Saturday March 21st 2015

Cesare was deep in his plans when Elizabeth opened the door behind him. There were a lot of ways to kill bugs, but none of them scaled to the queens level. Any poison strong enough to affect them would kill half the student body, and Cesare didn’t think that was the show everyone was looking for.

She came up behind him, looking over his shoulder as he hunched over the stone table with a battered spiral notebook. The plan was barely more concrete than a shadow at midnight. Quietly watching him work, she was intensely interested in this private part of Cesare.

“You're worried.” The statement was barely louder than a breath.

Absently, he answered the unspoken question. “In the other fights I had things to work from. I knew what the creatures were and could guess at their motivations. I don’t know what these things will do. Any plan I make has to take that into account. They’re something even the Grand Master of the Order of the Dragon's wary of, and their coming to kill us. Yeah, I’m worried.”

Unsure what to do, she gave the only answer she could. “You’ll find a way. You always do.”

Cesare ran his hands through his hair in weary frustration. “Until I don’t.” The muffled words came out as a curse. “This isn’t a fight; it'll be a bloodbath with no place between. Either we win or we all die. The girls know they can’t win in a straight fight with the queens. Alexandra, a killer that's never blinked at a fight in her life's, depending on me to give her an unstoppable edge. Anastasia's good, but she’s not ready to fight something that's trained since it was born to kill. These aren’t fighters, they’re predators looking for a meal.”

Elizabeth's hand gripped his shoulder, the comfort hurting more than any punch ever had. It was so much easier to be unwanted. At least when you were frozen inside nothing hurt. “Are you more afraid of dying or failing?”

Cesare looked at the paper for a long minute, lost in himself. “I should have died on the street. Hunger, cold, or old men looking for a young fuck. I didn't keep going because I thought it would get better, it never does. But because I didn’t know how to quit. When I came here, I found life could be about something, that you could live your life for someone.” Elizabeth’s hand clenched onto his shoulder, painfully tight.

“You could live for yourself,” Elizabeth said, the words soft with sorrow.

Picking up the pen, he started drawing again. “You can only live for the things you love.” Elizabeth’s breath caught on her low hurt sound, not for herself, but for him. For a broken child, maimed beyond saving, crippled into a caricature of a man.

The gods know he’d tried to love himself, and he’d keep trying. But that said it all. You don’t try to love; you either do or don’t, anything in between is lip service to get through the day. Some days, some moments, he believed, but the truth was so much more real than any lie. Lies need constant care, the truth thrived with cancerous growth on it own. He'd probably never love himself; his worth was in what he could do for others.

Her hand ran down his hair. She cared for him, even if it wasn’t the kind he wished for. As much as he thrilled at her touch, it hurt, made him hope for things that could never be. And when he faced that reality, he could only find fault with himself. If he was better looking instead of this ugly misshapen thing, if he’d been born smarter or stronger … so many things he wasn’t and would never be.

She watched him work, fingers running through his hair. There was no way to heal the brokenness in him, any more than he could heal her scars. It was a hard thing to realize you were broken, and harder still to face the fact you couldn't be fixed. Sometimes all you could do for someone was be there, some orphaned days it was enough.

He worked for an hour on the plans before sighing and setting them aside. “I’ll have to come back to this later.”

Taking her hand back, Elizabeth refocused him on the here and now. The campus still needed a thousand and one things that wouldn’t get done if he didn’t do them. It was a relief to turn his mind from carnage and slaughter to growing things and the woman with warm brown eyes.

The trees had suffered from last year’s hot summer, pulling deeply from stores of water and nutrients to make it through. This year’s heat was taxing the green brothers, pushing them close to sickness. Their weakness filled the air with chemicals, drawing insects like chum in the water.

Elizabeth wasn't about to let one of her children go down under burrowing beetles or net weavers. In her uncompromising war against sickness, Cesare was her first line of defense. Weighted down with yards of rubber, he strung them into a web work of sweating hoses, dribbling a steady stream of life giving water to her green friends.

That was the idea but as lunch came around, Cesare wasn’t even half done. He’d long ago dropped his sweater off at the cottage. His hair was a wet tangle of darkness, hints of auburn burning under the suns glare, long strands dripping sweat down his back. Molded to his body, the white shirt hugged hard, uncompromising angles. Starved flesh wrapped whipcord muscle, draped over stark bone. With the amount of training he put himself through, it was impossible to keep any softness on his body.

The ravens told him all he needed to know; they littered the tree like deaths fruit, calling down insults. Some had taken a shine to him, but they still preferred Elizabeth. Who could blame them? He was right there with them.

The black knives clothed in feathers had announced her arrival. Eyes running over his body, something flared before she killed it at the root. Taking in the sweating hoses, she nodded happily. “We'll need to work on it after lunch, but this should do for a start.”

He left her by the willow while he went for food. The regulars looked up from the cafeteria tables before ducking their heads. Most of them didn't have friends to take them to town, others were working on homework. Between them existed the lost, the ones ditched by lovers or friends.

As soon as the ravens saw him coming, they rushed him in a blur of black feathers and eager caws. Laughing, he pushed through them as they landed on his arms, grabbing wildly for the nuggets and fries. Cesare had fought this battle before and learned to keep the ravens tray on top, covering the other two.

Entering the safe space around Elizabeth, they burst from him in a cloud of playful malice. She tried without success to suppress her grin at their game. “You spoil them outrageously.” It was meant as a complaint, but it came across far too warm.

Taking a seat, Cesare handed over her tray. Watching the squabbling ravens, his words were quiet. “They don’t mean any harm. How many things can I say that about?”

No matter how aggressive the ravens seemed, they made sure everyone got fed. It was done with skillful drops that looked like clumsy fumbles, but food always seemed to land close a smaller raven. They were old friends, showing their love through fighting and name calling.

The two settled the comfortable silence that was the territory of good friends as they watched death’s favored. Never having grown up with a friend, the art of small talk didn't come easy. Instead, they walked through the quiet together.

They’d learned the peace of the lonely. Listened to the whispers that spoke when the world was still. Touched the soft places of the heart when velvet blackness fell across the soul. You can't know yourself with others around, that journey can only be walked alone and in the silent stillness of the night.

There was no sight in those stygian depths, no light intrudes with its caustic voice and painful scrutiny. In that silky, quiet sanctuary, you can feel others if they’re close, a pressure in the currents, a deeper darkness to the ebony waters. Those who've made the lifeless waters their own, recognize other deep dwellers.

Finishing his lunch, Cesare laid back, looking up into the branches of the willow. The ravens groomed each other with lazy contentment that quickly devolved into fights, discordant caws breaking the silence of the day. Struggling for the best branch, the birds glared at each other in puff balls of ruffled feathers and frizzy anger.

A cool breeze blew through the tree, long willow vines rustling in its wake, Cesare's sweaty shirt cooled against his chest. The melancholy of the tree smoothed over the hard edges of his mood. The work was good for him, too busy sweating and cursing to worry about the fights. Relaxing back, Cesare let the heat roll over him with a sigh of contentment.

Elizabeth laid down next to him. Far enough away that no one would think they were together, close enough to tempt Cesare into reaching for her hand. He wanted more than this, ached to hold her, but if he couldn’t have it, he could live with this.

Closing his eyes, his mind quieted the dreams of what could be. The twisted pleasures of the moment wrapped around him as sweet as summer dreams and piercing as winters hunger. He wanted this moment to last forever and for it to have never been. Pain at not having what he wanted warped under the pleasure at having so much.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that with the trees ever crying vines swaying above them. He was certain he could have happily stayed in that purgatory, tormented by the velvet caress of his feelings barbed chains.

Seeing Elizabeth getting up, Cesare flowed to his feet, holding out a hand for her. Smiling, she looked up at him before taking the offer. Soft and warm, with only a trace of calluses, her grip was stronger than her voluptuous curves would seem to lead to. Cesare stepped back as he pulled her up, unwilling to see that uncomfortable look that shadowed her eyes when he was too close.

It was hours before Cesare finished the net of hoses. While he’d worked on the web, Elizabeth had taken care of the special ones. Taking new soil to the worst affected and setting out hoses just for them. He worked alone, only crossing paths with her every now and then.

It was past dark when he pushed the door to the cabin open. Looking up from her work, Elizabeth game him a smile. “I wasn’t sure if I’d have to come and collect you.”

“Took me longer than I expected,” Cesare said while putting the tools back into their spots.

Shaking her head, she walked over to the cabinet of teas and eldritch potions. “I didn’t expect you to get it done today. Not that I’m complaining, I just thought I'd help you tomorrow.”

“That would've been nice to know before,” Cesare said dryly, stretching his muscles with a grunt of pain.

Hearing the pain in his voice, Elizabeth looked him over concern tightening her eyes. “You strain something?”

Sitting down with a sigh of relief, Cesare gave a weary nod. Even with the pain tightening his back there was never a thought of cutting the night early. Taking up the chess pieces, he set the board for their first game of the night.

Turning thoughtful, Elizabeth turned back to her teas. Relaxing at the familiar sight, his eyes drank in the sight of her body with a sense of deep contentment. He loved looking at her, loved it with a kind of sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The blue jeans hugged her wide hips and fat bottomed ass, denim broken in from years it molded to her body. She’d worn a short sleeved shirt that hid her curves.

Holding her hands over the cups, her voice filled the empty cottage.

Brigid of the Healing Flame, I call to you.

Bless this humble brew with your healing flame.

Let your touch make holy my poor craft.

Kiss us with your ever-renewing flame so we too are renewed.

Cast out our pains with your sacred flame.

Elizabeth’s sonorous words pushed at the boundaries of reality, calling something from beyond the bounds of time. Heavy and hot, the air shuddered as something old and yet new, wise in the way of the world and young as spring, pushed into this forgotten, stale dimension. Life eternal, a season always yet to come and passed before man had fouled the earth.

It came to Elizabeth’s call, bearing centuries of time like a tree bears leaves. A heat haze flickered around Elizabeth’s hands, caressing flesh, dancing over the two cups. If a flicker of distortion could be happy it was, a thing of air and fire radiating ecstatic joy. Playfully tip toeing atop the tea, it left a wake of barely seen sparks, rolling across Elizabeth’s hands with a giggle, it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Eyes wide, Elizabeth walked unsteadily over to Cesare. “They come so easily ...” she murmured more to herself than him.

Stretching his shoulders in pain, Cesare sipped his tea gratefully, muscles loosening under the blessings of the goddess. “They don’t always?”

Taking her seat, her eyes touched him briefly before focusing on the chess board. “I told you already.”

“You told me you were surprised at the ritual,” Cesare corrected reaching for a black pawn.

“I’ve tried that blessing dozens of times over the years.” Quiet, the words ghosted over the flickering flame between them. “She's come to my call less than a handful of times, maybe, if you squint really hard. Every time I call the Old Ones when you’re around, they rush into this reality with an eagerness that strains the fabric of our dimension.”

Cesare sat back, looking across the board at Elizabeth. He’d never given it any thought, to him it was a onetime thing and not worth thinking about. The blessing of Yule she'd given him had melded with his body seamlessly, making it impossible for him to see where they started and he finished.

The Old Ones weren’t here; they didn’t give him a hand up when he was down. They didn’t save him when the Scythianswere hunting his flesh. There was no powerful figure to stop the bullies from beating him bloody. It would be nice to be special to someone that could buy him a meal. A god's love didn't stop hunger from hallowing you out or the hands that reached out from shadows for tender parts.

Studying him, her voice was quiet. “It doesn’t matter to you,” she stated wonderingly. “My people would do anything to draw them the way you do. If you were Chthonic, I'd say you were destined to join the Elementa Dominantium. But you’re not, and instead of being excited, you look at me as if I'd given you a C on your homework.”

Sipping from his cup, the rough scales rasped against his callouses. Aa long moment passed broken only by her move on the chess board. Reaching out, he countered with his own move. “They don’t mean anything to me.”

“They could help you.” Capturing his cold eyes, she continued, “We don’t believe in mindless faith. You make bargains with the gods like you would a man, deal enforced only if they hold up their side. Why should we judge a god to a lesser standard than a man?”

“They like you more than anyone I’ve ever seen or heard of. If you were to bargain with them, they could help,” Elizabeth said quietly. “I’m not talking about giving them your soul, but worship, good works, a willingness to protect their faith. They could grant you blessings.”

Avoiding her eyes, he played for a while, quickly losing piece after piece as she decimated his army of plastic. “I don’t like owing others. Those that barter favors aren’t the people or gods I want on my side.”

She quickly beat him into the ground. “I think it’s more than that.”

Smiling, he met her sharp eyes, as he took a sip from his cup. “I believe in people. Not gods, institutions, unicorns, or anything else. Meat gets you through the day and offers a shoulder at the end. Faith's a fickle bitch that never pays her due.”

Elizabeth took his heavily calloused hand, meeting Cesare's cruel eyes with goddess born warmth. “You’re wrong. Faith's what carried me when I lacked the strength to walk. It holds me when I’m falling, mends the torn places in my soul and soothes the darkest of my days. It’s a strength Cesare, a vital part of life that makes it worth living.”

Weaving their fingers together, he met her earnest eyes. “You got yourself out of those places, not anyone else. Maybe faith helped, but it was your faith. I don’t need an afterlife; this world's more than enough for me. Beautifully monstrous as it butchers its children with gleeful abandon.”