AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!
Edited 3/16/18 Changes made throughout.
Berserk
Chapter Nine
{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}
The coil of bandages around Lucy's shoulder have begun to bleed black.
She releases a shaky breath, casting a glance around the forest to make sure Natsu is truly gone from the area. Scouting, he told her before disappearing through the trees. He wanted to make sure they weren't being followed too closely. The wind was blowing towards them all morning, drawing their scent straight back the way they came from. It was concerning to the Berserker, Lucy could tell by the stiffness in his shoulders and the way he was breathing heavier than normal, constantly scenting the air. Lucy wasn't surprised when he left with nothing more than a hand on her back and mumbled promise to be back soon. In fact, she was anticipating it.
Sure the Berserker is far out of sight, Lucy hesitantly reaches for her left arm. Pale fingers ghost across the bandage where her skin would typically be exposed. Pain ripples from her shoulder down to her elbow, and Lucy bites the inside of her cheek, holding back a hiss of discomfort. Brushing aside the sting, Lucy unwraps the cloth with practiced ease, gaze locked on the blackened spot.
The bandage slips from her fingers moments after they've been unwound.
Bile rises high in Lucy's throat as she stares at the mark on her arm, but she swallows it down, unable to turn away from the sickening wound. It's worse than when she last saw it. The puncture wounds—four of them—have puckered, violet bruises blooming around them, though the swelling has lessened considerably. The bruising, however, isn't what concerns her. No, what makes her stomach twist is the black spider veins curling down towards her elbow and up towards her collarbone, a poison slithering through her veins. The puncture marks have begun to bleed the same inky color, the red blood replaced with something far darker.
An infection, she thinks, but one unlike anything she's ever seen. Her hand trembles as she traces a blackened vein with a finger, nearly recoiling at how hot the skin feels. The wound burns something awful, a fever creeping beneath her skin, and Lucy shudders as the black veins pulse in time with her heart. Her arm throbs rhythmically, and as Lucy watches she could swear she sees the veins extend further down her arm, creeping so slowly she almost doesn't notice.
Finally tearing her gaze from the weeping mess on her shoulder, Lucy slides down to the base of a tree, barely feeling the prickle of bark dragging across her skin. Mechanically, she pulls a cloth and canteen from her bag, the water sloshing violently as her hands tremble. The procedure comes naturally, only half her mind focused on the task at hand, a product of repeating the same movements twice daily for nearly two weeks.
Lucy doesn't watch as she wets the cloth and presses it to her shoulder, not wanting to see the white strip of fabric come away with a stain like spilled ink. Her arm gives a sore ache, but she ignores it, wiping the blood clean from her shoulder before dropping the cloth to the ground at her side. Lucy hums to herself as she reaches into her bag once more, fingers searching for the jar of salve she had never wanted to need on this trip. The glass is cold against her fingers, but the chill soothes her—helps her to ignore the pulsing of her arm and the itch beneath her skin.
This time, Lucy does peer down at her shoulder, watching in silence as the pale green salve is spread across the marks on her arm. For a moment, her skin flames, the burning beneath her flesh digging straight to the bone before a coldness washes over her. The fever ebbs away, leaving a chill that numbs her arm until her fingers tingle.
She shoves the jar back in her bag, wiping the residue across the grass until her fingers come away clean. A clean bandage is the next thing she reaches for, her lips twisting into a frown when she realizes how little she has left. The pair of them are still within Pergrande's grasp, they haven't faced the worst of things yet, and she's already nearly run out of supplies.
A bitter laugh bubbles in her throat, but Lucy swallows it down, shaking her head slowly. She'll just have to make a stop in the nearest town—just for supplies. She made it to Pergrande in one piece, she'll be damned if she can't make it home the same way. Besides, she has a Berserker on her side. The way she sees it, her odds of surviving have doubled at the very least.
Lucy ties the bandage tighter than she means to, drawing a soft hiss from her throat. She doesn't loosen it, however, not even as her arm throbs as the bandage constricts around her. It's almost too much pressure, but the black blood doesn't immediately seep through the cloth, so Lucy leaves it be. Shaking her head slowly, Lucy reaches for her discarded glove, her fingers rubbing over the soft cotton absentmindedly.
Pulling the fabric over her fingers, Lucy continues to hum a song her mother used to sing. She doesn't remember the words, they've been long forgotten to her, and she doubts that Laxus would remember something so silly. No, the words have been lost to time, but Lucy still remembers the story behind it and the way it made her feel. The tune is light, she recalls, brushing a finger against the fresh bandage on her shoulder, soft and sung on a tongue dripping with honey. She remembers the way the words all looped together as her mother sang, a trill to her voice.
The story was much, much different, however. There was a darkness to the words, something melancholy that swept through the room like a plague. It was a shanty from the coast, a tale of drowned lovers and broken hearts. Lucy remembers thinking it was odd how the words didn't match with the lighthearted melody, but her mother said that was the point. She didn't understand what her mother meant then, she still doesn't.
Lucy thinks it's a bit like poison in cherry wine. No matter how sweet, it doesn't mask the taste of death lurking just beneath. It's jarring, if nothing else. Though, perhaps that's the point.
She just wishes she could remember the lyrics, as if that could somehow explain the sick feeling that twists through her stomach whenever she thinks about the song. There was something about them that made her feel small and weak—as if her heart had been torn straight from her chest. She wishes she could remember why.
Snap.
Her hand flies to her knife as she twists towards the sound, silently cursing herself for not paying more attention. The last thing she needs is to be caught unaware a second time. The first nearly cost Lucy her life, she can't afford to risk it once more. She may not be quite so fortunate should it happen again.
Lucy is just about to shove herself to her feet when Natsu steps out from around a cluster of trees, silent as a ghost. She relaxes immediately, swallowing a laugh as she realizes just how comfortable she's become around a man she's only known for under a fortnight. A man who tried to kill her, at that.
It's illogical, she knows, to trust someone so easily, but she figures he's earned it, if only a little. Makarov taught her not to trust easily or blindly, but to follow her instincts. Fae have always had a way of knowing the pure of heart from the wicked, and that's something she's always believed in. It's saved her more times than she'd care to admit.
If Natsu truly wanted to kill her or drag her back to Pergrande, he very well could have done so, but he hasn't. Lucy believes whole heartedly that he won't, not after two weeks of wandering through the forests and skirting around towns, keeping out of sight. If he wanted to bring her back to Ðüskell, he wouldn't have brought her so close to the border with the ice country. It would only be a waste of time on his part.
Maybe that's blind trust, but she can feel it down in her bones, a thrum telling her she doesn't need to be afraid. She wishes her mother was still alive, or that Makarov was here with her, then she would know if the feeling has something to do with the Fae blood coursing through her veins, or if it's the fever eating away at her mind. He was always better at healing matters than her.
She watches in silence as he glides between the trees, not a sound coming from his steps. Lucy knows he meant for her to hear him coming. If he didn't want her to know he was there, she wouldn't have the faintest idea he was there. The thought unnerves her. For a creature with so much rawer power and strength, the Berserkers are quiet, wraiths among the shadows. She never would have guessed so by looking at Natsu, but slowly it's beginning to make sense to her.
The Berserkers are trackers, hunters, in their own way. They need to keep silent, lest they give themselves away. Lucy can understand that. Gods know what would have happened to her had she been caught in the capital.
A shiver wracks her body, and Lucy curls her arms tightly around herself, her lips pressing into a thin line as she banishes the thought to the back of her mind. She knows exactly what would have happened, and she would rather be dead than face what the King would put her through.
Another snapping sound comes from before her, and Lucy looks up to find Natsu staring back at her, a crease between his brows and a frown pulling at his lips. Lucy tries for a small smile, but it must look wrong, because his lips twist down even further. His gaze slips from her face to the black-stained cloth beside her, and Lucy snatches it up without a second thought, shoving the fabric into her bag to be forgotten.
Lucy wets her lips, wondering if she should tell him about the wound on her arm. Logically, she knows that she should. He's likely to have a better idea of what's happening than she ever could. If this is some kind of toxin created by Berserkers, or if they have a kind of venom, then he's likely to know about it, how to treat it.
She considers asking him, but her throat swells before the words can rise in her throat and the thought vanishes like smoke.
Natsu is still staring when she looks up once more.
Lucy clears her throat awkwardly, wrapping her arms around herself and curling closer to the tree trunk behind her. The tree murmurs as she presses closer, whispering something Lucy doesn't catch. The tree hums then, echoing the song Lucy was singing earlier. She covers the bandage on her arm with her hand, hoping to hide it from his eyes, afraid that if he stares too long he'll know exactly what she's been hiding.
"See anything?" she manages to ask after several seconds too long, the words sticking in her throat.
He doesn't speak for another long moment, his eyes tracing her face with slow precision, searching for something. "No," he tells her, coming to stand before her. His gaze leaves her only briefly, his eyes trailing up to the tree as it continues to trill softly. He presses a hand to the bark and Lucy swears she feels the tree tremble at his touch. "We're clear for now," Natsu continues, slowly pulling back from the tree.
She doesn't like the sound of it, his words holding little reassurance, though she supposes it's better than nothing. Lucy doesn't like the waiting game they've been playing. Something should have happened by now. They should have been caught.
Lucy tilts her head back, gazing up at the underside of his jaw. "How close are we to the capital?" she wonders aloud, raising her free hand to the silvers tree trunk behind her. The fairy tree thrums against her touch, pulsing with energy, and Lucy can't help but smile. Her mother once told her to trust the forest with her life, promising it would always protect her.
She had never thought that promise to be true until recently.
Natsu cocks his head to one side, his chin tilting down as he looks at her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other before he glances around the forest. The muscle in his jaw jumps as he swallows, his muscles tensing. "Too close," he decides after a long moment. He peers down at her, gaze apologetic. "We've been making good time but…" he trails off, shrugging slightly as he continues to shift in place.
Sighing heavily, Lucy curls closer to the tree at her back, avoiding Natsu's gaze. "But it's not enough," she finished for him, a bitterness on her tongue. It's her fault, she knows, though there's not much she can do about it at the moment.
Perhaps, she should have taken Porlyusica's offer for medical training. It would have helped her greatly in hindsight, even if it had meant spending more time with the surly friend of her grandfather. Lucy has found it's best to avoid the woman unless something is serious. A skinned knee is much is nicer than having her head bitten off.
Dragon Lady. That's what Laxus called her when they were children, on account of the fire he would swear that she could breathe, though Lucy never saw it. He had whispered it to her like a secret, and Lucy supposes it must have been.
Natsu crouches so that he can meet her gaze, his expression uncharacteristically soft. He sends her a smile that's little more than a pull of lips on one side, but it raises her spirits just the slightest. "So long as we're in Pergrande, we're far too close to Đüskell," he tells her gently, placing a firm hand against the elbow of her bad arm, hesitating only briefly.
Lucy sucks in a sharp breath as her shoulder gives a dull ache, and Natsu stills, eyes snapping to the bandages coiled around her upper arm. They narrow suddenly, and Lucy can hear a low snarl bubbling somewhere deep in his chest. His lips curve back over his teeth, his palm sliding up her arm slowly until his fingers hover over the mark on her arm.
He can smell the decay, she realizes a moment later, gently pulling her arm from his grasp. Natsu pulls away immediately, the snarl leaving his lips as he reels back to gauge her reaction. Lucy shakes her head slowly, forcing a small smile. Confusion glints in his green eyes, and Lucy watches them flicker between her face and shoulder. She reaches out slowly, catching his fingers with hers and holding them loosely, absentmindedly.
"Are there any towns coming up? A city we can stop in? We need supplies," she tells slowly, squeezing his fingers briefly as she changes the subject. It's obvious, she knows, but now's not the time for them to be worrying about her arm. They have bigger problems to worry about right now, like whatever must be tailing them for Natsu to be so on edge. Besides, stopping anywhere in Pergrande to get the mark checked would be a foolish idea.
Natsu hums in thought, seemingly taking her baited question without a fight, and Lucy realizes she's let magic bleed into the words, willing him to change the conversation. She can't be bothered to feel guilty about it.
He runs a scarred finger across her knuckles, eyes on the back of her hand. "Jorah," he decides after a long moment, "I think." Green eyes lock with hers and he releases her hand, something heavy and dark in his eyes. "It separates the mountains from the rest of Pergrande." He starts to stand and Lucy reaches out blindly, catching him by the hand once more. For a moment, his eyes narrow as he glances down at her, but then he hauls her up with him easily, pressing a hand to her spine to keep her steady at the sudden shift in balance.
Lucy flashes him a brief smile as she mulls over the name. Jorah sounds familiar to her, if only from hearing it in passing. The name brings the image of high stone walls and a fairy tree in the center of a town, the branches stretching farther than any she's ever seen.
"I passed through there on my way into Pergrande," she tells Natsu, stooping to grab her bag. "I remember the tree in the center. Thought it was an odd city." She wrinkles her nose. "It was crawling with soldiers, but they all looked young—fresh faces that have never seen combat." It was a strange sight. She would have thought the mountain pass would be far better guarded. Though, perhaps things have since changed.
Natsu nods in response. "We shouldn't stop there," he replies firmly, his lips curving back into a snarl. His gaze is far away, vision cloudy, and for a moment Lucy is unnerved by the absence of anything in his eyes. For the briefest moment he looks just as emotionless as when she first saw him. Her fingers graze his arm and his eyes snap back to her, familiar and swirling with emotion.
He doesn't always carry his emotions so obviously across his face, but Lucy is finding that she prefers it when he does.
Lucy clears her throat. "Why's that?" she asks, curious about why they shouldn't stop in the town. They still need supplies, and Jorah is the last real stop before they make it into the mountains. No one in Pergrande is foolish enough to make a home in the Jernnas. The Iron Mountains are not one to be trifled with.
"They never forget a face," he tells her, a hiss to his words. Lucy's eyes narrow but he continues quickly. "They'll remember you," he murmurs, casting her a long look up and down. "How you were a foreigner and how quickly you passed through, but especially how you were alone." There's a growl to his words, but he doesn't elaborate, much to her frustration.
Lucy shoulders her bag, shifting in place. "And that's bad?" she stresses, wanting a better answer. She knows that most women in Pergrande don't travel alone. Most women anywhere in Ishgar don't travel alone. It's common sense not to. There's something about Natsu's tone that makes her think it's not just that concerning him.
His throat bobs when he swallows. "Very," he replies shortly. The single word rests heavy between them. Even the trees fall silent at the sharpness of his tone, but Lucy isn't perturbed.
She catches his hand before he can walk away. "What do you mean?" He avoids her gaze, taking a step away from her, however, he doesn't pull away entirely, letting her keep her hold on his wrist. His pulse jumps beneath her fingers, nervous and perhaps frustrated.
He sighs, not looking at her as his shoulders droop in something reminiscent of defeat. He's giving it, but Lucy finds no pleasure in gaining an answer. It's not something she wants to hear, rather, she needs to hear it. If only to keep herself out of trouble when they pass through—which they will have to do. There's no other way into the mountain pass, not an easy one, anyway.
Whatever could happen in Jorah surely can't be worse than what would face them in the Iron Mountains. She's heard the stories, and none of them are pretty.
"People don't just leave Pergrande, Lucy," Natsu tells her gently, twisting to face her directly. His gaze is apologetic, but there's something steely in his eyes. He sighs, entire body trembling, and Lucy begins to notice just how nervous he looks. His fists clench and unclench, his eyes constantly darting around them, always alert. A sickness curls though her stomach. "You come in, but you don't go back out," he finishes softly, words almost swallowed by the silence.
She wets her lips, staring at his throat. "The Berserkers," she murmurs, goose bumps prickling at her skin. She knows now just how readily the King sends his controlled beasts after people. Briefly, she wonders how many people ever make it as far as Jorah, but banishes the thought from her mind just as quickly as it comes, not wanting to know the odds. She lucky—they're lucky. Simple as that.
"And the King's guard." Natsu's nod is as sharp as his words. Muscles tensing, he curls his hand around hers, tugging her a step forward, a silent warning that they've been still for far too long. "Leaving won't be easy," he murmurs as the head West once again, "not like getting in." He glances down at her, once again giving her fingers a comforting squeeze, those his words to little to settle that raw panic building in her chest. "Jorah is Pergrande's first and last defense. They keep a list of everyone that comes in and everyone that tries to leave."
Tries. The word does nothing to calm her nerves. Cobra hadn't mentioned that to her in their letters. She'll have to ask him about that later, especially how he manages to come and go so freely most times. That is, if she ever sees him again. She'll have to write him when she returns home, or see if Makarov's contacts in Pergrande have heard any news. She'll even talk to Loke, if that's what it takes.
Natsu takes a half-step closer to her side, just near enough to let his arm press against hers, reminding her that he's still there and he's not going to let anything happen to her, so long as he can help it.
Lucy truly hopes it never comes to that. She meant what she told him that first day. She doesn't want his life. Not even to save her own. He deserves to keep his life, to let it be his for the first time in years. If he really feels the need to get her to Fiore, she won't stop him, but she also won't let him throw his life away for her. Lucy absolutely refuses to let that happen.
Lucy thinks back to what he said. How no one can come in or out of Jorah without being noticed and reported. The townsfolk are likely to know exactly what Natsu is, and she doubts most foreigners are seen cavorting with one of Pergrande's greatest soldiers. And if that isn't warning enough for them, there's also the matter of the pair of them being followed.
"What do we do?" she asks him softly, keeping her gaze on the trees as they stumble through the woods. Her fingers itch to reach for a knife, but she resists, instead leaning into him just the slightest, a weight leaving her shoulders when he presses back into her.
The black veins on her arm pulse irritably at the contact, but Lucy can't bring herself to care, relishing the touch regardless of the stinging in her shoulder.
Natsu only sighs, casting a long look around them, his muscles tense as he presses against her. "Pray there's a better option." There's a teasing lilt to the words, but when Lucy glances up, his gaze is hard, his lips pressed into a thin, humorless line.
She wonders if there are any better options. From what she can tell, there are only two: a town of soldiers and spies, or whatever beasts lie in the high mountains, waiting to prey on whoever is foolish enough to venture too close.
They walk in silence for a long while, until the morning sun reaches the highest point in the sky, barely visible through the red leaves of the fairy trees. Lucy casts a wild glance around the pair of them, gaze roaming the snow white bark of the Ellyra. A smear of red sap catches her eye.
Azgetta, the Northlanders call them. Weeping trees.
According to her mother, Ellyra with large knots in the bark are magical. Tap once for good fortune. Tap twice to bring great horrors upon an enemy. Lucy has never thought the myth to be true, however, she wonders if the legend would be worth testing, if only one time.
As if hearing her thoughts, the Ellyra begin to hum, little whispers reaching her ears. Mumbled threats against the King, dark little things that spread through the trees like a poison, the voices growing so loud that they make her ears ring. Natsu, however, appears not to notice, and she begins to wonder if it's all in her head.
She's heard stories of Ellyra losing themselves to their dark thoughts, the bark growing dark violet and black, reminiscent of a bruise staining the tree. Once the bruise spreads, the trees wither and die, so consumed by their misery that they begin to poison themselves.
Lucy wonders if people do the same.
The trees quiet suddenly, their vile words drifting into silence.
Grateful for the silence, Lucy glances up at Natsu, noticing the tension in his jaw and how stiff his shoulders have become as the sun has risen higher. "You think we're being followed," she murmurs, shattering the silence around them. It's not a question. She knows that something's coming. It's only a matter of time.
The Ellyra bristle at her thoughts, but remain silent.
He gives her a brief glances, eyes locking with hers for only a moment before they snap back to the trees. His gate becomes longer, legs moving faster, and Lucy finds herself struggling to keep up. An arm loops around her waist, keeping her balanced as she nearly trips on a wayward root. "I know we are," he growls back, a snarl rumbling somewhere deep in his chest, almost a warning.
Lucy doesn't think it's for her.
Her lips press into a thin line and she urges herself to move faster. Her ankle throbs, but the pain is dull, not nearly as bad as it had been days earlier. "How close?" she hisses back to him. The spider veins burn against her arm, and Lucy doesn't need to look to know that they've grown larger.
Natsu considers the question, his lips pursing in thought. He doesn't look at her as he speaks, only continues to cast sharp, panicked looks around them, waiting for something to come for them. "I don't want to find out."
She doesn't like the answer.
Her teeth snap together sharply, her lips twisting down, unimpressed. "Natsu—"
He cuts her off before she can snap at him. "Right behind us," he growls voice thick with anger and something else that she can't place. "Maybe half a day's walk." He urges her to move faster, his grip growing tight on her hip, so much so that Lucy thinks he may leave light bruises. "Probably less."
Around them, the trees take up a hiss, speaking in an old tongue that Lucy knows little of. She can make out the word run, however, and the word sends a shiver down her spine. Natsu must hear it too, because he growls lowly, silencing the trees.
Lucy forces herself to move faster. "We're not moving fast enough," she murmurs back. He glances down at her, but says nothing. He doesn't need to. She can see his agreement in his eyes. They need to run. Her leg protests at the thought, but she ignores it. "Will we be safe in Jorah?" she asks him sharply, staring up at the curve of his jaw, watching as the muscle ticks.
Natsu laughs, the bitter sound vibrating against her side. "Safe?" he repeats, half-mockingly. "No. Hidden? Maybe." His fingers drug against her waist suddenly as he considers their options. "In Jorah it will be easier to lose them, but we will find no friends in the city."
Lucy thinks that's fine. They don't need to make friends, they need to live. "It's better than nothing," she tells him.
He snorts, shaking his head slowly. Natsu doesn't look at her. "You say that now, but…" He trails off, shaking his head in frustration.
"We don't have a choice," she reminds him, covering the hand on her hip with her own, daring to thread her fingers through his. His hand goes still at her touch, but he doesn't pull back, merely lets her squeeze his fingers all too gently.
Natsu sighs, giving her a sad, hollow look. Guilt swirls in his eyes, leaving a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach. "There's always a choice, Lucy," he breathes back, so low she almost doesn't hear him. He holds her gaze for a long moment. "Sometimes there are just no good options."
She wants to ask what their other options are, but chooses not to. "How far are we from Jorah?"
AN: All right, wow, this ended up longer than expected! Sorry for any mistakes! I'm in a bit of a rush to finish this! If this can hit 50 reviews, I'll send every reviewer a preview of the next chapter!
Glossary of World-building terms (all of these have been created by me, unless otherwise stated. Though, some do have roots in real languages/mythology):
Djehl: Fire God from the northlands that granted the Berserks their strength/inner fire.
Djerda: Goddess of the night and the mother of Djehl.
Ðüskell [Ju-skell]: Capital of Pergrande. The standard currency of Pergrande is "crowns."
Jorah [jor-ah]: A town separating the Iron Mountains in the West from the rest of Pergrande.
Jernnas [Jeh-ern-az]: Iron Mountains. [Base comes from "Jern" the Norwegian word for iron.]
Ellyra [El-eye-rah]: Formal name of the fairy trees. Rumored to house the souls of slain Fae within their trunks. The trees are semi-sentient, and can speak, though only to those who they want to hear. The trees are tall, with pale colored bark (white, to a light grey as the trees grow old) and red leaves. The trees bleed red sap, and in the Northlands they are commonly called Azgetta meaning "the bleeding" or alternatively "the weeping."