one side as the spirit began to strip down—the clothes hitting the floor.
"Wait! What are you doing?" Yuuri said incredulously.
"Well, I'm not sleeping in these. They're dusty," the spirit grumbled, dropping the trousers and bearing it all to Yuuri. The flickering candle on Yuuri's nightstand only added to Wolfram's firmly lined look. Even though he'd bathed with Wolfram many times over the past few years, he could feel a blush coming on—a deep one.
Oblivious, Trouble stepped out of the trousers, picked the clothing up, and tossed it all onto the wooden chair next to the bed by the window. Wolfram was wearing nothing but a black G-string now and looking quite toothsome in just that when bending over and picking up clothes.
Yuuri covered his eyes with his hand briefly, then turned back to his pack. "Here," he said after rummaging around in the bag, "put this on."
A white ball of material flew at the spirit. It was caught and then examined by reddish eyes. "And this is?"
"It's called 'boxers.' Sleep in it."
Pale shoulders shrugged. "Fine," Tra'va said and stepped into them.
Great, Yuuri thought as he pulled the covers back, he's wearing two sets of underwear. Oh, well… But he could have at least said "Thank you."
There was a brief knock. Murata, Yozak, and Conrad all entered to see an annoyed Yuuri already sitting in one bed with the blankets tucked around him and arms folded against his chest. Tra'va, who had just closed the curtains, was walking toward the center of the room wearing nothing but white boxers and black socks.
Even though it wasn't the usual frilly pink nightgown, Wolfram's body looked cute. Murata snickered. "Getting ready for bed, Tra'va?"
"Yuuri told me to. He gave me this ' ba-ku-za-zu' to wear." Fingers tugged the waistband of the boxers. "Apparently, sleeping in the black underwear alone," and the spirit grabbed the waistband again, pulled it down enough to show a creamy hip with a black G-string strap, and popping it against white skin, "was not acceptable."
Murata shot Yuuri an impish smirk. "Miss the nightgown, Yuuri?" The answer was a deep frown. Turning back to the spirit, Murata said, "I think you would have been fine in just the G-string."
"See?" the spirit said to Yuuri, who ignored them both and turned away.
Approaching the trio, Tra'va said, "Now that you're here, I do need a bit of help, though."
The three men exchanged looks curiously.
"I'm not comfortable."
"Well, considering the fact that you're wearing two sets of underwear," Murata said, giving a devious, toothy grin to Yuuri—who was watching them but feigning disinterest.
"Actually, it's not like that," the spirit said with a bit of embarrassment that didn't seem like Trouble's style at all.
"What then?" Yozak asked, eyes showing a little concern.
Tra'va went back to the clothes on the chair and returned with the small blade that Wolfram owned. "I need this."
"No," Yozak returned with a stern tone that spoke volumes to the spirit. He would not back down on this point. A wide and callused hand gripped Wolfram's shoulder hard. "We've discussed this before and I'm not…"
"I'm not asking that," the spirit said, cutting him off but having to struggle with the grin that was coming. "It's not what you and I discussed before."
"Okay, I'm officially confused," Murata said.
Tra'va's face went blank for a second, searching Wolfram's heart. "Then, Yozak would be the one to understand," the spirit mumbled quietly. Tra'va looked to Yozak, who was still clutching the narrow shoulder, and said, "Do you know what it's like at the end of the day and your bra is kind of curling under and it feels like it's cutting you in half? And you've gotta get out of the damn thing before you go out of your mind?"
Not surprisingly, Yozak nodded.
"What?!" Yuuri blurted out from the bed.
"Well, it feels like that now…only…kind of not," the spirit muttered, wrapping arms around a lithe body. "So, can you help me, please?" Eyelashes batted.
"Oh, I can't believe this!" Yuuri growled and flopped over in the bed. He pulled the covers over his head for good measure. This conversation was just too stupid.
"What do you want me to do?"
Tra'va handed him the blade, turned to Murata, and pressed hands against the sage's shoulders to remain steady. Seeing that they were close, very close, a sexy smile came to Wolfram's face. Murata noticed it, too. And his heart beat a little harder. Tra'va sensed it and rubbed thumbs against him with a motion no one else picked up on.
Looking back, Trouble said, "See those lines on my back? Just score the skin and I can do the rest."
"Score the skin?" Murata said, shocked. His warm fuzzy feelings gone in a flash. It got Yuuri's attention, too. The covers flew away from his face. He looked up at them, afraid.
"I could do it without the scoring, but I don't want to hurt Wolfram." The eyes faded from red to pink in Conrad's direction. "You care about Wolfram the most," Tra'va added. "So, tell me… Shouldn't I be gentle?"
Conrad frowned but gave a nod at Yozak to continue. "If it's only a scratch, then…"
"Just score the black lines on the back—no longer and no shorter than that."
With a reluctant nod in Conrad's direction, Yozak did it. Red blood ran down like tears and the spirit winced—waiting for the next slice to come. It did. Nails dug into Murata's shoulders. And after the icy, stinging pain's feeling began to fade, Tra'va began to stretch and unfold something that looked like blackish-brown webs from the body.
Yuuri thought he was going to be sick, seeing the slick, web-like protrusions getting longer from Wolfram's seemingly perfect form. How could we have agreed to this?
"Tra'va?" Murata whispered in a shell-like ear that was pressed against him. Hands gripped harder.
"One second more," Wolfram's voice said back to him, arms wrapped around Murata's neck.
With a flick, they unfolded on wiry frames and became wings.
"Oh, that feels so good!" the spirit said, leaning back as far as possible but still having arms wrapped around Murata.
Yuuri's black eyes blinked at that.
Then, mercifully for the double black, Trouble let go of the sage.
Wolfram's body turned to him—pinkish eyes, tiny fangs, tarnished blond hair almost shoulder length, lithe body wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, and leathery wings the color of espresso. This, in all likelihood, would be his mother's ideal dream. In fact, he remembered stories of his mother being sad that he, as a Mazoku, hadn't been born with wings.
"So, am I ugly enough for you now?" Wolfram asked, head cocked to one side.
"Umm… You're not…ugly," Yuuri said, almost mesmerized.
"Then, why are you staring?" It was an uncomfortable question, the spirit knew, because everyone was staring at that moment, not just Yuuri.
"Oh," Yuuri said, feeling a bit of pink coming to him. He fumbled for an answer and came up with, "I was wondering if you had a pointed tail." Mom would have liked that, too, he thought briefly.
"A pointed tail?" Tra'va squeaked. "Just shows what you know, doesn't it? My kind don't have pointed tails." Eyes rolled. "He thinks I'm a dragon or something."
Murata smiled a little condescendingly and said, "Tra'va is from a race of beings called Chiropterans better known in Mazoku mythology as 'flying foxes.' But the last of their kind supposedly died out over three centuries ago."
"Try 'hunted to extinction' and you'd be closer to the truth," Tra'va grumbled angrily. "But, due to the influence of humans, 'extinction' is the rule for beings that look and act differently…rather than the exception." Then a thought struck, "But you don't sound so surprised, my daytime husband. How did you know?"
He pushed his glasses up on his nose with the kind of smirk only the class genius in school could master. "The moon in the daytime being a good omen. You only eat fruit and you love trees. A fire wielder...of course, your 'wind' powers only come from you being a strong spiritual entity. Hunted by humans and being forced into escaping through the Exodus to the Island of Fire. And, then, there's the tradition of having two husbands…" Murata smirked at Trouble. "I've known what you are for a long time now."
He got a gentle smile from that. "Then, you truly are a sage."
Murata grinned openly, maybe enjoying it too much, as he watched Trouble stretching. The wings extended out in equally lethargic, somewhat sensual, motions.
The sage stroked his chin and said, "What I don't understand is how your speech keeps changing. I mean, in each of my reincarnations, I changed. But, it was consistent."
"Oh, that…" It was followed by a gentle flap that sent breezes all over the room, almost extinguishing Yuuri's candle. "I tend to take on the personalities of my hosts—past and present. The last one was a horse trader named Elija from the main von Voltaire estate. He came to Blood Pledge Castle, under my influence of course, under the pretense of trying to sell the maou thoroughbreds. Wolfram, as you know, is a member of the noble class from the von Bielefeld lands. So, language-wise, you can see the problem."
Yuuri sat up in the bed a little straighter, ruffling his black hair to give the illusion that he was getting sleepy and wanted to shut his eyes for the night. "Oh, I can see the problem…and its name is Tra'va."
"How kind…," came a voice laced with syrup, "he said my name sweetly for the first time." The spirit folded the wings back against the body, leaned in towards Yuuri's face, and came within kissing distance. The double black could smell the fruit juice on Wolfram's breath. And he was tempted to turn away. But he would not give in to Trouble. So, instead, he locked eyes with the spirit in quiet determination.
"I said your name because I wanted to."
"And you want an awful lot. Don't you, Yuuri?" And, with that, Tra'va licked the end of Yuuri's nose playfully and strutted over to the next bed.
"Ewww! Trouble!"
…nose wipes against a pajama sleeve…
Pinkish eyes smiled. "Now, that's more like it!"
Yuuri was snoozing in the bed softly. He'd drifted off easily once the candle had been extinguished. Murata had left to go to the bathroom to brush his teeth and do the usual business, leaving the hotel room door open a bit. Light from the hallway sconces poured in.
In the meantime, Trouble had taken the bed to Yuuri's right because it was the closest one to the window. Lightning was still dancing outside and it energized the spirit—replenishing a measure of the power that been lost during the day.
This storm won't give me all the energy back that I need. But every little bit helps.
Pinkish eyes drifted back to the mumbling conversation between Conrad and Yozak. Conrad gave a polite nod to Trouble and then walked out of the room.
The door closed.
"Sleepy?" Trouble asked and gave the second pillow on the bed a soft pat. There was a sexy eyebrow wiggle that followed. It didn't help matters that the body was naked from the waist up and the voice sounded almost one hundred percent Wolfram's.
Yozak had to shake a few "Well, it could be kind of fun" thoughts out of his head. He glanced at Yuuri to cool his hormones down even further. "I might just take you up on that." It was followed by a wink. "But, unfortunately, I need to go downstairs for a bit. And I'm going to be guarding the door later on tonight, too."
With understanding, Tra'va's smiling face faded and seriousness crept in. "I think you should tell Conrad everything that you know…and everything that I've told you." The head tilted up a little more and pinkish eyes stared back. "In case something goes wrong…or we have difficulties…it is best that someone else knows the whole story."
Yozak cocked his head to one side—trying to figure it all out. Was this just a chance to win over his loyalty? Or was Tra'va being entirely truthful? Either way, he'd tell his captain everything because they had that kind of relationship. He scratched his head. Once he really thought about it, his relationship with Conrad was somewhat complicated and confusing—with their different standings on the social ladder and his own wandering gypsy feet. And, now that the spirit liked to tease him and call him "husband," he wondered if a part of him was actually capable of becoming like that—someone's husband.
Murata opened the door and gave a brief wave as the spy walked out.
"Where's he going?" the sage asked.
"He's going to talk to Conrad about me." Then the spirit smirked at the closed door. "I hope he makes the story good."
Murata raised a curious eyebrow at that.
"It's fine, really. Don't worry about it."
The sage looked at Trouble—tucked into bed, blond head on the pillow. Wolfram's body seemed limp and there was a slight blush. The eyes were glassy, too.
"Since I'm your daytime husband, I suppose I'd better sleep in this bed." He motioned to the bed on the left side of Yuuri. A chuckle was his answer. "Do you want me to blow out the candle?" Murata asked, motioning to the still burning candle on Yuuri's nightstand.
"Don't bother," Trouble said and blew the candle a kiss, knocking out the flame with a hiss. Only a red-embered glowing wick remained.
It had been twenty minutes, but it felt like hours. Murata had been lying in the bed with his arms folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep. Something kept tugging at his brain. He decided that if he kept at it long enough, he'd finally figure out what it was.
A soft groaning sound met his hears, as though someone was getting out of bed but having a hard time of doing it.
Another flash of lightning. The storm had stayed with them, the sage noted. Now, rain splattered against the window in large, oversized drops.
Taking his glasses from the nightstand, Murata could see the silhouette of a body with folded wings approaching the window. It slid back the curtains and opened the window a crack, breathing in the rain-scented air. One of the nearby chairs was brought over and Tra'va sat in it, clearly worn out and weary.
"Wolfram," Trouble said with a sigh, "I'm sorry about this."
The spirit hovered both palms over Wolfram's temple and a green glow came forth. The soft light gave the angelic face illumination. After a few minutes, the body began to lean back. The form in the chair relaxed, tight muscles softened. "Finally… What a relief."
Tra'va is…healing Wolfram? But why? Murata's eyebrows pushed together in confusion. Something was wrong here, very wrong. Thinking back on it, the sage's memory flashed images of Wolfram's body sleeping against Yozak on the trip. They weren't cuddling. Tra'va just made it look that way. He was sick back then...and still is, but hiding it. This cannot be good...
Then, the hands moved, pressing palms flat over Wolfram's heart and a purplish glow began to form against the bare chest from splayed fingers, spilling out broken light. "You don't deserve this… I'm so…sorry."
The glow intensified and Murata noted, with growing alarm, that the figure sitting in the chair was in pain, breath hitching from time to time followed by soft groans. Body cramping badly, the spirit tossed its head back—biting the lower lip to keep from uttering a sound. The fingers jerked away and the light vanished. Trouble leaned over, breathing like a track runner who had run a marathon without stretching first.
"Tra'va?" Murata said quietly.
Trouble's eyes shot in his direction. The sage couldn't see the face clearly, but the figure seemed startled.
"I thought you were asleep."
No jokes? No wisecracks? This is serious. "Are you feeling okay?" Murata asked, pushing back the covers and swinging his legs off the bed.
"You…um…" Shaking hands raked through blond hair. "You really should try to go back to sleep," the spirit said with an effort to keep an even tone. "We're going to have a long day tomorrow."
"You didn't answer my question," Murata said evenly while going to the chair with Wolfram's clothes on it and dumping the whole lot on the bed Trouble had been in. He scooted the chair close to the window and sat in it. Now, he was face to face with Trouble.
"A question?" Trouble said coyly.
Murata quirked a grin, but not a kind one. "Well, you can either tell me what the matter is…or…" His eyes drifted to the door and his head turned with the look. "Or you can tell your 'night-time' husband when he gets in." Then, Murata leaned in closely so that he had a good look at Wolfram's face in the evening's flickering storm-lit night. "I suspect Yozak will be back in here once he's finished speaking with Conrad."
Wolfram's face showed ambivalence.
"What's wrong here?" the sage asked and tapped a finger on Wolfram's forehead. Almost immediately, he felt the warmth. In fact, it was more than just "warm." Wolfram's skin was hot to the touch. A furnace.
Without asking, Murata placed his whole palm across Wolfram's brow. His other hand slipped past sweat-soaked hair was pressed against the back of Wolfram's neck. It was an intimate gesture—together like that with their knees touching.
"You feel good," Wolfram's voice purred. "Thank you."
In the middle bed, Yuuri woke up to those words. He turned over in the bed to look at the one where Trouble had been sleeping only to discover it empty and two silhouettes at the window. When the lightning flashed again, he got a glimpse of the couple facing each other, knees touching. Murata's hand was still on Wolfram's brow and he was leaning in. Not liking it, Yuuri pulled the covers a little closer around his face and frowned.
"Hmmm…." The voice had a smile in it. "Do it again."
"If you insist," Murata said. "You're hot."
Great! Just great… Yuuri thought tartly. I can't believe that these two would do this kind of thing while I'm in the same room with them. And what about Wolfram? I'm not even sure if he can stand Murata let alone be that close to him.
"You guessed it. I'm running a fever," Tra'va admitted sheepishly, but trying to use a lighter tone to hide the discomfort. "It's the same with each host that I have." The spirit looked out the window for a second, trying to draw some strength from the elements in the night sky. "Two incompatible souls, one body… The fever starts pretty quickly. By the end of the journey, I'm constantly trying to keep the body cool. That's why I usually pick Mazoku with the power to heal. Though, I did choose a half Mazoku herbalist once. I had to drink this nasty green crap for the week's journey."
Murata almost smiled at that. The left hand dropped to Wolfram's shoulder and the right hand caressed a cheek.
"You could have told me," he said quietly. "After all, I'm your day-time husband."
Trouble chuckled at that. "Would you be able to help me with my problem? Wolfram's heart tells me 'no.' So, you would worry for nothing."
The hand was still caressing a warm cheek. Wolfram's hand found its way on top of Murata's. Trouble leaned into the touch.
"You're not 'nothing,' believe me," Murata said with a quirky smile coming to him because it felt so strange saying that to Wolfram's fair face.
He was answered with a noncommittal "hm."
The spirit turned to the storm again, opening the window a crack more and putting a hand through it to touch the rain. It was a cool, refreshing rain with an energy all its own. Trouble flicked the wet fingers, sending little splashes in the direction of the window.
The shape of the pinkish eyes became soft, rounded.
"What are you thinking?" Murata asked. Hopefully, he could steer the conversation to the purple light that he saw.
"I was thinking of how this came to be. Maybe, by picking Wolfram, I chose the wrong host."
Yes, you did, Yuuri thought from his bed. Actually, anyone you would have picked would have been the wrong person and unlucky.
"You don't know what it is like," Tra'va said sadly, "…or, maybe…you do."
"Wha-?" Murata was confused now.
"Jumping from life to life." This time, it was Trouble who stroked a tan cheek with a distant, somber expression—seeing him and not seeing him. "Even now, I wonder…"
"Wonder…what?"
"I've been through so many lives…seen their stories and felt their souls... Then I fall in love with them…even when I don't want to. And, all too soon, it's goodbye. But, it still makes me wonder if there's anything of me left. The original 'me.' I barely remember…who that was." The eyes turned to a dusty rose color as the hand withdrew.
Murata felt the warmth leave and missed it.
"Until now, I never found anyone else who could understand that."
Murata nodded. He did, in deed, know exactly what the spirit spoke of, and he felt the same question haunting him—"Is there anything left of the real me?"
"Tra'va… How did you die?" It was a personal question, he knew it.
"Tomb robber."
Black eyes, both Yuuri's and Murata's, opened wide at that.
"The circumstances aren't really important anymore." It was said with an awkward shrug. "I died in the year of your sixth maou. His name was, I believe, Edmund the Unready."
Wanting to lighten things a bit, the sage placed a hand on Wolfram's knee in a way that would have gotten him decked hard, had Wolfram been in charge of his own body. Trouble, on the other hand, didn't mind at all.
"Oh Edmund," Murata said nostalgically, "now, there's a name I haven't heard in quite awhile. Yes, Edmund…and he was aptly named, too." A sheepish, half-embarrassed smile came to his lips.
The spirit brightened somewhat and smiled a little mischievously, "Was he a …personal friend…of yours, my dear husband? Should I be jealous?"
Murata held back a huffy laugh. "Let's just say that what he lacked in intelligence, he more than made up for in other ways… He was quite a peacock, but popular with the ladies. And, being born a woman back then, I was one of his favorite companions."
"Then, I am jealous," Tra'va teased. "How can I compete with that?" Wolfram's hand stroked Murata's cheek again. He didn't move away. In fact, his eyes lingered a little longer on the pink lips in front of him. Wolfram's head tilted down, hiding a smile. Then, without missing a beat, the spirit looked up and said, "Wait… Does that mean you're older than me?"
"Afraid so," Murata said with a bit of a laugh.
"Hmmm…I've always fancied older men."
"I suppose that's what I am."
Another flash of lightning appeared and the spirit's smile faded. "Can I talk to you about something…something serious?"
"Of course," Murata said, cocking his head to one side. Now, I'll ask Tra'va about the purple light.
"Speaking of fancy…I mean…" Tra'va took a shallow breath and said, "Wolfram knows everything."
"I'm sorry?" Murata couldn't understand. This was not what he was expecting.
The spirit leaned back in the chair, placing hands on the armrests.
"Wolfram knows…about Kumiko."
Murata cringed openly and muttered "damn it" under his breath. In the bed, Yuuri's eyes widened in disbelief. He gave feeble little shakes of the head "no," but it didn't help.
"How did he find out?" Murata asked in a hollow voice. "It just seems…impossible."
The spirit shot a brief glare at him. "It was you, actually."
Yuuri felt his breath leave his body. Why would Murata do that?! It can't be!
"No," Murata Ken denied, "I never spoke to him."
"You didn't have to. Early last week, you and Yuuri came back to the castle from a place called 'Earth'." Trouble scratched a blond head at that. "Tell me, husband, is 'Earth' another country?"
The question seemed irrelevant to Murata. He blinked at it.
"Wolfram keeps trying to show me what 'Earth' is, but I simply cannot understand it any other way. A mysterious people who all look like you and Yuuri, carriages that move on their own without horses, fires that don't burn but make symbols that glow in the night to let you know that a shop is still open…"
Murata nodded. "You can think of it as another country, if you like." He leaned forward to look at the spirit. Their knees brushed against each other. "But how did Wolfram find out…about her…from me?"
"It was late and Wolfram was dressing for bed when he heard voices talking in the hallway." The spirit turned to the window. Looking at Murata was just too hard. "One voice sounded like Yuuri's. And Wolfram was thrilled that Yuuri was back because he had been disappearing a lot lately—being gone for a week and then, suddenly, coming back to his duties. So, Wolfram was excited, but pretended not to be. Yuuri was back. Yuuri. His Yuuri… But there was another voice, too. Curious, Wolfram opened the door a little. And that was when you brought up the… How did you describe her? New girlfriend Yuuri's been sleeping with."
Murata hung his head. "I just… The way it is…is…" He couldn't get the words out.
"Don't bother," the spirit said, raising a hand up to stop him. "I can see it all through Wolfram's eyes…just as though I had been standing there, too."
Murata fidgeted in his seat under the spirit's hard gaze. "He's not sleeping with her…exactly…"
"He just plans to? After all, you're the one getting the hotel room."
In the bed, Yuuri's hands dug into the blanket's material. He pulled it closer. Yuuri felt sick inside. "He knows. That's why Wolfram threw the book at me, and the pillows…and melted the candles down," he whispered to no one.
"I think some part of Wolfram expected Yuuri to cheat on him. It's his greatest fear. But what you did was probably worse. It's betrayal."
Murata folded his arms defensively and looked down at his feet. "Don't."
The spirit continued. "The sage is a huge part of Shin Makoku's culture and folklore. Because of that, they revere you. What Wolfram was desperately hoping for was that the sage…The Great Sage…would advise Yuuri not to…would advise him to stay with his commitments, with his fiancé." The spirit tucked a stray piece of blond hair behind an ear. "But you didn't. You joked. You cajoled. You encouraged."
Murata wanted to deny it. He really did. But he couldn't.
"Wolfram doesn't trust you…or Yuuri…now."
Feeling defensive, Murata countered with "If you can see into Wolfram's heart, then you can see that this whole engagement is…"
"A lie," Tra'va finished for him. "But, look at it another way, will you? Wolfram, to be engaged to the only person he's ever cared about. A first love who betrays him, in front of his own eyes like it's a joke—told as a joke—with the full approval of the Demon Kingdom's Great Sage." Tra'va shook a blond head at that. And Murata wished, in that moment, that it was not Wolfram's voice speaking or that the face before him wasn't looking that sad.
"First love…" Tra'va said, "You remember what it was like, my sage?"
Murata's eyes instantly narrowed at the reference to Shinou. Trouble was playing dirty, now, with Wolfram's memories—bringing up Shinou this way. And, considering how his relationship with the Original King ended…
"You remember first love…with all of its hopes and fears and frailties?"
Murata frowned back. "It's not the same thing. And I think describing Yuuri and Wolfram together as a 'lie' is too strong as well. If you can see into Wolfram's heart, you can see that the engagement was just a mistake...a cultural misunderstanding."
Trouble gave a crooked grin heavily laced with anger. "Mistake? Staying by Yuuri's side was the mistake." Pinkish eyes met black ones. "Do you want to know what he thinks now? He thinks that sleeping next to Yuuri for all of those years, letting his guard down and allowing himself to feel anything for anyone…was a mistake. Though, in my opinion, I find it less of a mistake and more of a sin…a forgivable sin on Wolfram's part."
"Maybe."
Maybe? How is that an answer? Yuuri thought.
"I think Wolfram has cried too many times in the night over Yuuri. I see it in his memories, and I'm tired of it. You should see what it has done to his soul. I'll give you a look if you wish." Tra'va held out a hand for him to take. Murata shook his head "no." With a sigh, the spirit turned back to the window and the rainstorm. The glowing clouds were fading away into the night. "We're never going to agree on this, you and I. But, maybe, that's for the best, too."
Just when Murata felt that the argument was going to start up again, Trouble slumped in the chair and said, "I'm sorry, husband, for being so difficult. Wolfram wouldn't want me to be this way…to fight his battles for him or to feel pity. But, forgive me… I can feel the warmth of his tears sliding down and the agony that comes with being unloved."
Murata nodded. "On Earth, there is a saying, 'No person is worth your tears,
and the one who is won't make you cry'."
"And, he knows—actually everyone knows—that this love is unrequited and will always be." The spirit leaned forward, resting forearms on Wolfram's thighs. "But, one-sided love has its purposes also. It cuts and carves into your soul, yes…but it also teaches you to appreciate love when it is offered to you again." The spirit smudged away a tear. "It's just hard to watch such a beautiful creature suffer like this. Sometimes, all he really wants is for someone to hold him...just hold him. Is that asking so much?"
Trouble tugged at the unruly strand of blond hair again. Maybe it was the humidity that was doing it. "I've been trying to explain to Wolfram, who is within me like a daydream, that Yuuri isn't a man at all. He's a boy."
"I know he is." The sage took his glasses off and polished them with the edge of his pajama top.
Rubbing a tear in his eye, Yuuri frowned at his friend. He was a partner in crime, so to speak. And he should have defended him better.
"I suppose that what you are also unaware of…or maybe not…" Trouble cocked a head to one side to look at Murata sincerely. "Are consequences…"
Eh? Yuuri thought.
"Wolfram, his mother, and Gwendal have been meeting secretly over the past few days."
The sage looked genuinely surprised.
"…Planning what to do once Yuuri either breaks the engagement or takes on a lover… Truth be told, they've already decided. Now, it's just a matter of waiting for the right time."
Did Wolfram give up on me? Yuuri wondered. But, he said he'd be with me…If I fall, he'll fall with me.
"Look," Murata said, trying to phrase things the right way, "Yuuri just wants to…be like any other normal…"
"Normal Demon King? Absolute authority? Person in charge who has people depending on him? Maybe a little daughter who gets left behind every time Yuuri disappears to Earth?"
Feeling sad for Greta, Murata nodded at the words. "I understand it, but…"
"I'm sorry but Yuuri wants to have it both ways… To be an adult and a child at the same time." The spirit chewed on a bottom lip for a second with eyes far away, drinking in memories that were clearly painful. "And, I'm not really sure why I brought all of this up to begin with. It's out of your hands."
Murata shot the spirit a worried expression. It was the unmistakable sensation that Yuuri's world would soon spin out of control. And he had worked so hard to be a good friend and to arrange things so that Yuuri would have as much of a normal life as possible.
"Tell me, please… What's going to happen? Is Wolfram planning to do something…something dangerous…to get back at Yuuri?"
"That was actually Gwendal's question, too—the great, pompous ass. It shows just how little he understands and respects his brother's judgment." Murata didn't miss the implication that this applied to him as well.
In his bed, Yuuri felt his whole body tense up. He needed to know everything. And a part of him wanted to confront Trouble: to fight, to argue, and to insist upon answers—even if he had to turn into the maou to do it. But, he also knew that the spirit would fight him every inch of the way without fear of death. No, this was better—easier. The spirit would open up to Murata "the husband," much more easily.
Trouble pushed the window again to let some cool, moist air in. The room was becoming too stuffy anyway.
Murata's eyes had a hard look in them. He placed a desperate hand on top of the blond's and stroked it softly with his thumb. "What are you not telling me?"
Trouble leaned forward to meet him, a pouting mouth close to his. "Little pieces of everything."