Stein's Shoppe of Curios Chapter 5: The Burning, a soul eater fanfic

Soul Eater is the property of Atsushi Ookubo. I only own the parts that are blatantly not Soul Eater, haha.

Ch. 5 The Burning

Stein's Shoppe of Curios – London, England

February 21st, 1801.

Unlike the day before, there was no need for Stein to gently rouse his assistant from the confines of slumber. Instead, Stein himself was awoken by the pervasive miasma of negative emotions that had permeated not only his living quarters, but (upon closer inspection) the shoppe as well.

Stein shook his head grimly, at once mourning the loss of the delicate, exotic, oriental lillies he had planted just yesterday, and his peace of mind. Consoling sorrowing young men was not an area in which he excelled – and was one of the larger reasons he had fled to the Continent all those years ago. However, he knew this was unkind to Soul. By and large the young man was of a far steadier character than Spirit, and was not prone to dramatic fits of hysterics, either. More dangerously, however, Soul was a great believer in depressive sulks, and with his power those bouts of ill-humor could prove dangerous indeed.

Stein swallowed back a sigh as he trudged down the stairs to the servant's quarters, readying himself to placate the sole occupant. Upon reaching the door he found it locked, and the sigh bubbled through his concerns to keep it down. All this botheration, and before he had enjoyed his breakfast, too- yet it was the thought of his morning tea that galvanized him, so without further ado, a gleaming metal implement spun from his sleeve, and the lock was picked.

"Soul? Are you awak-" Immediately it was clear that Soul was, in fact, conscious. It was also apparent that something had gone terribly wrong with last night's dream – the discomfort on the young man's face as well as the slicing pain in his aura testified to that. There was also the matter of Soul's having lost control of his usually iron-clad hold on his dark legacy. All of these factors were quotients in Stein's latest hypothesis – Soul had deviated from their plan, and had unsuccessfully confessed his affections for Maka. This being so, Stein wondered who he was most disappointed with – Soul for mucking it up, Maka for responding unfavorably, or Spirit, for simply existing. Stein suspected that somehow, Spirit was to blame. It certainly wouldn't be the first time.

Soul had not acknowledged his employer from the first moment he entered the room, but now he lifted his head. "Stein? Why are you here?"

Stein reached up to give his neck-gear a hearty turn before responding in a falsely cheerful tone. "I came to address the matter of the dark matter you seem to be emitting...but now I'm wondering if we shouldn't discuss something else, first."

With a muffled swear, Soul closed his eyes and focused. Heartbroken as he was, it was not an honorable thing to transmit his pain over half of West London. Furthermore, the King would certainly not be pleased to learn that the artifact he had bestowed upon Soul had been (unconsciously) used for such a purpose! With a small shudder, the miasma began to thin out, and dissipate into the air. Stein smiled grimly at Soul's control. He truly was the most powerful apprentice he had the opportunity to train; even if he was young, impressionable, and in love with Spirit Albarn's daughter. Yet he knew life could not be perfect, even if having Spirit as a father-in-law was a highly lamentable fate Soul would have to deal with...as long as they could sort out this conundrum.

"If I were to die, would that free her?"

Stein's vision clouded, and it was as if he could see two images at once: his current apprentice, sitting hunched over on the bed with his head in his hands, and Spirit, holding his dead wife in his arms, begging to take her place. The juxtaposition was perfect, and it took Stein a long moment to realize the present and respond. "I am not entirely sure. There is no record of any of the participants dying until at least a month after the lights entered them. While it seems likely, there is also the possibility that your death would negatively impact her...to what extent, I am not certain. Yet just as there is a possibility that your death would free her, there is also the chance it might drag her into death, along with you." Stein took in the defeated man in front of him before he continued. "Did it go so terribly?"

"She knows, Stein. She knows."

For Maka to discover Soul's true self without any preamble was never the ideal plan. Had she been warned, and had a proper explanation from sources she trusted – Stein – the news would have been much more gracefully received. Coupled with this would be an explanation of her Father's abilities as well, something even more likely to sway the young girl's opinion. Even so, it was difficult to see his goddaughter taking the news so badly. She was Kami's daughter, after all, and that woman had been made of far sterner stuff than any Stein had ever met. Yet even Kami had never met a man like Soul, a man with the power – and onus – to devour the souls of the damned.

"I think you'd better tell me everything, Soul. From the beginning, if you please..."

…

…..

…

…..

Lady Maka Albarn was seriously displeased.

"And perhaps this color, your ladyship?"

It was not enough that she had accidentally betrayed Soul at their most desperate moment, causing him pain of which she was only too aware. There was also the matter of her father's non-specified abilities-

"Stand up straight, Maka. The cut won't be perfect if you slouch...!"

...and her own personal hell of dress-fitting. Maka was sure this was an archaic form of punishment from the forgotten gods, and could barely restrain herself from sighing, slouching, or any other means of expressing her disproval. That the King's distant cousins were due to arrive in less than a week meant nothing to Maka when the need to find Soul and explain was paramount. Truly, the only thing that was keeping her immured in this horrid shop and it's fabrics, lace, and needles was the aging Lady Ford. After all, her cane was not only useful for keeping louts, ruffians, and young men with a mind to woo away, but also for sticking into Maka's back to correct her posture, and keep her trapped within this infernal shop!

The dressmaker began to wax eloquent on the cut of Maka's silhouette, and longingly of the forbidden French fashions that would emphasize it just so. Lady Kimberly nodded sagely, and entered in with her own views on Maka's perfections, as well as continental fashions. Maka took this as her cue to ignore them entirely and focus on the matter at hand: to find Soul, apologize for the misunderstanding, and make him explain everything in excruciating detail. Maka was not a romantic young woman by nature; she understood that there were many dangerous entities in the world, and the thought that Soul was one of them – and of such a nature!- was a sobering notion. Yet that was precisely why she needed to know more. How could she continue her current friendship with him (to say nothing of their deeper feelings for each other) without having a better understanding of who he was, what he could do, and how she could possibly help him? The thought of leaving him had never crossed her mind, not even for an instant. After all, she knew what kind of man he was- how sensitive, intelligent, and kind he could be, and also how rarely one found men of his calibre. She also knew the warmth in his oddly-colored gaze, the surety in his sculpted fingers...and the seductive pull of their deep and mutual attraction for each other. How could she forget him? How could he believe her capable of leaving him behind?

"...and her ladyship's height! It's fortunate that can be attributed to her legs, otherwise the waistline would be a nightmare-"

"Yes, Maka's legs do seem to stretch on endlessly. I remember how coltish she was as a young girl..."

Yet at this rate, there wouldn't be a chance for Maka to apologize before they met in dreams tonight. The dressmaker's bright-eyed assistant had just come forth with yet another swath of carefully folded lace, and Lady Kimberly's obvious appreciation of the material ensured that they would not be leaving the shoppe for another hour or so. Maka folded her fingers together as once more she was poked and prodded, and undertook a grim promise within herself – she would salvage her relationship with Soul, and would let nothing and no-one come between them ever again.

...

…

...

The Village- Amsterdam, The Netherlands

Autumn, 1419

Her heart was beating a thunderous rhythm that threatened to break free of her chest. The sack over her head cut her off from the world, and the roaring in her ears isolated her with her terror. Where were they taking her? Of all times, why now? They had led her down stairs, and before that across mud and stone, banging into homes as they dragged her past them. She was thrown down upon a hard, cold floor, and judging by the dampness in the air it had to be a cellar. She was still in the village, yet that was nothing to be thankful for. The people who had taken her were her neighbors, after all.

Not one word had been spoken to her since her capture, nor had her captors spoken to each other. There was no need for words. She knew why they had taken her, even if it had taken them longer than she suspected. She also knew what they were preparing to do. There was only one penalty for witchcraft in the village, and it was to burn.

…

Soul-

…

...

Soul had barely opened his eyes unto the dream when he knew that something was wrong. For the first time since they began dreaming in tandem, Maka was not with him. His first reaction was merely to acknowledge that this was, due to their interaction yesterday night, completely understandable. Perhaps her desire to be away from him was affecting the dream's direction? She was an empath, and perhaps was powerful enough to bend the dream under her own will?

It was this last thought that caused Soul to realize his own folly. Tovenaar had been a powerful alchemist, and there was no possibility of anyone changing his memories. Maka's curious absence was more likely a mechanism of the dream, rather than force of her own will.

Yet what could be the purpose of separating them? Were they to experience two facets of the dream?

Stranger still, why should the smell of freshly cut wood and pitch only increase his anxiety?

…

Soul!

…

...

The village council had come before dawn, ripping her from her slumber, a full day before Rein was to have returned. She had been dreaming of the forests of her home, the way she remembered them from her childhood. The forests were a far more dangerous place then; full of wild beasts, overgrown paths from which there was no returning, and entities from an older world who did not appreciate the humans encroaching on their territory. Yet there was also an ethereal beauty in their sun-dappled glades, and it was that which tempted her in her youth, and it was that same beauty that trapped her as an adolescent.

There was more than enough time to reminisce now that the villagers had finally descended upon her. She had but barely become a woman when the woodswomen came for her, recognizing in her something that made her their own. She did not remember much of her own initiation, save that she was cold, frightened, and utterly without choice. She knew from watching the initiation of one other - the only other she stayed long enough to witness - that this lack of memory was intentional, and a way to break down their old lives and rebuild them anew.

She had stumbled through life among the woodswomen - the witches that had terrorized her childhood dreams - before they asked her to participate in the Ritual of Joining, barely 2 months after her 16th birthday. It was this that finally forced her to find the strength to make a choice, and she chose to refuse. She would welcome no man but her husband, she declared. No creature, living, dead, or otherwise, would sway her on this.

The women held their silence, and let her leave the trees. Three months later, her father was dead.

…

Soul! Where are you? I can't leave her-

…

Soul's fear mounted slowly, but inexorably. He had traversed the entirety of the village and no one was to be found. Even Tovenaar's hut lay empty, with only the bedclothes disturbed. Oddly, tonight's dream was not directing his movements. There seemed to be no purpose to this dream memory, nothing to lead him from one happenstance to another. He wondered if this was a state alike to the souls he reaped - helpless and confused, and not quite shorn from the world. Yet they at least persisted in an inhabited realm - this was only an empty shell. It was quickly becoming the most unsettling experience of his existence.

Worse yet, there was absolutely no way for him to find his love, as even his dark powers found no purchase in the dream. It took a marginal amount of trial to determine that the powers gifted to him by the King's artifact did not cross over into his dreams, and that he was, for the first time since he was a young boy, completely without eldritch abilities. While this would normally fill him with a sort of bliss not unlike a religious experience, at the nonce it did nothing but demonstrate the extent of his own powerlessness.

Lord of Darkness, where could she be? Was she with the villagers? If so, how could they have been separated in the first place? He had just followed the same line of questions for the hundreth time when a dangerous remembrance edged its way into the forefront of his concerns. It was something Stein had told them, several days ago when all had begun: that the Flask of Dreams had been created on the eve of Tovenaar's wife's death.

His sharp inhale revealed the truth of his belated intuition. The smell of smoke hung heavily in the air, and deep in his bones, he knew - there would be a burning, this night. Worse yet, he finally knew where Maka would be.

…

I need to find you-

…

...

They had waited for Rein to leave his young wife, knowing deep in their hearts that she was something other, something strange, something wrong. Although she had done nothing but good since she came to them, they were swayed more by the shadow that lay over her heart. There were a few exceptions, of course. Linna had always been kind to her, but she had died several months ago, and with her death her family had joined the rest of the village in their attitude towards Ellsbeth. Rein's sister would have protected her, yet she had a family of her own to protect. With her husband gone accompanying Rein on his errand, she would be hard-pressed to protect her family and Ellsbeth.

And, of course, Rein. Her husband. The man she had fallen in love with against all her fears, misgivings, and promises to the contrary. She knew she would live a life stalked by misery, as the women of the woods did not let go lightly those they chose to take. Yet his kindness and intelligence and garnered her interest in spite of herself, and the light that shone within him turned her heart to his from the first. Truly, there had been no choice but to fall in love with him, and when he had asked, no way for her to refuse him.

Yet she had not told him what she truly was. Not when she had ingested the truth serum and he had asked her why she had left her home. Not when they exchanged their own marriage vows; secular, sacred, and arcane. She had reasoned that his powers would protect him, and so far she seemed to be correct. The villagers would not attack him. While she was a foreign witch, he was their own magician, and their loyalty to him would protect him. Besides, half the young women were in love with him, and with her gone they would be free to pursue him once more...

A phantom pain gripped her abdomen, and she could not help but cry out. It was too early yet also too late, and this life could never be. The tears were far too close to the surface, yet still she did not let them fall. She had thought she could weather the consequences of her defection, and when she was alone, she could. Yet now...now that she was not alone and doubly so, she could barely stand the pain.

…

Soul! Help me!

…

Now that he knew precisely where to go, it was as if the dream itself was pitting itself against him. In the way of dreams, he knew that the stake would be erected at the center of town. Yet the way there was fraught with difficulties - roots of trees would trip him as he ran, as well as plows, hoes, and rakes; even the air had seemingly thickened against him. If he could have spared a thought besides his increasing desperation to find and rescue the Lady Albarn, he might have wondered at the forces holding him back, and what they might represent. Yet he did not, and he labored on against the fear, and what felt like irreversible doom.

Finally, after being forced to a standstill by a compression of the air around him, Soul could stand it no longer. His outcry was both an outburst of frustration and a declaration of war, his determination and his desire uniting to save the woman he loved.

"I will not stand for this! I will not be waylaid! This dream - this memory will not keep me from Maka! I will burn this dream to the ground, if I must; I will devour the souls of all who stand in my way - but you will not keep me from the woman I love. I give you my word, Tovenaar, Ellsbeth...any who can hear me. Any who stand against me. I am a Soul Eater, and I will not let this happen!"

Barely had his words echoed into the air before the world around him shuddered. Perhaps his words or his rage were the key to some unexpected lock, but the view in front of him - trees, the easterly half of a home, and a wide stretch of dirt road - abruptly shifted, and seemingly settled into place with quite another destination in view. There, directly in front of his eyes, lay the very scene he desired yet feared to see. The village had thronged around the upraised stake, and even from a distance he could see the gravity of the executioner as he lifted high the flaming torch. The woman tied to the stake - undoubtedly Ellsbeth - stood tall and unyielding against the wood at her back, and utterly silent. There were no last pleas for mercy, nor for God to save her soul. There was simply unnerving silence, like a woman long dead had taken her place in this burning.

And at her side, like a mute shadow no one seemed to see, was Maka.

…

So-

…

...

When they came for her again, there only act of mercy was to pull the sack from her head, allowing her to see the sun one last time. It hung low in the sky as they led her to the hastily erected stake at the center of the village. From there, she would burn. This small consideration made her heart skip, even in the midst of her sorrow. Her last moments would be spent bathed in the element that caused her soul to sing, even after these long years of denying her affinity towards flame, and all its power. Once, she would have begged for such a thing: to die by what had filled her soul with life and strength, rather than sickness, wound, or age. Now, she would give anything to simply see Rein one last time. She had not told him that she had once been a witch. She had not even told him about the life she now carried within her.

Yet had she told him enough? Would he believe in her love for him? Would he believe in her?

Now it was too late. The hands that had pulled her roughly towards her doom finally let go, and then there was only flame, purifying her mind of fear, and momentarily overcoming the love that she had risked everything for.

…

...

Soul had never moved as quickly as he did then, all the while fearing that were he to reach Maka in time, it would still be too late. She must be possessed, trapped by her empathetic connection to the woman whose clothes were now aflame. Otherwise how could she stand there, so perfectly still, on the dais where Ellsbeth now burned? He rushed past the dream people, now no more substantial than the wind around them, all the while calling out for her in tones of increasing urgency. Yet still she did not respond. It was not until he was barely five feet from her that he could determine whether or not she was even conscious – she was awake, but by the flame flickering in her eyes, he could not be sure if she was aware.

"Maka! Listen to me! You must come down! Please, Maka, hear me!"

Now that he had reached the dais, he realized there were no stairs leading up. Assuming it to be one last hurdle that the dream presented, and that there was no time for anything else, Soul stretched out his arms in supplication. "Maka, you must jump! Hurry, there's not much time!"

Maka's head turned from left to right, in an eerie parody of a refusal. Yet as she did so, her hands clenched at her sides, and her left knee bent underneath her.

Soul cursed bitterly before trying once more. "Maka, my love, please. You must come to me. I will catch you, I swear!"

The flame leapt higher behind her as the moisture in her eyes blurred her vision. Yet still she was trapped in the death throes of the woman behind her, and although she twitched and shuddered against herself, she could not move, nor speak. Seeing her helplessness, Soul tried one last time, in utter desperation. If the naming of his love could not move her, perhaps an appeal to her lively spirit would.

"Lady Maka Albarn! I did not expect such weakness from you, of all ladies! Is our adventure to end here and now, with such pity? Do you not have a ring to procure, and a father to curtail? Do you not have a melody to decipher? I am thoroughly disappointed in you, that you would give up like this." And then, because his heart was breaking even as the fear shrouded his sensibilites, he continued. "Perhaps you are not the woman I thought, Lady Albarn. It seems I was wrong about a great many things."

Lady Albarn was a woman of curious properties. It was proven in this instance; that a challenge to her character roused her even when words of love could not. Soul's last volley roused her indignation and fighting spirit, and it was with one final effort that she tore herself from the madness and the burning, and hurled herself off the dais. There was only enough time to call out his name before she fell, and it was with luck that he was able to shield her body as they both fell to the ground.

Even before the wind returned to his lungs, Soul ran hurried hands and eyes over her person, to determine whether she was physically sound. The intelligence and discernment had returned to her eyes, and his fear quickly fell away. "Maka, are you unhurt? Have you returned to your senses? Oh gods above you don't know the terror-"

"Soul." It was said with such finality that even his hands stilled, now lying senselessly against her. There was such a look in her eye that left him transfixed. Whatever she would say next would change worlds, he was sure of it, but in the end there were no words at all. The gray mist seeped upwards like a rising tide, and in the last moments remaining to her before they both awoke, Maka thrust herself forward, and pressed her lips firmly against his.

…

...

I have discovered a new method of writing, and it is to fill in the dull spaces at the office (in which I work). Thus, we have a new chapter of Stein's Shoppe, and it was the one I had no idea how to write. This was the darkest chapter, although in the original version of the story (in my head) the whole thing was going to be quite a bit more macabre, going into more detail about the King's Artifact, Soul's/Spirit's/Stein's powers, the shadowy underworld, and the Lord of Darkness (who was probably gonna be a questionably evil and mad sexy Death the Kid).

Still. There shall be sweetness and light from this point onwards, although there is one more supernatural thread to tie up. Who, after all, was Spirit speaking with in his study...?

As always, this is unbeta'd, so please forgive my mistakes. If something really bothers you tho, that means you have to review (muahaha).

R&R anyways, all. There's only one more chapter and an epilogue left to go!