+ Fallacy, a 100themes Challenge +
Sarehptar
Theme: 34, Stars
Characters: Kharl, Kharl's Master, cameos for Rath and the Star Princess and a load of other people...
Pairing: Oh lord, too many to list. Dude, I swear I meant the "dragon" to be Kaistern, but something happened and he turned into someone else. Subtle shounen-ai... I guess.
Warnings: I can't write faerie tales! Exceptionally poor story-telling skills lie ahead. I really meant most of this stuff platonically, but I guess you guys know how far my platonic can go. Bratty teen Kharl for the win!
Need to Know Info: Erm, just go with it? I characterized Kharl's master totally different than usual. But Kharl must have loved him for a reason, right?
Title Provider: Caged Bird (D.N.Angel)
I Simply Keep Staring at the Sky
Left Bird bates nervously along his shoulder, talons sinking deeper into the material and leaving irreparable tears and the most minute of punctures that heal only to be torn open again.
Be quiet, he hisses to the smaller demon, with a low and throbbing trill. To another's ears it would be nothing more than nightingale noise; to them it is an instinct. If he hears, we will never get away. His native tongue lilts and falls, and it is a struggle to make the human-like mouth obey.
Left Bird bates again and leaves his shoulder, midnight wings beating languidly. I will stay low, he promises, vanishes into the dark castle wood with a few silent flaps. The boy stops moving to watch his companion go, longing chasing black tail feathers into the forest abyss. He could take flight too, easily, but even that tiny flare of ki might alert the Master, ensconced in his warm library. Tonight, of all nights, Kharl would like to be free.
He treads carefully into the forest, white and blue cloak brushing ghost-like over the bed of dead leaves and thousands of crawling creatures. Pale hands reach and run over the scarred bark of trees, serving as an anchor and reminder. He breathes slowly, quietly, and listens to the snap of every twig and every rustle that echoes around him. None are the footsteps of his Master. He is certain enough now to sigh and walk a little faster, a little faster, until he is barreling around the gnarled trunks and flying over looped and ragged roots.
He clears the trees finally with a soaring bound and ringing laughter. "We got away Left Bird!"
"Oh, did you?"
"M-Master!" He spins on a thin heel to see the man leaning nonchalantly against a tree. Left Bird, head hanging low, is perched above him. There is a quiet smile on the older youkai's delicately carven face, and a glitter of amusement in his granite eyes. Waves of black material bunch at his collar, and fall like veils around his heavy midnight boots, blending into nothing where they meet the shadows.
"Skipping out on your studies again, boy?" Kharl cannot help but cringe under the weight of accusation, despite the chuckle that follows over the man's white fangs.
"I was… taking a break?" the apprentice mutters hopefully, knowing full well that "break" is nothing but another word for "escape". The Master knows it too—he laughs, a dark and bubbly sound, into the thick collar of his cloak.
"Hey," confusion flashes across the younger demon's face, "I saw you working in the library right before I left. How could you have gotten here before me?" There is in the words an unspoken question as to what the Master is doing away from his studies at all.
Kharl blinks wide lavender eyes in wonder as the normally pale man's face colors for the barest of moments—and then the look is gone, replaced by a lifted brow and a practiced frown.
"Are you questioning me, boy?"
"No Master," the younger demon drones, "but really," he adds under his breath, "it's not fair to scold me when you skipped out first."
"I heard that. Now I'm doubling your assignment. That makes," the black-haired demon smirks, "four hundred and fifty glasses you owe me."
"Master!" The whine in his voice is too high and boyish for his growing body, but that fact registers only as a niggling embarrassment in the back of his head. "I'm sick of turning water into wine!" The lilac-haired boy resists the urge to stomp his white boot or cross his arms. "You never even let me drink it."
"You're too young to drink."
"I'm a hundred and three years old! Humans can drink at twenty. Twenty!"
"And are dead come sixty. They start their liquor young to forget how soon they are going to die." The apprentice can think of no counter to further his argument and reluctantly falls silent. He stays that way, the barest of pouts marring his brow and puckering his lips, even when the master crosses the distance between them.
The granite-eyed demon is not particularly tall—rather he has a light build that gives him a permanently fragile appearance. Kharl has grown tremendously in the past decade, and as he barely lifts his head to look his master in the face, the angel knows it will not be long before he is the taller of the two. Still, fixed under the steel and silver flame stare of the Alchemist, Kharl realizes that height is of little importance; the master will not budge an inch, even when his "boy" begins to be a man.
"Have you heard the story of the phoenix and the wine pool?" The master pulls him along by a fold of white cloak as he begins to speak and they pick their way along jagged ground to the cliffs that overlook the sea.
"I haven't heard it," Kharl offers the familiar answer monotonously, but a hint of curiosity sparkles in his eyes. The master is notorious for long-winded anecdotes that often depart sharply from reality—yet the stories never fail to be significant and imposing.
X – X – X
There once was a beautiful white phoenix that lived in the heart of a dark wood. He was revered for his splendor, and worshiped for his purity. Each generation, the stories humans told about the phoenix grew and grew. In some years, he was mate to the goddess of stars, bound to a world she could not reach, but still bearing his love's illustrious shine. In other years he was a healer, and a brush of his wings could save any dying soul. It was said that his feathers could grant immortality, and to hear one of his songs was to be forever blessed.
But the stories were just that: only stories. The real phoenix was a distant being with a solemn heart. He built his nest deep in the forest and drove away all the other creatures, because he found them all too foolish or too ugly to stand in his presence.
Still, adoration for him grew deeper and deeper, until it was no longer adoration, but something cruel. The people were no longer content to watch him fly above them, or to catch glimpses of him in the wood. They decided that, like all songbirds, the phoenix's beauty would be even greater if they could always look upon him. They tried many times to cage him, but the phoenix was, of course, too smart for their human traps, and evaded capture. His heart grew colder, and he realized that no one could be trusted—even the delicate creatures that supposedly loved him did not understand his true desires and thought only of themselves.
Years passed, and the mortals became more and more determined. The phoenix hid himself away and did not fly, and as he avoided each new trap, he began to long for someone who could truly understand his dreams and feelings. Humans would not do, because in every mortal heart was a grain of discontent, of jealousy. Demons in the wood were too cruel and selfish. There seemed to be no one who could share in the phoenix's visions and hopes.
And then on a cold and snowy day, a mortal man stumbled across the phoenix's nest. The bird was shocked, and suspecting a trap, tried to take flight. But to his horror, he had not used his wings in so long, and his fire was so very dulled by the icy wind, that he could not fly.
'Be still,' the mortal man said, 'I don't mean to capture you.' The phoenix could not believe him of course, because many mortals had lied before, but as he struggled against the snow and his own weakness, the man draped a cloak across him and gave him a brilliant smile.
In the mortal's smile, the phoenix saw a light he had never seen before, and he felt hope for the first time in many years. Perhaps, he thought, this man can be trusted. So he allowed the man to sit beside him, and told the mortal all his pains.
'At first I wanted only to be alone, because it seemed that no one could look at me without wanting something. Everyone asks the impossible of me,' he sighed. 'I just wanted to be alone to do as I pleased. But… I was wrong. Being all alone is silent and empty. More than anything, I want to find someone who can truly understand me. I want to find someone who will love me with asking for anything else.'
And then the mortal man left him, and returned to his home in the mortal king's castle. When he told his companions of his meeting with the phoenix, they did not believe him. 'The phoenix talked with you?' they laughed, and refused to hear his story.
'Why do you want to capture the phoenix?' he asked, and their answers were the same:
'So that we can love him even more. So that we can appreciate his beauty always.' Mortals promised him, at every turn, that they only wanted to love the bird. Perhaps the phoenix is confused? the man could not help but wonder. These people love him so much they can think of nothing else. And so, the mortal man thought he would have to help the creature understand.
'I'll bring the phoenix here!' he swore to his companions as they laughed, 'and then you will see that my story is true.'
'A human man cannot hope to catch a phoenix!' the first of his companions laughed.
'Maybe if you had a dragon's wit and charm!' the second joked.
'I know!' howled the third companion, the foolish king of the mortals, 'if you can bring the phoenix here before me, I will give you my crown.'
'And I will call you the lord with the wit of dragons,' his companions brayed with laughter. They raised a mocking toast to him. 'All hail the Dragon Lord!'
The man knew that he could not just ask the phoenix to travel to the human's village with him, because the bird had a deep hatred of those who had tried to capture him so many times. He simply does not understand! the man thought. I do not want to trick him, but how else can I take him to the people who love him? So the man set out to do what generations before him had failed to. For days on end he thought and thought of every plan he could, and endured the laughter of everyone who had heard his story. Finally, one night he collapsed at a pub, and stared into his glass of dark red wine.
'It's truly impossible!' he murmured. 'He will use magic if I try to catch him.' And the man on the surface of the wine sighed in commiseration. For a long time, he stared at his reflection in the glass, mimicking each of his actions, but looking so very different in that dark color. 'I have it!' he shouted and ran toward the castle as fast as he could.
'My lord, I know how I may catch the phoenix and bring him here!' he promised. 'If you will give me enough wine to turn a small lake red, I can most certainly catch him!'
At first, the king refused. Why should he give so much wine for an impossible task? But finally he relented, after the man swore he would pay back every bottle if he was not able to bring the phoenix back to the city. So the man took the many barrels of wine, and in the dead of night, carried them to a small pool near the phoenix's nest. He emptied them all into the clear water until the entire pond was red. At last, the man crept back and hid in the trees to wait for morning.
As luck would have it, the phoenix came the next morning to drink at the pool. At first, he could not believe his eyes, for the bird had never, in his long life, seen red water. He stared long and hard at it, and a red phoenix stared back. There was pain the bird's crimson eyes, and the white phoenix felt very sorry for the other creature.
'Why do you look so sad?' he asked.
The red phoenix echoed, 'why do you look so sad?'
'There is no one who truly loves me,' the white phoenix sighed, 'they only love my music and my magic.'
'There is no one who truly loves me,' repeated the crimson-eyed phoenix.
'I could love you,' the white-firebird cried.
'I could love you,' the red-firebird answered.
And the white phoenix knew, somewhere inside him, that the bird staring back was only a reflection, a piece of himself, but he desperately wanted to believe that there was someone capable of understanding him. Perhaps he is not me but someone else, perhaps this red water is a portal to another world. And he dipped his beak gently into the wine pool, in hopes that it might take him to a different place, take him to the world where the red-firebird was also alone. He did not move at all—instead, heat pooled up inside him and did not die, and for the first time in many years, the phoenix knew a bit of happiness, because it felt as if the red-firebird had reached across the vast distance between them, and given him a little bit of light and warmth again.
He laid down beside the pool when he had drunk his fill and fell into the deep and dreamless sleep that only wine can bring. When he was sure the bird would not awaken, the man came out of hiding, and gently wrapped the phoenix in his thick cloak.
'I will take you to the people who truly love you,' the man promised, and brought the phoenix to the castle. 'Look, I have brought him to you, as I said I would. Now you may all adore him as you've longed to.' And the king, stunned into disbelief, was forced to keep his word, and hand his crown to the man.
That night, throngs of people came to stare in wonder at the sleeping bird, and hundreds of wine glasses were raised in a devout toast. 'Hail the Dragon Lord, who brought the phoenix down!'
When the phoenix woke the next morning, he found himself bound in a glittering golden cage, while a sea of mortals stared on in anticipation.
'Sing for us, sing for us!' they called. 'Let us have your beautiful feathers!' And as the new lord listened to his people, he began to feel as if he had made a terrible mistake. The phoenix looked over the heads of the mortals to find the man he had trusted on the throne, and he knew that his freedom was gone forever. When the man saw the phoenix bow his head and heard him sing, he knew without doubt that his trust in the people had shattered something precious.
'Beautiful, beautiful!' The mortals wept at the phoenix's song, cried for more. The Dragon Lord was the only one among them who heard not only the glorious notes, but the suffering that fueled them.
Much later, when at last the crowds left the castle, the Dragon Lord went to talk to the phoenix.
'Forgive me,' he pled, 'I did not know. They said they meant to love you! I wanted to make you happy.'
'If this is love and companionship, I was wrong. I do not want it. Being alone forever is paradise compared to the life you have brought me. If you wish to make me happy, let me free.'
'I cannot,' the Dragon Lord looked then as if he might shed tears. 'Your presence has brought a peace to the people; they are all so truly happy. The kingdom's enemies are laying down their weapons for a chance to hear you sing. Seeing you has given the people hope, even in our dark world.'
'Then I will sing for you,' the phoenix said, and his voice was colder than the Dragon Lord had ever heard before. 'I will sing my trust, so that you will remember, every day, how you betrayed it. For these bars and these chains, I will never forgive you.'
Perhaps their lives would have gone on that way for many years: the phoenix mourning his freedom and the dragon mourning his choices, but each prayed one night for a way to undo their sorrows—and those prayers were answered. The goddess of stars, who had loved to watch the phoenix fly, and who had also loved to watch the dragon bring smiles to the faces of the people, descended from her place in the heavens.
'Come with me to my kingdom,' she smiled for them. 'There you will know eternal freedom, you will brighten the lives of millions, and you will be truly loved.' She swept them both into a warm embrace and carried them to the night sky, where she laid one beside the other. They became stars under her touch, and high above the world of mistakes and mistrust, they began to shed light.
X – X – X
"And that is where they are laying even now," his master murmurs, pale fingers tracing first a bird's cross outline, and then the sinuous form of a serpent in the night sky, "the phoenix and the dragon." Kharl's lilac eyes strain to follow the point, scanning hundreds of pin-prick stars for the proper forms. He finds the constellations at last, twinkling merrily, side by side.
"Master…" the boy mutters, contemplating the shape, "the phoenix has his back turned on the dragon."
"Yes," the older demon smiles wanly, "it seems that he never did forgive the Dragon Lord."
"Why did you tell me this story?" Kharl ignores the tickle of sand and grass across his cheek as he turns to look at the Alchemist. In his voice is more than the simple question he meant to ask—there is sadness there, and sadness presses hard against his heart as he sees spots of starlight reflected in his master's dark eyes.
"Don't," the man reaches a hesitant hand and brushes his fingers through the tangled lilac bangs that dance across his apprentice's cheeks like spider webs. "Don't ever let them trick you. Don't let a thing like love be your downfall."
"I won't," Kharl promises, but his lilac eyes trace the phoenix and the dragon, circling silently above him.
Theme 35: Hold My Hand
I took a nervous step inside the door, and the brush of my boot on linoleum floor clashed with the beep of her heart monitor.