Fate's Mask - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Jacobi was twelve when the rumors started. The old village widows had always had a negative word (or several) for the twins – too different, some would say; others, too similar. Twins. A bad omen.

Nothing but trouble.

All of this, of course, before he carried the battered, shriveled little monster back to his home. Before he stowed he in a safe place, before he started talking to her, before he started talking about her.

That was where the trouble really began. The Fveltans were not a simple-minded race – they knew children, they knew children's creations. It was known, and tolerated, even for girls – but only up to a point. In the eyes of his City, Jacobi was far too old for imaginary friends, and they were starting to wonder.

"Dani, can we have some extra water? Please?"

"No, for the last time, your imaginary friend does not deserve an extra water ration, so stop asking!"

"B-but, she's not imaginary! Her name is Elysium and she's my friend and she's a monster!" Jacobi started out stuttering in indignation, but by the time he finished, his small chest was puffed out in pride for his friend. Dani, thoroughly unimpressed, raised the water scoop in one smooth threatening gesture. As the tin glinted in the sunlight, Jacobi and his brother gulped and scuttled backwards.

"Sorry, water master!"

"Thank you, water master!"

Once they were safely out of earshot, Mikhail wasted no time berating his brother. "Jake! They're going to think you're mad!"

"Why would they do that?"

Mikhail rolled his eyes. He'd been doing that a lot lately, he realized. Always directed at his brother. "Gee, I dunno. You keep talking about this imaginary friend – no, don't bother, I know – and they're never going to believe you, so stop trying!"

"But... but she is real..."

"And so is zulii's belt!" Mikhail shouted. The pair's perpetually tanned faces were ruddy with anger and exasperation and righteous. At his brother's outburst, though, Jacobi shut his mouth, retreating into the dark sulk that had become his favorite place as of late.

It was just so incredibly frustrating to Mikhail. They had been close – so, so close, even after the rumors had first starts. But as he had heard conversation after conversation, seemingly into midair, Mikhail was increasingly convinced of his own twin's insanity. He would watch him through a crack in the door, and each time would be more appalling than the next.

"Are you hungry?" Pause. "No? Okay. You need some light?" Another pause, then his brother's face would light up like the bright desert sun and the curtains would be thrown open to let that sun in, bathing the walls and floorboards in a brilliant gold. And Jacobi would smile, this big, goofy, happy smile that Mikhail hadn't seen on his brother's face in far too long.

As Mikhail would back away from that crack in the door, he wondered if that smile would ever ease his worries.

When lay awake hours later, he decided that no, his precious brother's smile did not lessen the problem.

It made things worse.

______________________________________________________________

Gasping, panting, wheezing – the sounds of the dying filled the soldier's ears as he stumbled through the wreckage. It was an assault on the senses, war was: sticky blood, clinging to every surface imaginable; the stench of freshly slaughtered men; the moans of the wounded; the taste of some anonymous enemy's life on the tongue; the sight of death everywhere.

Everywhere.

Absently, as if to put his mind away from the grotesque scene before him, the soldier wondered if the boys back home would be so eager to volunteer for the war if they knew it was like this. The destruction, the chaos – he wondered if the recruitment lines would be quite so long if they only knew the reality.

He was pretty sure he knew the ugly reality of that one.

When the war had started, it was a different story. The peace built on ignorance had been culminating for centuries – when the king had signed the damning declaration, everyone, young and old, had jumped at the chance to fight for their fragile kingdom.

Nobody among that 'everyone' was prepared for the result.

The fighting had dragged on and on – the result of poorly trained generals with poor tactics and poorly trained soldiers. The man slouching through the rubble around him knew he was no better. He found no comfort in the knowledge that the other side was in much the same state.

The kings had taken his brother, his father, even his two sisters, and judging by the blood and pus oozing out of a nasty arm break, soon the kings would have claimed him as well.

The whims of kings would indeed be the death of him.

It made him – a soldier, just another nameless casualty in a nobleman's war – want to break down, to cry, to bawl his eyes out for all of the lost life. He did, too, and it was in that position that he was found, curled up in the fetal position with tear-stained cheeks framing a face filled with sadness.

The man who could have been the poster child for the anti-war movement – the one that never made it off of the ground – was thrown into a mass grace with all of the others.

He was, after all, just another nameless soldier, fighting that nobleman's battle.

Gasp!

Elysium sat bolt upright and narrowly avoided hitting her head on the floorboards above her. Panting and sweating, she just barely contained the pathetic whine that threatened to escape her. She tentatively reached a pale shaking hand up to her ceiling and knocked once, twice, each time with incredible delicacy.

He was there for he in a flash, and yet again she was left to wonder if this boy, this small boy who had rescued her and loved her, if he ever slept at all anymore. He was always so quick to respond to her, always attentive and loving, no matter the consequences.

If she were to be honest with herself, she'd say that it scared her a bit.

Tanned fingers reached through the floorboards to brush against her own – the only comfort he could give, and they both knew it, for Mikhail could never, ever know. He'd tell – he'd tell in an instant, he'd be rid of them both as soon as he could, and it was killing them both.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, so softly, more a breath than a question.

Squeeze. No.

"Another dream?"

Squeeze, squeeze.

"I'm so sorry."

Squeeze squeeze squeeze.

"I love you too." At that, Elysium managed a wan smile, even though he couldn't see it. She was only about as old as he was, yes, but when one dreams of the past, one finds that one gains much more perspective than could be gained otherwise. This was the case with Elysium – she had never been outside, but she had seen the outside, she had felt the outside, and all the horrors that came with it. She knew his words were empty, but accepted them anyways.

She was starting to feel that he was beginning to realize it as well. Suppressing a sigh, she slid her hand out of his grasp and used it to prop herself up as far as she could without banging her head. That is to say, not far, but she did try.

Elysium brought her mouth as close to the gap above her as she could, saw the tanned skin and full lips and sad visage that belonged to her savior and captor, and whispered two short, simple words.

"Thank you."
She collapsed back into sleep a moment afterwards, without even the chance to hope for a break from the visions. For they were visions, not merely nightmares, but visions of the past, as it were. She didn't get her break – an hour later, the process was repeated. Sleep. Dream. Wake. Try, try, try not to cry.

Jacobi, likewise unable to sleep, heard it all. The suppressed sobs, the whimpers, the muffled cries. He listened, and as he listened, his heart broke more and more for that pale little monster under his floor.

They were at a standstill, and neither one could move at all.