A/N: This was supposed to be up last weekend .-. Hopefully the length makes up for it. Chapter one was mostly set up and politics, so the plot gets rolling now. More canon characters make their debut, including everyone's favorite irate Englishman. It's still a bit OC heavy, I know, but this is the last chapter (for awhile at least) that they have a real major part in.
Thanks again for all your help, Z!
Chapter Two
Alfred sat amongst the ever-blooming flowers of Francis' garden; the god watched him with barely concealed affection. The boy had made much progress in the past weeks, despite having little natural talent. His lessons with Francis often ended in frustration for both of them as Francis would often grow inpatient with Alfred's slow grasp of the musical concepts that were still so clear in the god's mind. Alfred in turn would become frustrated and then make more mistakes. Fortunately, what the boy lacked in talent, he made up for in diligence. Every day, Alfred would return, eager to impress Francis with improved technique earned from the late nights he spent practicing.
It was one of those moments early on in the lessons before frustration sent them both into sullen silence. Alfred was comfortable with the notes he played on his lyre, but Francis had introduced a new challenge. Alfred stared at the tablet set before him, his eyes glancing between his fingers and the dots and lines scratched into the wax. Reading music turned out to be as much of a challenge as actually playing. His fingers slipped again, causing a dissonant twang. He sighed and leaned back into the flowers. If only music was as easy as flying, he thought. He had mastered that easily enough, and Gilbert had even given Alfred a few grudging lessons in combat on Pakram's insistence.
Alfred looked up at the clear evening skies above Caelei. He hardly noticed when Francis joined him, edging a little closer every few moments. They admired the darkening sky when whooshing sound followed by heavy footsteps startled the quiet moment. The tall figure of the sun god strode up to them, his red hair harsh against the sky. Alfred sat up, a chill spreading down his spine caused by the look on Pakram's face. His golden eyes were like the sun on a winter's morning, bright and cold.
"It has begun. Ivan attacks."
Alfred glanced between the two gods and wondered who Ivan was. Francis' face paled, but after a moment he nodded and rose to his feet, leaving Alfred on the ground. Pakram gazed down at the boy.
"Do you wish to be useful?"
There was no hesitation, Alfred nodded. Pakram stooped over and dragged the boy up by his shoulder. With a swirl of wind, they were gone.
They landed in the court of the gods. Silence hung, and Alfred suppressed a shudder at the weight in the air. Several of the gods were already present. Gilbert leaned against a pillar, stringing and restringing his bow while Daka paced, her wild black braids sweeping after her. Francis appeared through the pillars, a gold-hilted sword in hand and dressed in handsome leather mail. A concerned looking Kiku followed. Alfred hurried to meet them.
Kiku grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. "Do you know what you are getting into Alfred?" he asked.
"Vaguely."
"Do you even know who Ivan is?"
Alfred remained silent, refusing to meet Kiku's eyes. Kiku shook his short hair with a sigh. "He is a High Daemon. It is said his strength is only matched by his perversion."
Alfred gave a nervous laugh. "Perverted? Well, I spend enough time with Francis so that shouldn't really anything new." Kiku's frown remained.
"Alfred," he sighed, "You never even notice Francis' advances, whether they be on you or everyone else."
"But I know he's perverted."
"Only because I tell you."
Alfred pouted. "That's beside the point. Please, Kiku, don't worry so much. I'm the messenger. I won't be in any real fighting, let alone with a High Daemon. Besides, it's not as if I'm wandering in completely unarmed." He reached around his waist and unsheathed two daggers from his belt, the only weapons Arlya would allow him to carry.
Kiku took a knife. He ran his thumb over the curved steel and nodded with approval at the thin sliver of blood that appeared behind it.
"Tempered metal," he said, "that at least should help discourage them. No Daemon can withstand worked metal."
"They burn and blister on contact with it. Even if they're evil, that must hurt," he said as he slipped the knives back into his belt.
A hand dropped onto Alfred's shoulder. He turned to Francis, who led him and Kiku to the center where the rest of the gods who would be fighting were assembled.
There was no speech, no words of encouragement; the gods didn't need them. While Kiku made a last examination of their weapons, Francis leaned over and whispered in Alfred's ear.
"There's no need for nerves. Perhaps if you are hurt I will take pity and tend to you with utmost attention."
"Er— Alright. Thanks?" Francis' tone sent a wave of nausea through Alfred's gut.
With one last squeeze of Alfred's shoulder, Francis turned on his heel and swept them out into the mortal realm.
Alfred was swept back by the gale force winds and stinging swirls of snow. Blinded in the moonless night, he stumbled back until he collided with something rough and solid. He ran his hand over a wall of wrought iron and the patterns that twisted over it. A grating scream rent the air, chilling Alfred to the bone. Now that he was here, what was he supposed to do? Be a messenger, but what did that mean? He took a deep breath of icy air in a vain attempt to clear his trembling mind. He pushed off the ground and struggled against the wind.
Through the storm, Alfred spotted Pakram, holding off three sets of blazing violet eyes with great swings of a mace. With a loud crunching sound, Pakram made contact with something in the darkness and the eyes retreated. He spotted Alfred.
"You're no use to anyone just standing there. Make yourself useful."
Alfred gave him a blank stare. The god muttered under his breath in frustration. The eyes were nearing once more. He swung his mace in warning. "Find Francis. See how he is holding up." An order. Alfred knew what to do with those. He leapt off in the direction in which the god of love had vanished. Whines and snarls ripped the air behind him. Terror overtook him as he flew blindly through the trees. He could just make out movement from the corner of his eyes. Little lavender lights tailed him, keeping just out of sight. He hurtled out of the trees, and was knocked out of the air by the ferocious wind. He rolled when he hit the ground, the drifted snow soaking under his once-warm jacket. He shook. The screeches were approaching, mixed with the occasional shout of a god.
He felt it rather than saw it, the shadow that gathered over him, rising up for the kill. Alfred yelped and rolled back through snow, the spot where he was lying a moment before collapsed under some great weight. Adrenaline shot through his nerves. In a single movement he thrust himself back into the air and darted off into the swirling dark.
"Francis? Francis!" He shouted into the night, only to have his words blown back toward him by the blizzard. In the shadows just outside the city wall he caught sight of something that might have been the god. Metal flashed. It had to be Francis.
"Alfred!" came the reply. Alfred flew to his side. The god was panting, though he had no injuries thus far. He held his sword with both hands, knuckles white. He glared out into the tree line where violet eyes flashed and vanished, only to appear again from behind a tree.
"Alfred," said Francis, his voice broken, "Go— reinforcements, Gilbert— Too many for me. And light, some light?"
"Light?" said Alfred, his own voice an octave higher. "Right, light, and—?"
"Gilbert."
"Where is he?"
Francis pointed along the city wall. "Follow the wall."
Alfred nodded and flew off. He was skimming along the snow drifts when he was knocked against the outer wall. Pain ripped through his skull as it rammed against wood and iron. He fell to the snow, stunned. He tapped the back of his head. Dry. The collision would leave a painful lump, but nothing more serious.
Deep breathing came from above him. He turned over to meet two very large violet eyes boring into his. Eyes of a monster, luminescent, pupil-less, mad with rage and something else— Pain? He could make out a mass behind those eyes, though it seemed to twist in with the very shadows. A mouth opened with a hiss, bearing white fangs that gleamed even in the dim light.
Every part of Alfred felt heavy and unwilling to move. The eyes narrowed and the hiss deepened into a growl. The fangs leaped at Alfred, who had just enough energy left to raise an arm in front of his face. He shouted as the fangs sank into his arm. Panic flooded him once again. He flicked a dagger out of its sheath with his usable arm and buried it in the swirling mass somewhere behind the eyes and the teeth. It let out a wounded, feminine cry and reeled back, soaking Alfred with blood. Instinct took over. Alfred fled into the air and along the wall.
The faint sounds of cursing reached Alfred over the wind. He didn't think. It was all he could do to follow the voices through the night. He halted at the sounds of fighting. He saw the vauge forms of Gilbert and Daka, laughing and cursing as they slashed through the mass of Daemons. Daka wielded a sword, long and curved, the night posing no hinderance to her fighting abilites. Gilbert stood back, throwing out taunts and curses as he shot arrow after steel-tipped arrow when when he could make out the gleaming eyes.
Alfred darted to the shadow of Gilbert, nearly ramming him to the ground. With a loud curse Gilbert picked himself up and glared at Alfred.
"What is it mortal?"
"Francis… Too many— light, he wanted light!" he babbled.
Gilbert grabbed the boy by the shoulders and shook him.
"Snap out of it! What about Francis? Stop babbling!"
Alfred's eyes cleared a bit as he inhaled. "Francis needs backup, he's getting killed over there," he said, though his voice was still too high a pitch. "And he says he wants light. Where do we get light, Gilbert?"
Gilbert hand closed around Alfred's blood-soaked arm and the boy let out a yelp. He needed to stay out of this fight. "Ask the humans in the city for help," said Gilbert grudgingly. "I suppose they may have something useful to offer, even if they are just humans." He knocked Alfred upside his already ringing head. "From now on, stay out of this. Stay up out of this," he said with a gesture to the sky. "You're nothing but a mortal messenger. Leave the fighting to the gods."
He turned into the wind and ran in Francis' direction. Daka's enraged howl from behind jolted him to action. The Daemons were closing in again, and Alfred sprang up and let the wind push him to the city battlements.
To his surprise, the walls were manned, a dark mass of soldiers lined up, arrows notched, though the combination of the wild storm and the dark night kept them from firing. Alfred approached a man who paced behind the archers, calling for calm and steady hands.
"Er… Excuse me? Is there anything we can do about the light?"
The man jumped and slipped on the wet stone.
"Who are you?" he asked. Alfred looked up to see the glints of several arrowheads pointed at him.
"N-no one really," he said, "just a messenger. The gods want light."
There was no hesitation. The man shoved himself up from the ground and the battlement broke into action. Bundles of sticks were gathered from the city below and soaked in oil. The man Alfred had spoken to stood beside one such mound and chanted to the sky, torch in hand: "He who gives light and life, let us aid you in your time of need! Let this light live, Pakram, God of the sun and all its fire, master of all that is bright in this world."
He dropped the flame. The fire spread impossibly fast and gave off a golden radiance into the snowy darkness. Fires sprung up from the three other corners of the city, casting the area into a yellow, flickering light. With a nod of thanks, Alfred took to the skies once more. He sought more orders from Pakram.
As he approached the familiar figure of the god, Alfred finally saw the monsters that had attacked him. It was odd, they looked almost soft in the golden light. Smoky shadows of the leopards and wolves that roamed the lonely mountainsides. Luminescent violet eyes glared from the swirling mass that were the creatures' faces. One let out a howl that twisted itself into a human scream. Another female. As it tilted its head back, Alfred caught sight of its white fangs and felt a twinge of pain shoot up his bloody arm. These creatures were evil. He spotted Pakram below, easily holding off the monsters. He swung his mace, red face determined in the firelight. The Daemons seemed to be retreating. They were retreating, crawling back into the wild forest and out of sight from the city walls.
Alfred let out a sigh of relief and fluttered down to Pakram. The god held out his arm in warning, halting Alfred mid-flight. Pakram's eyes never left the forest before him.
Crack.
Then laughter. It was sweet, an endearing laugh. Alfred felt the blood drain from his face as if sucked from his body.
From the trees emerged a figure. He strode forward to the light. "It was been too long since we have met, Pakram. You agree, hmm?"
The man matched Pakram in impressive size. He continued forward, moving with a grace uncanny for one so massive. A thick woolen overcoat hung down to his knees. Blood spattered the otherwise white material. Around his neck hung a scarf, thick and white. But what drew Alfred's attention was what came out behind the coat. A thick snow leopard tail was curled in delight, the tip twitching back and forth. His feet were also the enormous paws of the mountain feline, and explained the ease with which he moved. So this was a High Daemon.
He chuckled again and starred at the sun god with cold eyes. Alfred felt the air ring with a dissonance he could not explain. Pakram stood, an anchor of order amidst the horrible chaos the creature radiated. Alfred could not question it, the creature must be entirely insane.
"Yes, Ivan, much too long." He swung his mace at the High Daemon, who danced back out of his reach. The Daemon dashed forward. Pakram swung again, making contact with Ivan's side, but rather than crumple, the creature snarled and tore the mace from its owner's hand and cast it aside. They spun in and out, exchanging blows. Alfred began to panic as Pakram began to lose ground. He had never seen anyone come close to besting the sun god in combat, except for Daka, the goddess of war herself.
Daka, Alfred thought, She'll be able to help.
He sped through the storm to where the war goddess had been fighting. Nothing much had changed. Daka swept amongst the Daemons, overcome with bloodlust. Alfred called out from above and she spun out of the mass of writhing Daemons.
"He's here, isn't he?" she cried with delight. She took one last swipe at the Lower Daemons then bolted through the blizzard, her cutting laughter ringing off the trees.
Alfred battled the wind back to the battlements. The captain greeted him and listened as Alfred relayed his information. Soldiers knocked their arrows, waiting for the Daemon to come into range. Steel arrowheads glinted in the firelight and shadows danced along the wood and metal. Daka sang out a battle cry as she swung at Ivan, who was too surprised to dodge. The blade sank into shoulder and he roared in pain. Control forgotten, he lashed out at the gods, no discernable method to his wrath. Daka and Pakram saw their chance. They fought with the control of millennia of practice. Ivan was driven back toward the tree line.
Pakram stood back to admire their progress. He glared down at the rage-filled creature. "Pathetic," he whispered. The words had just slipped from his tongue when he was sent flying into Daka. Blood poured from his chest. Into the light stepped a young woman. Platinum blonde, her eyes a pale grey, she held herself aloof. She would have been the picture of beauty had it not been for the wolf's tail that swept behind her and the delicate paws that stood in the snow.
Daka jumped to her feet. "Natalia," she hissed.
The second High Daemon lifted her spear, the stone edge still dripping with Pakram's blood.
"You do not hurt my brother. You do not insult my brother."
Daka cackled. "Or what?"
Natalia flew at Daka in answer. The two were locked in combat, sword versus spear. Natalia fought without emotion. Her face blank as she twirled and spun in the blizzard and met Daka at every blow. Ivan had lifted himself back up and was once again engaged in combat with Pakram. Alfred watched with growing panic as the Daemons won back ground towards the city. Pakram turned up to the battlements.
"Alfred!" he shouted, "Find the others, we need them."
Alfred launched himself into the air. He found Francis and Gilbert fighting off a wave of Lower Daemons. He swooped in on top of them.
"No time," he said, "High Daemons— two of them."
The two gods nodded and sprinted off towards the main entrance of the city, Alfred following from the sky.
The addition of two more gods brought the fight back to a stalemate. Natalia fought both Francis and Gilbert with unconscious ease, though the other two gave no ground. Ivan was starting to show the strain of fighting Daka and Pakram. Alfred watched from above, feeling helpless. There wasn't anything he could do, either Natalia or Ivan would shred him in a moment. Not to mention all he had were his puny knives. Frustrated, he glanced around the night around he caught sight of movement on the other side of the wall. Violet gleamed from the trees as the Lower Daemons attacked the city's wall. Alfred spun towards the battlements.
"Daemons from the west!" he shouted. "The Daemons are attacking the west wall."
Soldiers looked from Alfred to their captain.
"What are you waiting for? Move!"
The soldiers flowed to the west wall. Arrows whirred through the air, and soon the all too human-sounding screams of the Daemons filled the air. Alfred looked on with pride. They were driving off the Daemons. The city would be safe. And this part, this part was safe because of him.
He drifted back towards the city entrance and his good feeling drained away. The snow was stained with blood. Pakram stood back, supporting a heaving Francis. Daka was forward, her sword blade pressed into Ivan's white skin. Across from her stood Natalia. She held an unconscious Gilbert by the hair, her spear across his throat.
"Take your hands off my brother," Natalia whispered, face blank but eyes smoldering.
"Then release Gilbert."
The oppressive silence was broken by Ivan's low giggle. He winced as the steel blade pressed deeper into his skin.
"It seems we have reached an impasse. Let me go, and Gilbert dies; let Gilbert go, and I die. Let neither of us go, and we stay here."
Daka's face contorted. "Kill Gilbert and you will both die. We outnumber you, and our fellow gods are only a second away."
Ivan seemed to consider her words. "I believe you have a point," he conceded. "Release us, and we will go and leave your god behind."
"Brother!"
"Hush, Natalia, it is good to know when it is pointless to continue fighting. What do you say?"
"I say never trust a Daemon," said Daka.
Pakram strode up to Ivan. "Do you swear to leave right when we release you, and to leave Gilbert behind, unharmed?"
"I do."
Pakram flicked out a knife from his belt. He drew it across Ivan's hand. Ignoring the Daemon's hiss of pain at the metal, he did the same to his own hand. He grasped Ivan's bleeding hand to his own.
"Repeat your oath."
"I swear to leave as soon as you release me, and to leave the god unharmed."
"And Natalia?"
"She will follow."
"You will die if she doesn't."
Natalia's eyes widened.
"Broth—"
"She will follow."
"Release him."
Daka glared at Pakram before kicking the Daemon away. Natalia let Gilbert drop to the snow.
Ivan stood and rubbed the line of blisters along his neck. He let out his low chuckle.
"Don't think you have won, God." His tail swished behind him as a grin spread across his face. "Come, Natalia." They vanished into the trees.
Alfred touched down next to Francis, who was still leaning against the city wall.
"We did it, didn't we? We're heroes."
"That is a little romantic, even for you, Alfred."
"Aren't you the god of love? Shouldn't you like romance?"
"Oh, but I do. Shall I show you how much I like it when we return home?"
He gave Francis an empty stare.
"What do you mean?"
Francis sighed. The boy was hopeless, and he was too tired.
"Francis, we are leaving," Pakram said. Pushing up from the wall, the god clasped Alfred's shoulder. They turned into the wind and were gone.
Alfred collapsed as his feet touched down in the court of the gods. The adrenaline had ebbed from his system leaving him exhausted and shaking. Beside him, Francis let out his heavy sigh before vanishing to his home. The cold of the marble floor seeped into his already snow-soaked clothing, but he had no will to move. He lay there, face pressed into the floor, tracing random patterns with his finger, when he felt himself scooped up and cradled. It was uncomfortable. He didn't fit: his legs stuck out too far and his neck was crushed forward by the forearm that held it.
"Come, my baby. It's time to go home."
Arlya's hold tighten as she whisked them to Alfred's room. She sat on his bed without letting go. It would have been comforting if he were still a child and her skin wasn't so cold. Alfred whined and struggled.
"Shh…" she whispered and eased him out of his jacket. She ran her chilly fingers through his hair. Alfred felt himself begin to relax as she shifted into an archaic language, the one Francis was still so partial to. His still erratic breathing deepened as he fell against his pillows. Arlya stripped the already sleeping human of the remainder of his damp clothing and tucked a quilt around his bare shoulders.
With a final kiss on his forehead, she slipped out into the moonlight.
Alfred bolted awake, shivering and soaked in a cold sweat. Images of the shadowy Daemons danced in his eyes and it was several moments before he realized that he was safe, safe and far away from any Daemon. He stared up and the white marble, trying to return to some semblance of calm. It was no use. His heart still drummed against his ribs and the shadows in the moonlight made faces at him from the corners of his eyes. He turned over, groping for a candle, when his hand fell on polished wood.
Alfred lifted his lyre and placed it on his lap. His fingers automatically found their position, even in the half-light. He plucked a few notes before settling into a simple ballad Francis had taught him. His music drew all of his concentration and let him leave behind the shadows and the violet eyes that Alfred saw whenever he closed his own. Alfred didn't find the story the ballad told all that interesting. Something about war and star-crossed lovers. His musings were interrupted by a cool hand on his shoulder. He looked up Arlya's pale face.
"I'm glad you're awake; I was beginning to worry."
Alfred frowned. It was still the middle of the night, wasn't it? "How long have I been asleep?"
"You came back a night ago. It's almost morning now."
"How are the others?"
Arlya's smile faltered. "Pakram and Daka are fine. Francis and Gilbert haven't woken yet."
Alfred yelped and leaped out of his bed, burrowing under it for a clean tunic and breeches.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Alfred glanced up from his boots.
"Well, I have to check on them, don't I? What it they need something?"
Arlya chuckled and gazed at Alfred with soft eyes. She still saw the little boy who grasped her robes, nervous around the other gods. Part of her failed to exchange the smock he wore then for the breeches and boots we wore now. He was still a baby, her baby.
Alfred failed to notice her attentions. He slung the pouch that contained his lyre over his shoulder, ran out into the morning sunlight, jumping into the air off the top step.
He made for Gilbert's home first, as he had suffered worse wounds. He touched down outside the cave Gilbert called home.
It was bright and open inside. The distinct smell of woodsmoke hung in the air, though there was no fire lit. The walls of the cave had natural crevices, many of which were filled with bows of various sizes and strengths, or spears, or the occasional animal pelt. Gilbert slept on a small bed off to the side. Two gods stood next to him, Heracles and a god Alfred had little contact with. He was Vahnic, the god of the household. He was tall, like the other gods, however he was rough and grey where the others were youthful. He glanced up as Alfred approached, eyes narrowing with disgust, and proceeded to ignore his presence.
Heracles was more welcoming. He beckoned the human over and updated him on the injured god's condition.
"He will be unconscious for quite some time. Natalia is not gentle with her enemies."
Alfred worried the inside of his lip. "It's weird," he said, "I've never seen a god like this before. He's a god. Shouldn't he be ready to fight again, I don't know… immediately?"
Heracles gave Alfred one of his unnerving, blank stares. "Yes, he is a god. That is the problem. We are not like you humans, bound to such a tight schedule of life and death, injury and recovery. Your concept of time means nothing to a god, and it is time that heals your wounds isn't it?"
"I guess so."
"Then gods, who exist along different plain of time, cannot be expected to conform."
"He'll be alright, won't he?"
"Sure. He is a god after all."
Alfred shook his head. A conversation with Heracles always seemed to land Alfred with no answers and a headache. He wondered how Kiku could stand it.
"Is there anything I can get for you or Gilbert?" he asked.
"Quiet, just some quiet," came the growling voice of Vahnic. Alfred gulped as the god glared at him.
"I'll go check on Francis."
Heracles seemed to have forgotten Alfred's existence. He gazed at the cave wall, lost in thought.
Alfred arrived in Francis' gardens a little while later. He ran up the hill and entered the god's open temple of a home. The pillars were silhouetted by the early morning glow. Francis laid sprawled on an enormous, gold-footed bed. White sheets rested down around his waist, a fact which Alfred was thankful for. Francis' top half was nude, and he could only imagine that held true for the rest of him.
There was nothing he could do for the sleeping god, so Alfred turned to leave. He was stopped when an elegant figure swept in. Alfred froze. The goddess glittered in the morning light as the sun reflected off the gems in her embroidered skirt and blouse. Gold hoops hung from her ears, half hidden by her loose, light brown hair. Her golden eyes twinkled at the sight of Alfred and she strode up to him. He gulped. Arlya made her opinion of the goddess clear: she was one to avoid, along with her twin sister.
"So sweet of you, Alfred, to check up on my dear Francis."
Alfred opened his mouth, closed it, and finally managed to say, "Good morning, Paan. I should go; Arlya—"
Paan threw back her head and laughed, her garments clinking. "What has that stuffy old woman said about me this time? You spend time with Francis, and he's worse than me. Come, sit, we'll wait for him to wake."
She took Alfred's shoulder and drove him back to Francis' bed. She ran to the side of the room, grabbed a table, two chairs and dragged them over to the bedside. She pointed for Alfred to sit. She pulled a deck of cards out of what seemed to be thin air, and laughed at Alfred's open-mouthed amazement.
"So I hear you were a big hero in the battle at the Capitol. Really saved Pakram, not that he'll ever admit it."
A flush spread across Alfred's face. Modesty was something that never occurred to him. "I was pretty great. Pakram wasn't the only one I helped, Francis—"
"Was this while or after your little panic attack?" she asked with an innocent smile that held for a mere second before breaking into a smirk.
Alfred sputtered while Paan dealt out the deck. He picked up his cards and flipped them over to look at his hand, only to have them smacked down by the goddess.
"No cheating."
"What are the rules?"
"Play, and you'll learn."
She flipped a single card up from her side of the deck then looked at Alfred expectantly.
Late in the afternoon, Francis woke to yelling. Immediately he turned and reached for a sword that was no longer at his side, thoughts full of Daemons, particularly on with the laugh of a child and the brutality of the mountains themselves. He blinked over to the side of his bed where the yelling came from. Alfred and Paan stood on opposite side of his table, a hand each on a pile of cards in the center.
"Their mine! My hand is completely on it; I slapped first!" shouted Alfred.
"No you didn't, you little liar. They're mine! My pinky is under your hand."
"Only because you shoved it there after I slapped!"
Francis cleared his throat. Two faces looked at him and immediately lit up.
"Really, Alfred, you should never play anything with Paan. She cheats."
The goddess smiled, but denied nothing.
"How are you, Francis? Do you need — anything you want?"
"Quiet, boy, you're interrupting yourself, though—"
"Come off it Francis," Paan said. "Even if he knew what you were talking about, he wouldn't be interested."
Alfred stared between the two of them, trying to find the implied meaning. He failed.
"Then perhaps you, my dear goddess?"
Paan cut him off with a flick of her wrist. "I've barely had anything to drink yet today, let alone enough for you to tempt me."
"You wound me, Paan."
"I try."
Their topic of conversation finally dawned on Alfred. His whole face ignited, a fate inevitable to one raise by Arlya.
"Y-you're right, Paan, you're pinky was there all along. You win. I've got to go… do stuff." With that, he turned and fled from the gods and their scary conversations. He wove through the air, desperately willing the chilly air to remove the blood from his face.
The next weeks soon fell into routine. Gilbert woke up for the first time a few days after Alfred, though he was still bedridden. The same could be said for Francis, though Alfred wasn't sure if he was really as pitiable as he made himself seem or if he was milking the attention for all it was worth. Alfred was leaning towards the latter. Though, to be fair, Francis did collapse from exhaustion several times.
Arlya and Pakram kept watch on the mortal realm, though the Daemons also seemed to be lying low. Alfred spent most of his time running errands or playing games with Francis and Paan, much to Arlya's displeasure. In the evenings Arlya would try to talk him out of going back the next day, insisting that he stayed away from the festive goddess. She didn't try to veil her hostility towards the goddess, insisting that she was "loose" and a bad influence, whatever that meant. Alfred hated seeing her upset, so he began to leave Paan out of his descriptions of his day.
The day started according to routine: Alfred woke and dragged himself out of bed and into the chilly air. He slung his lyre across his back and took off for Francis' garden. The god was absent, though Paan waited. She strode up to him, a look of concern on her face.
"Where's Francis?"
Paan shook her head with uncharacteristic seriousness. "He hasn't woken up today. No matter what I try, he won't wake."
Alfred's eyes widened. "What? Is there anything I can do?"
Something flashed in in Paan's dark eyes, though her voice still conveyed her concern.
"Perhaps, there is supposed to be a fruit that grows only in the highest skies of Caelei. It is rumoured to heal any minor sickness." The goddess sighed, her eyes tearing up. "But it is up in the sky, I can't retrieve it."
Alfred brightened and puffed out his chest. "I can get it!" he said. "Where in the sky is it exactly?"
"Er… Up, high, you'll see it when you get far enough away from the ground."
"Are you sure? Won't I fall into the mortal realm if I get too far away?"
Paan flicked her wrist. "Don't be foolish, you'll find it before that happens."
Alfred nodded and jumped into the air. He was going to be Francis' hero. As he zoomed off into the cloudless sky, the goddess on the ground laughed.
"He really is as gullible as they say," she said to herself.
"Paan?" She whipped around, face to face with Francis. His eyes narrowed.
"Pacarni," he spat. "Whatever rumors, half-truths, or lies you brought with you, please, take them and leave."
A feral smirk spread across the goddess's face. "But you have so much fun with that boy and my dear twin sister. Yet you fail to invite the beloved Pacarni, the life of the party herself. I'm wounded, not to mention bored. I just made things interesting, that's all. That human is in for a surprise."
Francis grabbed the goddess's shoulder. "What did you tell Alfred? Where is he?"
Pacarni spun out of Francis' grip and vanished with a final cackle.
Alfred wiped his glasses against his tunic. A mysterious sky-fruit shouldn't be this hard to find. The air was bright and clear, and there was no where it could be hidden. With a sigh, he flew higher. The air was thin and Alfred was beginning to feel lightheaded. It must be close, just a bit farther up.
The tips of his fingers tingled. Maybe he should rest and try again in a moment. He shook his head to clear it. He couldn't just hover, Francis needed him and some sky-fruit. He shot upwards, only to meet a strange resistance. There was nothing in the sky, but Alfred felt a presence weighing on his mind. He tried to fall back from the barrier, but as he fell, he felt the presence run over his mind and his skin like a thin fall of water.
Alfred gasped, the air was cold and heavy with rain. He tumbled through the air, finally managing to regain control just above the ground. He touched down onto springing turf. He glanced up. The sky was a monotonous, stormy grey. Alfred shuddered. He was in the mortal realm, a part he had never visited before. Tendrils of mist curled over the rolling landscape, fusing and parting as if alive. Alfred stood on top of a low hill, looking out at his vivid green surroundings. He could see a stream in the distance, winding by a tangled copse of trees. Many of the surrounding hills were crumbling, entire sides eaten away to dirt and bare boulders.
Alfred glanced around with the eerie feeling that he was being watched. He set off on foot, tired of flying. He picked his way down the slope, which was filled with odd little dips and breaks that seemed created specifically for tripping him. He wouldn't be able to get back to Caelei on his own. Whenever she took him to the mortal realm, Arlya insisted on trying to teach him to "feel for Caelei." No matter how he tried, he never found what Arlya called the "sense of home."
He set about pondering what had happened to land him out here, so far from any civilization. His thoughts focused on why Paan had tricked him out of Caelei. He worried the inside of his cheek, lost in his musing and failed to notice the shadows following him through the mists.
When he reached the base of the hill, a small stone bounced by, startling Alfred from his thoughts. He spun around, groping for a dagger that was not there. On the hillside above him were two Daemons, both as tall as Alfred at the shoulder. They appeared as large canines, long-shouted with small triangular ears that arched back into a thin, almost graceful body, held up by thin legs. A whip-like tail lashed behind them. Like their mountain kin, they seemed to have no solid form: shadows swirled off of them like dust. But what transfixed Alfred were the eyes. Pupil-less, shining emerald eyes.
One raised its shadowy hackles, baring fangs that made Alfred's just-healed arm twinge. The other tilted its head back and let loose a shriek that was all too human. They did not attack, but hung back, snuffling and wary. A mass of darkness appeared at the peak of the hill. Alfred was rooted to the spot, his mind nothing but blank white fear. He stared up as a third Daemon approached. It was slightly larger than the two at the base of the hill, but as it descended, Alfred felt its presence press on him, almost a physical force. It walked through the middle of the two other Daemon's and approached Alfred. It glared at him with wild green eyes. It flicked it's head back to the others, growling. They replied with their own growls, heads flicking from side to side as if they were confused.
Wind ripped through over land, knocking Alfred from his feet. Shielded his face from the shower of pebbles and dirt that tore over him. The wind dropped as quickly as it came.
Alfred lowered his arms and looked up. Where the Daemon had stood seconds before was a man who appeared to be just older than Alfred. A cloak was pinned around his shoulders, hood thrown back to reveal straw-colored hair that refused to lay flat. Under the cloak, he wore a white tunic and loose brown breeches, much like Alfred's.
Alfred stared up at his hard green eyes, framed by enormous, dark eyebrows. They stared back, cold and filled with hatred. He took a step forward, moving with uncanny grace across the uneven ground. Alfred's eyes flicked down. A thick, sweeping fox tail flicked from side to side behind russet paws that ran up under the hem of the his breeches.
"You… You're a Daemon, a H-high Daemon," Alfred stuttered.
"I'm aware of that." His voice carried an unfamiliar accent. His words were rounded and his voice was softer than he expected. "But what are you?" He yanked Alfred to his feet and continued to glare at him.
"Human?" Alfred offered.
"You feel like them. You have the touch of the gods on you." The Daemon stepped around Alfred, examining him. His attention was drawn to Alfred's winged boots. He bristled.
Alfred stumbled back. "A gift! They're a gift! I'm human!"
The Daemon stepped back and crossed his arms under his cloak. "So it seems. Very well, what are you doing in my moors?"
"You're moors? Who gave you ownership?"
A look of genuine confusion flashed across the Daemon's eyes, replaced an instant later with renewed anger.
"I'll ignore your impertinence, human, and give you one more chance to answer. What are you doing here?"
Alfred felt his fear ebb away, replaced by his own temper. "Or what?" he said, hands balling into fists. "You're just like Ivan and Natalia. You'll threaten and hurt anyone just to get your own selfish way." He was working himself into a tantrum. He pointed straight at the Daemon's face. "You're completely evil!"
If the Daemon had been angry earlier, it was nothing compared to his fury now. Alfred bit his lip, trying to keep from flinching under the weight of the Daemon's glare.
"Since you are… so convinced — because of course there could be no other explanation for our actions — I will not waste my time trying to convince you otherwise." He turned from Alfred, back to his Lower Daemons.
"Kill him."
A/N: Cliffie much?
Props to anyone who can guess what the card game was.
Once again, constructive criticism, encouragement, questions, suggestions, edits, or comments in general are LOVE. I've got a couple of side plots (or one) figured out, but I'd love to hear any requests for pairings or characters that you want to see (or don't want to see).
Expect the next chapter (albeit shorter than this one) this weekend.