AGE WARNING:
This work is one of dark nature. If you're below the age of 16, then you're better off reading something else. I don't profess to follow my country's rules where only foreigners like G.R.R Martin and Miura Kentaro can write dark fiction. At the same time, my responsibility to restrain myself doesn't mean sensitive people won't be offended. I'm a storyteller, but I'm not an activist. For every Meghan Markle, there is a Dazai Osamu.
A Requiem From Winter Past
The Wolf, Lion, And Maiden Fair
(Written by Cocteau L'Enfant Naturel)
Chapter 2-The Lion And His Dream
"A dream is made of two things: The sweetest nectar and the most bitter truth."
~Araea eos Clochneid
)0(
Rias Morris is annoyed, a shout as loud as a lion's roar sending a jolt through his heart and into the head. While everybody was sound asleep, the most incredible idiot alive shattered their peace. A forceful grip pulls the dreamer off his bed, his object of wrath sprawled face-first on the wooden floor. Greeted by sapphire eyes wide open, every recruit sends his glowering regard to a sandy blond of average looks.
"Erm... it's a dream, no?"
Cairos Ryvers gives a sheepish grin, his brown shorts and a white collarless shirt mirroring what the rest are wearing.
"You're having a nightmare," snaps his closest friend with a growl and grimace, his fiery hair mirroring anger. "To be straight, I don't give a flying shit on why you're screaming like someone shafted by a ten-foot pole. But don't wake us up for the love of the Holy Quintet!"
"Did I scream that loud, Marv?"
Cairos's question becomes the fuel feeding a simmering fire of annoyance, his hand running through his cropped sandy blonde hair.
"If a mutt can't bark, it ain't one." snarls Marvus Creek, his hands seizing Cairos by the front of his shirt, "You better pray our bunk officers won't end up hearing a stuck pig screaming. Ever wondered how the gods judge an annoying moron?"
Cairos feels like a swine ready for slaughter for the first time since he accidentally punched a parishioner years ago. An image conjured itself into his mind. A morbid picture looms, a macabre portrait of countless knives stuck in his body playing games with him. For some reason, castration feels like a better option.
"I get the picture."
"The picture of a stuck pig."
With a retort, the redhead cursed with a history of being an accomplice in every misdemeanour mouths a silent prayer for a miracle. Despite being one to scoff at the idea of divine intervention, Marvus already accepted this as the only solution to Cairos's buffoonery.
"Why are all of you standing here?"
A question hollered cuts swiftly into every listener's ears, its impact a beacon of warning. Fifteen lads hastily stand in ranks of three before their bunk officer, his sturdy frame decked in padded armour.
“Marvus Creek and Cairos Ryvers! Why are you not standing at attention?"
"Sorry, Sir! We're way too engrossed in teaching our friend how civilisation works."
Grett Mains shakes his head in amusement, for taking charge of the infamous Fifth Unit is either the greatest joke or the cruellest jest. While troublemakers belong to the minority in any army, seasons in the military taught the brunette fighter how to be a pragmatist. A few rotten apples are enough to spoil a crateful, let alone a unit of living absurdities among an army.
"You're crazy beyond cure, Marv! Why mention civi..."
A slap across the head cuts off Cairos's response as Marvus is in no mood for mercy.
"Shut up! You'll get us all shafted."
Delivering a wry smile conceived by well-humoured nature, Grett Mains doesn't have to be a genius to know the answer. Cairos Ryvers has developed a notorious reputation ever since he assaulted a judge and an acquitted rapist on the same day, his weapon of choice an iron stick grabbed from gods-know-where.
"It's only natural for people to have nightmares."
Exaggeratedly clearing his throat, Grett continues his speech.
"But no more heroics! The Fifth Unit's reputation isn't everybody's fault. Still, I also know beating up rapists and authority figures is a matter of choice. Understand me, lads?"
The youths under his charge sing a song of relief inside, the jaws of Seven Infernos finally giving up the chase. One dumb moment could have shafted them ten times over, each individual making a mental note to buy himself a carving knife lest an idiot decides to do something shocking again.
"Listen up! With all things said, prepare yourselves for the roll call. Dawn is nearing. May the roar be with us! Understand?"
With his proclamation done, a grinning Grett Mains sweeps a right hand dramatically across.
"Yes, Sir!"
Grett leaves the bunk as vigour makes its premature entrance, every resident's need for slumber gone. Random chatter soon supplants every pair of tired eyes without exception.
"It's good to have nice bloke Grett as our bunk chief. Luckier than me playing buff poker with those idiots from Welos."
"You hypocrite. When was the last time a cretin beat up an intelligent person from Welos or Thebis?"
"Last week? Or was that last month? You need to tell me, Marv."
"Cairos Ryvers, I swear you're asking for…"
Before Marvus can finish voicing his thoughts, the morning bell tolls. Anticipation washes over Cairos, his passionate grin worn like a badge of pride. The sandy blond cracks his knuckles, inner fire coursing inside. He spent four rigorous seasons at the Mesatos Academy. The life he badly wants begins its path. This is the prologue to a hero's tale, the beginning of a story. The bathhouse is to be his next destination, the banner of Lionian Brethren emblazoned inside his mind and heart.
)0(
Breakfast is a fare of bread and cheese. Officers and recruits dine alike, their seats placed side by side. Regulars steer clear from such practice, for this is an act earning scorn. They call it a rarity, an insult to the military. The Lionian Brethren would have none of it, their penchant for causing the occasional trouble always appreciated by the smallborne. Arrests begetting only confinement worth a week or two, the situation used to be worse until the Senate approved new laws prohibiting vigilantism. Peddlers of rumours whisper the Emperor is unwilling to rein them in, a laughable tale since Antios III is known as the Iron Yew for his impartiality. No matter what, they belong to the smallborne more than any other Hallenian. Status and rank can burn in the Seven Infernos for all they care. Their motto would always stay unchanged, an obnoxious insult to the rich and elite: Shaft the status. Shaft the money. Shaft the kings.
"Not bad at all. Given I've tasted shit before."
With a quip and an off-tune whistle, Cairos's plate is cleared and returned.
"This isn't Thebis, where not even the Holy Quintet know what their cooks are smoking before lighting the stove," chuckles Marvus, his foul mood dissipated. "There's a bit of time before we gear up, so why not a little bant?"
"I agree. Beater and..."
Cairos Ryvers promptly receives his due for outspoken enthusiasm, a punch across the back of the skull his reward.
)0(
"Are you thinking with your arse?" snaps a wrathful Marvus, his red hair ruffled in frustration. "Who told you to out ourselves? Do you even know what that nickname means?"
"Calm down, Marv!"
"I suspect the only way for me to do that is to roast you alive. I know Cairos Ryvers is Beater, but are you so obsessed with letting the entire Teslon know my nickname?"
"Erm… yes? You're good at pleasing girls. And Elys is one."
"You should've accepted Adarl's request for marriage when you got the chance. Shaft her, and at least you won't leave this world pathetically. A right shame she made that offer when we're too young to beat people up since she went missing after you probably said something dumb."
"Adarl?"
"Yes, Adarl. Anything wrong with my cold-hard truth?"
With eyebrows raised and a question asked, Marvus' annoyance increases an irritated tone.
"That pretty serving girl at Uncle Chard's inn?"
"Not just an ordinary idiot, huh?" sighs the redhead, exasperation wearing him down like an insatiable lover. "You blind arsehole, which Adarl are we talking about? Yes, I did see that beautiful girl. Slim, but pity she got a small stack."
"Well, that's Adarl."
"Are we talking about the same person, you retarded bastard? You better don't tell me a different Adarl took your virginity."
No sooner a sardonic barb left his lips, shock dawns upon Marvus Creek. Realisation seizes him, a gaping look revealing something he'd rather die than admit to. If there's a unique trait in Adarl everyone knows, it'd be a mole below her eye as if it's more of a teardrop than a birthmark.
"Wait a holy moment. Please don't tell me…"
"I was about to tell you I saw her last month during our final trench leave!" grins Cairos with a victor's look, his mischievous smile feeding the redhead a massive slice of humiliation. "Can you believe she recognised me first?"
I must be hearing things. I must be hearing things. Seriously, that stick-thin ugly duckling Adarl?
"Oh, and one more thing, Marv. I didn't shaft her. Not in the past and not recently. Her father would have hanged me for that."
)0(
The Empire's underbelly is never for the weak and ignorant. There are always more than a few dark corners and alleys as ominousness casts itself over every lane. Many robbers lie in wait while smugglers haggle brazenly with buyers. No tavern is a stranger to the darkest sins. Fittingly so for a place known as a nether district where money, power, and the ruthless speak the loudest.
"So, how's the business?"
No woman should ever be comfortable before lecherous leers, yet not a finger is laid on Adarl Tayne. Unlike its counterparts, the Coral Sea would not hesitate to throw out patrons guilty of starting fights or deeds ten times worse. Tales of barmaids raped are commonplace, its keeper uninterested in trouble.
"Closing by autumn. It's a good thing I was informed before you decided to risk your body."
Why Lukas Broun would ever wind down a successful business is anyone's guess, for the Coral Sea's intolerance towards lawlessness is always the most attractive draw. Not every patron has the hobby of strangling his neighbour, for violence is only enjoyable to those not at the receiving end.
"Tell me what you know about Cairos," says Adarl as she sips her drink, an offer of hospitality on the house. The brandy served is no ordinary grade, for her discerning taste recognises it as a Histalonian craft. Assuming Lukas was truthful in claiming legality, only the gods knew how he managed to secure his stock constantly. Not all things expensive are good, but at least a good drink is bound to cost significantly more.
"Me? Why always me? You should be asking those more righteous than a knave."
"I just need to know what happened between you four seasons ago."
"Let me assure you Cairos is my friend," answers Lukas, a smirk and wagging finger taunting Adarl. "Unless he desires it, I won't get him into trouble. Let alone myself."
"I heard that place was where the village of Redcart used to be. He could have asked Marv along, but he didn't."
Adarl's reply and expression tell the same tale. There are things the willowy brunette has to know. She witnessed before another Cairos Ryvers: Someone resembling an animal of justice instead of that clueless boy holding her heart captive long ago.
Lukas starts laughing aloud, the attractive lad courting more frustration from an equally beautiful lass.
"Which means he trusts me more than his best friend? It's good that Marvus Creek isn't around to hear you say that. He'd pick a fight with me. That one may be a decent brawler, but he's too honourable to understand you win fights through a knife in the gut."
"Marv injured himself."
Her composure fraying faster than an arrow loosed, Adarl is in no mood for pointless talk.
"An amusing accident involving a tree. Marv shouldn't have done something stupid to impress Elys," replies Lukas, his mirth the answer to Adarl's retort. "She'd still warm his bed willingly for the night, idiocy or no idiocy."
For the Holy Quintet's sake, tell me what's going on back then!
"Cairos wanted to confront his past. A past which he has no idea about."
Visage turning sombre with a sigh, Lukas leans against a shelf of liquor bottles.
"But if he can't..."
Dismissive wave cutting off words of concern, Lukas caresses Adarl's chin to her disgust. She has never taken a liking to Lukas Broun, her disdain having nothing to do with his preference towards men. He is always one step ahead of the rest, his hand never revealed until the time comes. The owner of Coral Sea is a master plotter. And Adarl holds no love for tricksters and swindlers after the manner of her cousin's suicide.
"Everyone has a past. You too, Adarl Tayne. Remember random boys taunting how stick-thin and ugly you are? You have truly blossomed. Apart from your breasts, of course. That's a compliment, not an insult. There's no such thing as perfect beauty."
"I don't see the relevance," says Adarl, her frustration snapping at its target.
"Yes, there is. Some choose to forget. Others choose not to let go. We're all like that. Such is why you choose to love a man regardless of whether he loves you back."
Chagrin consumes Adarl, her palm ready to strike. However, Lukas grips her wrist before the slap begins its descent, his deceptive strength forcing her to give up.
"Then there's our common friend forced to forget and cursed with the urge not to let go."
Lukas releases Adarl's hand as he finishes his statement, his confidence in her not retaliating justified.
"Did you two discover anything?"
With a curt reply, Adarl concedes defeat. Then her eyes stray towards a male patron, a grinning sober man attempting to force himself on one of the serving girls.
"Nothing."
Without warning, Lukas strides towards the offender with a dagger drawn. A left-handed grip grabs the fool by his face, a knife swiftly buried into the neck.
"My work is never done. Can someone please take out the rubbish?"
Returning to Adarl's view, Lukas tosses another knife upwards and catches it by the tip.
"I have nothing against excited men, but not in my backyard. So where did we stop?"
With those words, he plunges the blade against the counter table.
"You didn't ask why I'm interested in Cairos's past."
A question posed masking the intent to test, Lukas nevertheless detects Adarl's move.
"That's because I don't care who he marries so long she can keep an eye on him. I owe him a debt, but I don't expect myself to be worthy of repaying that lion of a man."
"What debt?"
"Does it matter? We don't share the same bed, but I know the two of you will. Mind you, my informants are everywhere."
)0(
"You can't touch me! I am under protection!"
Cairos didn't blink in front of someone clearly in hysteria. Whether an acquitted rapist should be protected wasn't his business. The sandy blond went to the Imperial Zoo once, the thought of someone feeding this dastardly dog to a hungry beast an entertaining notion.
"Stop it, Cairos. Bastard's not worth your time."
"Well, he's not worth yours as well, Brouno."
If there's anything he understood, it would be those self-murmured words. If he wanted something done, he'd get it done. If someone could get away with rape and branding a witness a lying whoreson, this witness could also get away with what he's about to do.
"Cairos, you hear me? Do it and the law will go after you!"
Getting sick and tired of people telling him about the law, the being of wrath wondered what the good old days were like before he was born. The fact of changes was undeniable, but it didn't mean people shouldn't be tossed into the River Tes so long no one stepped forward. Marvus was yelling for nothing. Lukas' advice wouldn't work a shit. Cairos took down a self-righteous judge less than a day ago, for the worth of integrity was never something to the arrogant.
"The law protects me!"
Those words were undoubtedly the most laughable jest Cairos had heard. Was it the law of the gods or the law of men? Cairos Ryvers was not religious, maybe even someone who never believed in higher powers in the first place. Questioning the existence of deities was always a pain in the arse, the sandy blond concluding time wasted on something without an answer is time better spent elsewhere.
"Tell me... tell me how many girls you have shafted."
The scoundrel's face froze on the spot, a sight worth more than a sea of precious gems.
"How many?"
Anger boiled inside Cairos as he interrogated a criminal, for the enforcer understood only the rights and wrongs in their purest forms. If that fellow believed what he did was funny, it meant a real comedy was about to be shown. The falling iron rod clanging on the ground, Cairos's gesture was not of mercy. Given a choice, he'd prefer murder. But there's a promise he must fulfil with Irlia. Hence, he couldn't risk it all just because of an injustice served.
"Well, you know what people say about retribution?"
If Cairos must recall any lesson learnt from his uncle, it'd be that righteousness is a god who always wins. He rued not making a wager with Marvus Creek and Lukas Broun, for he was sure this person would be rendered impotent by the end of everything. Forcing the legs open, Cairos was more than prepared to stamp a foot down to the crotch.
"No!"
Seeing an arsehole scream was one thing, but watching him black out was priceless. The best part of his life was this. Given a choice, Cairos Ryvers wouldn't trade this moment for anything else apart from Irlia's hand in marriage.
"Oh my gods! Parkyns' lad killed him!"
"Pah, that son of a hundred-year bitch! Who cares?"
Even though there was no way to prove it, maybe the gods were real. Cairos did not know the two old men, but the meaning behind an approving grin said it all. A strong hand gripped his shoulder, relief overtaking Cairos upon knowing who.
"Moron! What if you killed him? Trading a scum for jail? Who's your classroom teacher?"
"It's not as if he's dead. So keep calm, Marv. It's the end."
Cairos lied, for it's not the end. He would throw that lawbreaker down a dried well. Either that or permanent impotence would be the verdict. Then there's still the iron stick pilfered from his uncle's forge.
"No, Cairos. That's enough! More of it, and he will die."
Lukas' rebuke held Cairos in his place. It was the ability to reason and win that made it possible. Marvus was far less an idiot than Cairos, a fact all acknowledged. But if someone could convince another that what's dead was alive and what's alive was a goner, no one could do so like Lukas Broun. The brunette then smiled as if something good was happening or already happened.
"Guess he lost control of his bladder."
"So how are you going to clear up our retarded friend's mess, Luk?" queried Marvus, his question marked by a shrug. "First the judge, now him. I don't mean the pissing part, by the way."
"I'll make sure he lives. And while I'm at it, staying noiseless as well."
)0(
"So how fared your source of information?"
There is no difference between days ago and now. The attractive elf's silvery blond hair remains slicked back and tied. Elongated ears flippantly caressed, this is a figure of unflappable confidence and eerie calm. A maroon doublet is worn over a white shirt and secured by a silken sash. Trousers of linen and leather shoes complete the look.
If there is anyone Adarl detests most in dealing with, it's never Lukas Broun. At least he has a predictability, namely his friendship with Cairos. This other individual is a different kind of monster altogether, for his emerald eyes never betray a trace of emotions while smiling like a cunning rogue. Before their first meeting, Adarl already knew how elves looked. Hauntingly fair and aloof, each always places a hand on the handle of a weapon as a show of force. No one tried asking them the manner of their business. Such has been the fear they commanded. More often than not, a passing banter involving elven women would result in a life mysteriously gone. The speaker's tongue would go missing again, a dagger wedged between the victim's shoulder blades.
"I have a request for you, my fair lady. In return, I will tell you something you want."
Edeaux eos Nimhein seized the initiative, his negotiation style unbecoming of the Homm'Nua. They prefer the direct approach, their pride a stumbling block. He introduced himself as a seafaring merchant from Histalonia, his words not entirely false. His past was in Croiduns, home to his people. But his present is now in a land of money, status, and power. A place of skulduggery with no reprieve for the weak and tardy is where he belongs.
"I know you desire a certain man. I also feel the same for another. My informant told me both parties know each other as friends. Please check on him. Ask away any questions in your mind before him, and I shall see that a fitting reward for your efforts."
"He's fine," says Adarl, her wary brown eyes focusing on the surroundings. Knowing anyone capable of preventing deplorable men from doing their worst can easily be the same kind of brute, any assumption of a Histalonian keeping his end of the bargain holds no meaning. After all, she knows what kind of nightmare the Island of Dreams is. No one laid a hand on her back then as Lukas was sighted waiting for her. Something wasn't right with the situation, for Lukas warned her not to trust a snake while escorting her through the nether region. When questioned, he murmured about choosing between an adder's venom and a viper's poison.
"Why should I give you a new home in one of my many bordellos? You are a fine maiden, but I have a better one in mind. Here in Teslon, no less. No offence intended towards your bosom."
Edeaux's smirk never loses its curve, his relaxed posture one of a feline waiting to pounce.
"Fine then. As promised…"
Laughter from the elf interrupts Adarl's words, his reply cutting short her statement.
"There is a hidden orphanage in the ruins of Redcart. Hidden because a forest now stands where a boy's lost childhood used to live. A small patch of land from my best of knowledge, no more than a few acres by my estimation."
"They say it's haunted."
The speaker is not Adarl, the voice all too familiar to both listeners. A slim figure dressed in bartender's garb greets them both, his androgynous features bringing slow applause from Edeaux.
"Ah, all hail the one whom I brought up."
"Spare me your greeting, Serpent. Adarl, please leave here at once."
Lukas' blue eyes of anger catch Adarl off guard. The daughter of Chard Tayne knows trouble is nearing. As she turns her back on the two, Edeaux's message manages to reach her ears, the clarity akin to a king's herald announcing his liege's coming.
"Seeing a red-haired maiden or her dark brooding knight means you are on the right path. Make sure the damsel is Ciras and her guardian Kain."
)0(
What in the Seven Infernos?
This dream again?
How many times I've been through this?
I'm standing in the middle of this blizzard again. Everyone is dead. Some look familiar, but I don't know who. The rest are just strangers. There's this girl with her head cut off. The colour of her hair is like the reddish snow.
Do I know her?
"Can you keep up with me?"
I hate that voice without knowing why. His emotionless tone makes me feel like punching him.
Part of myself says this fellow is responsible, but the greater half of me denies it. Like always, he's dressed in dark green and a brown leather vest. Grey gloves reach below his elbows, and his boots are knee-high. Then there's this bloodstained sword in his hand and a grey cloak flapping wildly towards one side.
My legs feel numb even though I don't feel the cold. My vision is blurring without the pain. My joints are already stiff, but my fists remain clenched.
"Can you keep up with me?"
Yet the same old question from the same old arsehole. A fire flares up inside. Its warmth rouses me. Its presence reminds me of something which I can't remember. Bloody Seven Infernos, returning to Redcart really made me and Brouno look like a pair of running idiots going after a prize that wasn't there.
Sky blue eyes, long ears, and brown skin is a look I'll never forget. His hair is short and parted to the side, but the rest of his face remains hazy. You better try keeping up with me instead, bastard!
I start running after him. There's no way I will lose. There's no way I can lose to him! I can surely keep up with him. I will do so!
)0(
Glossary
Holy Quintet: The collective name of the gods of the Causaceans' official religion. There are five of them: the Father, the Planter, the Warrior, the Learner, and the Juror.
Welos, Thebis, Mesatos, Teslon: Four of the ten northern regions of the Hallenian Empire.
Lionian Brethren: The only militia officially recognised by the Empire's central government based in the northern regions and restricted within the boundaries.
Bant: An informal word for banter.
Shaft: An informal term for having sex.
Trench leave: Any period of rest given to members of the military.
Imperial Zoo: One of the numerous parks in the Hallenian Empire where animals and birds are held in captivity for people's viewing purposes.
River Tes: A major river in the northern regions irrigating the lands of Teslon, Thebis, and Welos.
