#gheriun
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A moment of peace before Valeria’s birth.
Sho lay with arms sprawled to his sides in the snow, watching the flurries descend. They melted on his tongue as he stuck it out in the cold mountain air.
His thoughts were as fuzzy and dim as the sky above. The nearer it got to the birth of his younger sibling, the more restless he got.
Would he be in the way? He knew his own health had struggled and been a source of stress for the adults. He still had time though, his gate was managing to stutter along.
However, he knew he was on a time limit. Just how long did he have before he became a burden on his family?
“Well well well, if it isn’t Sho.”
His vision was suddenly blocked off by the upside down face of the Observer. Rui’s cheeks were red with cold, but he had a sly grin on. Before Sho could say anything, he grabbed his exposed sides and tickled them.
“Hey! Stop that!”
Sho struggled to get up and away from the overly jubilant Observer. As he caught his breath and stood up, he turned around to glare at Rui. The Observer had on a wide smile, but there was something sad in his eye. Sho bit back his frustration and cocked one eyebrow.
“What are you doing here?”
Rui raised one hand to his heart in mock hurt.
“You wound me! Would you rather I not be?” Rui’s grin faltered. “Ah, but if I’m bothering you, it’s not like I’m trying to keep you company or anything, idiot.”
“Was that last part necessary..?”
Sho looked the Observer up and down. He seemed smaller, somehow, reserved in a way. His shoulders were hunched and there was something fragile about his expression. If anything, Sho felt he could relate to it. He clenched his fists against his sides and shook his head rapidly.
“Mm-mm, you’re not bothering me. Did you come from home? How is he?”
Sho’s voice came out strained, and he coughed to hide his concern. The Observer shrugged and sighed.
“Oh, he’s just fine,” he said blithely. “As much as I hate to admit it, that masksmith is pretty okay to him, that bastard, goddamnit.”
Rui’s face soured at the mention of Sho’s father, but he quickly glanced toward the younger boy.
“I didn’t mean…”
But Sho just laughed.
“No, he is a bit of a pain,” he said. “I have years of complaints I could air about my father.”
Rui dusted the snow off his knees before looking up at Sho. There were complex emotions in his eye that Sho was unable to read as the other man stood there silently.
He finally broke that silence with a heavy sigh.
“You know,” he started hesitantly. “It’s okay if this is all a bit much. I know I..”
The Observer bit his lip and glanced away.
“I guess I’m feeling a bit lonely? So I can only imagine how it must be for you.”
Sho stared at Rui open mouthed until the Observer scowled at him.
“Wh-what? You look so stunned, it’s creeping me out.”
“Oh, I just didn’t expect you to say something that wasn’t completely frivolous,” Sho admitted.
Rui balled his hands up into fists and stomped the ground, his breath steaming in the cold air.
“Just what sort of character do you think I am?! Wait, maybe you’re right? Am I just the comic relief…? I might be in trouble!?”
As he stood there fuming, Sho burst into laughter once more. Rui played up his act until Sho was out of breath, wheezing as he watched the Observer’s farce.
Finally, when he had played it out, Rui patted Sho on the back until he caught his breath. He wiped tears from his eyes as he turned to the Observer.
“Thanks,” he said. “I think I needed that.”
Rui gave a lopsided grin.
“Well, if I’m to play my role I may as well do it well.”
“Yeah, you’re best when you’re being frivolous.”
“He didn’t even hesitate before striking me down!”
Rui clenched his chest and spun around before falling into the snow in a dramatic display. Sho laughed as he watched him go up in a plume of dust.
Rui came back from messing about with Sho to find the Mask Seller hard at work cutting lumber in the yard. The man had untied his robes to hang about his waist, exposing his broad, scarred back despite the cold. Steam came off the sweat on his skin and his breath misted in the air as he worked. The Observer lifted a hand in casual greeting as Gheriun took notice of him and paused to wipe his forehead.
“Ahoy there,” Rui said lightly. “I just got back from having a manly heart to heart with your son. Actually, I might be doing an even better job than you, what’s that? Maybe you should watch out I don’t steal away Etienne’s heart.”
The masksmith scoffed at his banal comments and waved his hand dismissively.
“Sure, sure.”
“Didn’t even bat an eye!?”
Rui stuck his tongue out at Gheriun, eliciting a chuckle from the other man.
As one of the few people even older than him, the Mask Seller had largely been an enigma throughout his long life. The man had visited the shrine where Rui and his sister grew up and even carved for them their signature masks, but until he became involved with Etienne he had remained on the periphery of affairs.
When Rui had discovered the man’s connections to Daikokuten, he had thought his friend insane, even moreso when he’d learned that Gheriun was also the father of the Prophet.
However loath he was to admit it though, Rui had been wrong in his initial assessment of both of them. It irritated him to say, but the masksmith had done much to brighten the life of one of his dearest friends. He still considered him a bastard of ill repute, but that was just because he had become Etienne’s beloved partner and taken so much of his time. It was something that the Observer would have been unable to do for the Painter, but he still felt a pang of jealousy about the situation.
“You were out when I stopped by earlier,” Rui continued. “Etienne’s gotten huge, are you two going to have a giant baby as well? Won’t you consider the rest of us? Even Sho’s gotten taller than me, damnit.”
“It was good of you to come see him.”
The loneliness in Gheriun’s voice as he totally disregarded most of what Rui said stopped the Observer in his tracks. He lowered his arms and tilted his face up at the masksmith, squinting his eye.
“Oh no no no, you don’t get to look like that.”
The Mask Seller started and looked at him in confusion. Exasperated, Rui crossed his arms and huffed before pointing sharply at Gheriun.
“You don’t get to be lonely, okay? You took my best conversation partner from me, and I’ll never forgive you, in fact, I’ll kill you, asshole..!”
“You let your true thoughts in at the end there.”
Gheriun scratched his head furiously, the scars on his muscular arms glinting in the light.
“I’m not lonely, in fact I’d argue I’m probably the happiest man alive.”
“Bastard, save some happiness for the rest of us.”
“But well,” the Mask Seller continued, ignoring Rui’s outburst. “I guess with the pregnancy and everything with Sho, we’ve had less time together.”
“Good?? Give him back to me damnit!”
Gheriun cleared his throat loudly.
“Being that as it may, that we get to be together at all is enough of a blessing.”
“That’s disgustingly sweet!?”
Rui grabbed the sides of his head and groaned as he twisted at the waist. Without regard for his distress, Gheriun stared up at the house with complicated emotions.
“I can trust you to watch after them, can’t I?”
“Hah?”
Rui lowered his hands and frowned but Gheriun stopped him with a serious look, pointing to his face. A network of scars ran along it and down his neck to his chest, a memento of the Founder’s curse.
“I’ve lost my blessings. You’re the only one I’d trust. We may have had our differences, but I’ve known you since you and your sister…”
He trailed off.
“Since you were mortal. That’s why I can trust you.”
Rui furrowed his brow.
“You aren’t seriously saying what I think you’re saying, right?”
He laughed a bit but soon ceased at the look in Gheriun’s eye. Before Rui could say anything, the masksmith gripped his shoulders.
“Please, Observer,” he said in an urgent voice. “No matter what happens to me, promise me that you’ll watch over my family.”
The Observer was aghast at his words, and he gaped at the other man. Finally, he grabbed one of his large hands and pulled it off his shoulder, scoffing.
“Asshole, look after them yourself,” he said in a huff. “That’s your job. Don’t go foisting it off on me, even if I am cooler and Etienne likes me more.”
Gheriun looked alarmed and hurt but Rui continued before he could speak, jamming one finger into his face.
“Look! In the first place, it’s not like you’re some old man. At least not physically. Nor are you sickly. You always did keep disgustingly in shape. So I refuse to hear a single word of this.”
He threw his arms over his head and spun on his heel in frustration before pointing off in the distance and turning back towards Gheriun.
“You’ve got a teen kid with loads of trauma who’s gonna need his father. Unless you plan on abandoning him again?”
He knew his comment was unfair, but Rui had to hammer it into the man’s thick skull one way or another. The hurt evident on Gheriun’s face showed that he was succeeding.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It doesn’t matter how you meant it,” Rui said. “You can’t think like that, period. Being prepared is one thing, but you’re resigning yourself to your grave with talk like that. I won’t forgive you if you go off and die on Etienne.”
“From the one who was saying he’d kill me, that’s a bit…”
“Right, I’ll kill you if you die, so better not!!”
Gheriun sighed as Rui held his fingers up to the sides of his head like horns and flared at him. However, the air of solemnity that had earlier possessed the man seemed to have passed. He smiled wryly at the Observer.
“I can’t tell sometimes if what you say is wise, or just entirely frivolous.”
“Not you too!?”
Rui put on an expression of shock as the Mask Seller chuckled.
Having successfully done his good deeds in cheering up both father and son, Rui crossed his arms with a sense of accomplishment.
“Ah, you’re still here?”
Rui looked up and Gheriun turned around. With one hand positioned at the swell of his large belly and the other against his partner’s arm stood the Painter Etienne. Visibly nearing the end of his pregnancy, the man’s eyes glittered from behind his mask. The Mask Seller’s face melted into a dopey smile, and Rui mused at how in 800 years he had never seen the man so human. It reassured him that he would do well by his friend.
“I was just heading out,” replied Rui. “Just had to finish catching up with my old war buddy.”
Etienne cocked one eyebrow at this but made no comment.
“You’ll let me know when to expect my brand new nephew?”
“Why do you sound like you just want the pregnancy to be over?” Etienne asked wryly.
Rui stuck his tongue out and rubbed the back of his head.
“Rather, I’m just excited to see a swarm of tiny Etiennes all around me.”
“And since when did anyone say anything about a swarm.”
The Painter glanced at Gheriun who just blushed and looked away, though he noticeably did not protest to the idea.
Ah, aren’t they just the picture of bliss.
Rui smiled as he watched the two. While it pained him to get less time with the artist, he rejoiced in knowing that the man was surrounded by those who loved him. Even Sho spoke of him as a father, his eyes full of reverence. Looking back, Rui could not quite believe how things had turned out. It certainly had not been his expectation those many years ago when he had learned of the one unearthed by Amir. It was sad in some ways to see how things had changed and those who were no longer with them, but the sorrow was outweighed by the immense joy he felt to see Etienne happy.
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Sho abducted, preparations for the battle against the Founder.
Sho had been running himself thin trying to assist his guardians after the birth of his sister, but he was happy for the first time in as long as he could remember. It was hard work, but it made him feel useful to be able to do something to help, and he had immediately been enamored with the tiny infant.
Before her birth, Sho’s mind had been wracked by fears of abandonment and that he would be tossed aside, but as soon as he held her in his arms, one of his fingers gripped in her entire hand, he felt such love he could not describe. He had never felt so protective of another, and he wanted to be the best big brother he could to make sure she never had to go through life alone. Sho knew all too well how hard it was when you had nobody else.
The Hearthmother had stopped by to check on Valeria’s progress and see how Etienne was faring. Gheriun was a nervous wreck, always worrying more than necessary about his partner. It made the Painter irritated, and on more than one occasion he’d had to point out that he had only given birth, he wasn’t some delicate flower. And besides, the Mask Seller was the one struggling to adjust to his new life without the benefit of powers. He was a mortal man now, and one who had only recently gone through a major experimental surgery himself. It was as though he were projecting onto the other man.
As she finished up her examination, the midwife nodded at Gheriun. Her short-cropped, dark brown hair lay against her pale cheek as she adjusted the stole around her shoulders. Her red eyes flickered in the light.
“Well, papa’s doing very well,” she said with a smile. “Not getting much sleep though, I gather?”
The Painter laughed.
“No, but I have a lot of help around the house.” He looked toward Sho. “And she’s a surprisingly good baby. I expected much more wailing.”
In response, Valeria hiccuped and giggled as though pleased. It made the Hearthmother grin.
“I’ll say. Don’t go on spoiling her now.”
“Before you go,” the Mask Seller interrupted, “I just, shouldn’t he rest for a while before returning to work?”
It had been the subject of some arguments between the two men. Etienne was determined to resume his workload as he saw fit, but Gheriun worried incessantly.
“Well, I’d say it depends on how Pierrot feels,” the midwife said pointedly. “It’s his body. He should know his limits better than most.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him,” Etienne said in irritation. “I’m not going to overdo it. Valeria’s my first concern. But I can’t just sit around doing nothing, Gher.”
His voice was desperate to get through to the Mask Seller, to reassure and assuage his fears. Gheriun crossed his arms and grumbled a bit, but finally nodded.
“Just…take care of yourself, okay? Don’t go overexerting yourself right out the gate.”
“Trust me.”
Etienne placed one arm on Gheriun’s and looked into his eye. With a frustrated scowl the Mask Seller threw up his hands.
“I do, I do,” he sighed.
Sho whistled, slightly out of tune, as he strolled down the lane home. He was bundled up against the late winter chill, breath frosting in the air. He wore a thick scarf knit for him by the Painter, and swung his light grocery bag to and fro.
Going into town for supplies had become one of his favorite activities despite initially being terrified of all of the strangers. However, they had become fond of the new family, and treated them all warmly.
While at first he’d needed Gheriun or Etienne with him to brave going into shops, he now did so, maybe not easily, but with enjoyment. Casual conversation was still difficult for him to navigate but Sho was learning to enjoy meeting new people.
Here, nobody knew who or what he had been, nobody expected anything of him. They all treated him as a normal child, and while he was still learning the language, the villagers were enthusiastic about teaching him.
As much as he loved his family, he found moments to himself like this healing. It was a chance to collect his thoughts and ruminate on all that had happened the past few months.
In truth, he still found it difficult adjusting to a life so outside of his experiences, and he struggled with fear and self doubt. He was trying his best, but it was nice to be able to let down his shoulders and not worry about how he came off around his guardians.
It wasn’t that he was displeased and hiding it, rather he simply did not quite know how to act. For so long his entire existence had been a performance for the benefit of his grandfather, and left to his own devices he struggled to know how to express himself honestly.
He was grateful for the patience and understanding of his new family, but there were still times that he’d prefer to be alone with his thoughts.
He had become so wrapped up in his own head that it took him a moment to notice the change in the air.
The world around him went silent. The suddenness of it all made Sho freeze, and he whirled around.
Nothing.
He let out a sigh, assuming it to be some sort of animal, when something slammed into him from behind.
Sho gasped, breath torn from his lungs, and went tumbling forward into the snow. He rolled to a stop, head slamming into the ground, and stared in a daze. Without a chance to even question what was happening, a sharp pain erupted in his side.
He screamed, suddenly all too aware, as the blade of the cursed spear Varuna sliced through his side and pinned him to the ground. Its wielder stood over him, eyes cold.
“Bashr,” Sho gasped out. “Why..?”
“Sorry,” was all the large man said before another figure strode up to join him.
“Hey Prophet,” said the short, wiry Lotus Eater known as Ayumi. “Or, ex-Prophet now.”
Sho was struggling to keep up with everything, trying to summon the last reserves of en at his control.
It was useless; Varuna was still stuck in his side and it ate away at the pitiful remnants of Sho’s powers. Even his gate struggled to pull from them, instead leaking en rapidly. He coughed up a splash of dark red blood onto the snow.
“Oh, sorry about that,” Ayumi said in her sing-song voice. “Can’t take any chances, y’know.”
She placed a hand over the hilt of her blade, Charon. If she drew that it would be no quick and pleasant death.
Sho’s heart clenched in terror; he had trained alongside the Lotus Eaters as one of them and knew all too well the cruelty she was capable of. His shadow sputtered weakly but otherwise did not respond. His fingers were growing cold. A resignation rose in him as he realized there was nothing he could do.
“Just kill me,” Sho hissed.
That seemed to amuse the shorter Lotus Eater and a wicked grin spread across her face.
“We’re not here to kill you,” she chimed. “Your dear grandfather misses you oh so much. It’s about time you came home, isn’t it?”
Sho’s blood froze as she spoke and he cast a glance toward the direction of his home before he could stop himself. Following his gaze, Ayumi’s grin widened.
“Oh, he knows about them all right. Even the child.”
At his expression she burst out laughing, endlessly amused.
“You didn’t really think our Founder would be so blind as to not know? You truly are a fool. But no worries, his kindness is as deep as his knowledge. If you come with us now he’ll spare them all. Isn’t that nice?”
She ran her tongue over her teeth wolfishly as she clasped her hands together in a chipper manner. Her entire personality was a sham of innocence, but she could not hide her cruel nature when after her prey. Sho had never had the opportunity to experience it from the other end, and he quivered in fear. Ayumi just shrugged at him.
“Well, enough chatter. You’re coming home. Now will you come easily, or will we have to chop off a few limbs first?”
Every part of Sho felt numb. There was no disobeying his grandfather. He knew that better than most. Why had he thought he could so easily run away from his destiny?
He had been born for one reason only, and that was to be his grandfather’s loyal tool. He owed it to him after all. Just because he hadn’t been warm to him did not mean the Founder did not love him.
That’s right. That’s what this was.
Sho had just acted out of line, selfishly, and that’s why he had to be disciplined. But his grandfather must surely love him. Why else would he be so magnanimous?
Sho’s mind spiraled, consumed by the flames of a trauma that always flickered just beneath the surface. With one last look towards the family he had briefly known, Sho grit his teeth and clenched his fists in the snow. He coughed again, bringing up more blood. Finally, with resignation in his voice, he spoke.
“Take me to him.”
“I’m disappointed in you, my boy.”
Sho lay strapped to a table, shirt off, as the chief medical officer of the Lotus Eaters, Isidora, bent over him tending to his wound. The boy stared blankly at the ceiling, feeling empty.
They had brought him directly to Power Plant No 1 following his acquiescence. Travel had been fast with Daikokuten’s experimental waystones, and within the hour he was on the examination table deep in the array of buildings that surrounded the base of the skeleton of the heart tree of Mineshi. His grandfather was already there waiting when Sho arrived carried by Bashr due to his blood loss.
The first words out of the man’s—in his aunt’s body—mouth felt like another stab in the gut, and Sho felt himself break out in a cold sweat. He tried to focus on a particularly interesting stain on the metal ceiling amidst the pipes and bars across it. It wasn’t helping much.
“Do you know how worried I was when I was told you had disappeared?” he intoned sorrowfully. “Not a word, nothing, only to learn it was your own father who stole you from us? Who betrayed all that we’ve done for him?”
He sighed and shook his head, the rings adorning his pinned hair shaking and catching glints off the greenish artificial light.
“I don’t know what sort of lies he and that glorified concubine of his filled your head with. You always were so naive. You should know I only ever wanted what was best for you.”
“Father told me the real reason I was born,” Sho said, unable to stop himself even though he knew it was a foolish act of rebellion. “And I found maman’s diary. know that I’m just your body double like auntie.”
Despite all that he had learned, saying it out loud still brought tears to Sho’s eyes. He had wanted for so long to believe that his grandfather was just a stoic person but that he truly did love him. Now he no longer knew, yet he still wanted so desperately for it to be true, for this all to be some great misunderstanding, even as he was stitched up due to the massive injury inflicted at his grandfather’s instruction.
The Founder laced his ringed fingers together thoughtfully.
“And? You believed such a thing? As you can see,” he said, spreading his arms, “I’m quite satisfied with my current form. You know only those who agree to it are chosen for this heavy burden. It is forced upon nobody.”
That made Sho hesitate. It was true, all his life he had known his aunt to be the next in line for the Founder’s blessing, and she herself had been proud of the fact. But why would the Mask Seller and Painter lie? No, even more, his mother had written of her discovery of the information shortly before her death. She would never make up such a fact.
Unless Father lied to her too, whispered a voice in the back of his head. Unless he really did just have her fooled about his true intentions, just as Grandfather had claimed so many times. Was the Mask Seller truly the kind man he had appeared to be these past short months? Or had Sho been fooled in his naïveté?
He shook his head. No. No, he couldn’t let his fear take over now. If he was going to die, it would not be as his grandfather’s eager pawn. But how would he be able to escape? He couldn’t let the Founder take over his body, that much he knew. It would spell doom for his family, and many others besides. His grandfather's plan and the completion of the M Protocol was no peaceful world order, but a hierarchy of power that would see hundreds of thousands or millions dead. It might even have the potential to destroy entire worlds. Even with what little he knew, that much had become obvious in the past year. All that Sho had learned and all that he had secretly known came together in his head, and he clenched his jaw.
He had to find a way to prevent that, no matter what it took.
——
They were sitting in the living room waiting for Sho to return when Valeria started bawling. There was no apparent trigger; one moment she was happily babbling in her crib, the next she was completely inconsolable.
Gheriun lifted her up and rocked her gently, shushing her.
“What happened?” Etienne asked as he walked up to them.
“No idea,” was the Mask Seller’s baffled response. “Could she have hurt herself?”
The Painter’s face was a mask of worry as he realized something while looking over the infant.
“Isn’t it a bit late for Sho to be getting home?”
He was right. The sun had long since set, and dinner was overdue. They had been so content in the quiet of the house that time had completely slipped by. Gheriun’s face darkened.
“I’m going to go see where he’s at. He’s probably just dawdling by the pond,” he said without much conviction.
Something was off. As soon as the Mask Seller was outside he knew it. The snowy landscape was too quiet. He hastened down the lightly dusted path, willing his weakened body to move ever faster.
He came upon a small rise in the path and paused for a moment to catch his breath and survey his surroundings. No use running around like a headless chicken. He leaned against a thin tree and looked around.
At first, he did not see anything, but something out of the corner of his eye nagged at him, and he looked straight down the path.
There was a sickeningly large pool of blood there in the moonlight. His heart sank, and without another thought he bolted toward it.
There were signs of a scuffle, a quick one by the looks of it. The blood had cooled and begun to coagulate there on the snow. His first thought was an animal, but the tracks soon proved otherwise.
No. No no no no no.
He felt like he couldn’t breathe. His hands gripped at his chest as his heart hammered, and he felt faint as he dropped to his knees.
This couldn’t be. It had to be some mistake.
And then he saw the boy’s hat and shopping bag.
Gheriun howled in agony and bent over himself, forehead pressed to the bloodstain. He felt like the world was ending right there.
It had to be him. Somehow, that man had found them, halfway across the world, and just when they had relaxed he had struck. What had he done with Sho? The amount of blood on the ground made Gheriun feel ill. Had he killed him for leaving? Stolen his body away to puppet as a marionette?
The Mask Seller’s fists curled tightly into balls. He ground his teeth, holding back another sky piercing cry.
This was all his fault. He had been so selfishly focused on Etienne and Valeria that he hadn’t adequately protected his son. Gods, if only he had gone with him, or checked sooner. Why hadn’t he felt anything? Shouldn’t a father know if his child has been…
He couldn’t fathom it. Just when they had become a family. Just when they were healing.
As he lie there in the snow, rapid footsteps approached him from behind. He did not look up.
“Gher, what— My god!”
Etienne cursed as he saw the bloodstained snow. Valeria, now sniffling lightly, was strapped to his back. He knelt beside the Mask Seller and placed one hand on his heaving shoulders.
“What happened?”
“That man,” Gheriun managed through his grit teeth. “He’s… he’s killed him.”
The Painter froze, but then he reached down and lifted Gheriun’s face to him.
“Listen to me. Sho’s stronger than you think. They’ll want him alive. It wouldn’t make sense to kill him.”
Still, his voice wavered as he spoke. This was not an inconsiderable amount of blood, and they both knew how weak Sho had been.
The moons hung brightly in the sky, oblivious to all that occurred beneath. The two men sat there until Valeria snapped them back to reality with a cry.
The snow had started up again, flurries rapidly descending around them and melting into the stain on the ground. They stood there, unable to decide what to do next.
“Standing here won’t solve anything,” Etienne said at last. “We need to contact the others.”
He reached a hand down to help the Mask Seller to his feet. Gheriun’s eyes wouldn’t leave the ground where his son had lay, where he may have spent his last moments, completely alone.
Just how scared had he been at that moment? Had he called out for his father? His inadequate father, who had been blithely unaware of what he was going through.
The masksmith felt like he would be torn apart by the raging emotions within him. He staggered until the Painter caught him.
“Stay with me Gher,” he pleaded. “We need to keep our heads clear. We’ll find him.”
“Not if they have him,” despaired the Mask Seller. “We barely got him away the last time. They’ll have brought him to the power plant.”
He was shaking with rage and fear, his heart thudding in his chest. He could not get the image of Sho lying broken and bloody, all alone, in the cold depths of winter, out of his head.
“Rui’s infiltrated once already,” the Painter said patiently. “Surely he’ll know a way…”
But nothing Etienne said could clear the fog of despair that had overcome the Mask Seller. His own heart was heavy with worry, but they had to stay focused or Sho truly would be lost to them.
Arriving home to their empty house only made it set in further just how big their loss was. Gheriun looked ghastly, the strain of the previous months catching up to him and etching itself onto his face. Even as they sat and fed Valeria, the Mask Seller was sunken into himself, distant and unresponsive. The outpouring of grief had given way to a deep resignation. It was as though he had completely given up on any hope of his son’s safe return. Etienne couldn’t have that. He needed him to try.
They had no idea where the Observer was just then, but Etienne placed a letter in the mailbox and hoped it would reach Rui immediately. The Observer had never been very good at keeping up with the interdimensional mail but all the Painter could do right then was pray.
He cursed himself for not listening to Rui’s advice and getting a phone. Sho had the only phone between the three of them, the two older men baffled by the modern technology no matter how patiently Sho guided them through it.
The night passed by in a slow tension that strained them each to their breaking points. While Etienne paced, sometimes cradling Valeria, sometimes wringing his hands, Gheriun was still as a statue. He sat with hands crossed over his knees, staring into the middle distance. He looked like he had aged years in a matter of hours, and his usually strong face dissolved into a patchwork of fault lines and anxiety.
They did not get any sleep that night.
The two of them checked the mailbox with impatience, trudging back and forth through the snow as the steady flurries buried even those frequent tracks. Their nerves were fraught and near to snapping, and so they passed those blurry hours largely in silence.
Before he knew it, Gheriun had fallen asleep in the armchair as he sat and waited for any reply from the Observer.
As the only one of them to have ever breached the walls of the power plant and come back, he was their only hope.
So he and Etienne had spent restless hours waiting for a response.
By midday, the exhaustion and fear must have caught up with the Mask Seller, and he fell into an uneasy sleep.
His dreams were amorphous and vague, but they all featured his son’s death. When he was awoken from his nightmares, he cried out in immediate panic.
“It’s okay Gher, it’s only me. Rui’s heading here.”
Gheriun blinked his eyes rapidly as the Painter’s words set in. In his state it took him some time before the meaning made any sense to him.
“He is..?”
Etienne nodded solemnly.
“He’ll be here within the hour.”
The Observer had not been exaggerating his timeframe. As the snowfall made to turn into a proper blizzard, there was a knock at their door. Both men hurried to answer it, the Painter reaching the doorway first and cracking it open. A cold wind tore through the room and they hurriedly ushered the bundled figure of the Observer into the warm house. He shook the snow off of himself and began taking off the layers he wore there in the stone entranceway. Gheriun bit back annoyance at his consideration; all he cared about right now was getting his son back.
Rui finally stood with cheeks flushed red from the cold, and was led to the sitting room so that they could discuss the matter at hand.
“So tell me, just when did you discover that Sho was missing? What did you find at the scene of his disappearance?”
The Observer didn’t mince words, getting to the point immediately.
“It must have been around, oh, half past six? It had just gotten dark, and we had expected him back by then.”
Etienne didn’t hesitate in his answer, even as Gheriun’s own throat closed up at the thoughts of what they had discovered. He bit back his emotions and clenched his fists until the knuckles turned white. His partner soon placed a steady hand over his own and Gheriun remembered to breathe. It wouldn’t help anyone to break down now. He knew that, but…
“As for what we discovered after that…”
Etienne’s gaze slid over to the Mask Seller.
“There was a pool of blood on the path home,” Gheriun said quietly.
Heedless of his turmoil, Rui continued with his clinical questions.
“When you say a pool, just how much do you mean? Was it fresh? Do you know for certain it was his? Maybe the boy’s just run off somewhere and—“
“Of course I know it was his! You think I’d just…”
Gheriun couldn’t keep from raising his voice, but Etienne squeezed his hand and he inhaled sharply to collect himself before continuing in a steadier tone.
“His hat and the shopping bag were both there. Etienne made the bag himself. And…” Gheriun squeezed his eyes shut. “The blood had already started to cool. It was about so large.”
Gheriun gestured. Rui made no remark or response to his earlier outrage, just nodding at his explanation with an “I see.”
“Then, it’s most likely he’s still alive as Etienne suspected.”
Despite themselves, both men couldn’t help but let out their breath in unison as the Observer made his deduction. However, he quickly raised a finger to quell their relief.
“Unfortunately, without Sowaca, I won’t be able to repeat the same trick I used last time to get inside the Power Plant.”
Just like that, their faint glimmer of hope was snuffed out. Gheriun felt himself grow cold. He had been right after all, there was nothing to be done, he had failed his son so completely and now—
“That doesn’t mean I don’t have some ideas of alternative measures, though. It’ll just require a bit more manpower.”
“Why couldn’t you have led with that to begin with?”
Etienne’s voice snapped as he questioned his friend, who only held his hands up placatingly and attempted an apology.
“Sorry, my bad, I just didn’t want to give the wrong idea,” Rui said quickly. “I’ll be frank, I’ve no idea if any of my plans have even the most remote chance of success. I’d be lying if I said otherwise.”
“It doesn’t matter to me if it’s only a naught percent chance,” Gheriun said. “Even if I have to give my own life in exchange, I will get Sho back.”
“Gher…”
But the Mask Seller was adamant. He stared directly into the Observer’s uncovered eye, jaw set. Seeing his determination, Rui lowered his hands and nodded curtly.
“Well, with the warning out of the way, as far as I see it, there are three options with the best chance. The explanations are a bit tedious, but, well, let’s see��”
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Beginning of part 2, after Sho escapes the compound.
Sho woke in the middle of the night struggling to breathe. He sat up in his cot in the studio, confused about where he was. His mind raced to catch up and he almost called out for Rana when he recalled himself. With one hand clutched to his chest he curled up on the side of the cot, waiting for his breath to calm down. His heart was racing in his chest and he felt light headed. For a moment he was lost with what to do, but he waited to catch his breath before he stood up and stumbled into the small kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water with shaky hands.
He’d been plagued by nightmares since leaving the compound. He found himself lost with what to do with his time without the strict schedule of the Lotus Eaters. As he stood his vision swarmed and he sat heavily in one of the chairs. He had been running a mild fever for days but had been afraid to let his father or the Painter know. So much of the time Sho was terrified of somehow disappointing them, especially his teacher. He had never felt so understood, and it made him uneasy. Would Etienne discover just what a monster he was? Would he abandon him too? He wondered if his father would change his mind as well.
The insecurity paralyzed him and as the days passed his fever grew worse.
Now he was shaking with chills, clutching his arms around himself. He quivered as he tried to sip at the water. His hands would not listen to him and shook uncontrollably unless he pinned them in his armpits. His teeth chattered in his jaw.
“Sho?”
He jumped, startled, as the Painter appeared in the doorway. He was draped in an elegant robe and long sleep shirt, hair mussed from sleep. Sho hastily composed himself.
“Teacher,” he greeted. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
His voice shook slightly but he swallowed hard, trying to clear his head of his fears.
“I was up,” Etienne said, waving a hand. He came closer to Sho and eyed him carefully.
“Is everything okay?”
Sho hesitated, hands in his pockets, trying to think of what to say. The stress of trying to come up with a proper response made his throat go dry and he coughed.
Growing up, he had been made to hide his emotions and keep up a stoic face. Showing his fear or insecurity only led to him being punished with lectures and isolation. It made it difficult for him to properly express himself, and as he stood there sweat beaded on his forehead. There was a look of concern on Etienne’s face as he reached out and placed one cool palm against Sho’s cheek.
“You’re burning up,” he said. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
“I can’t sleep,” Sho blurted out. “It’s… my mind won’t stop. I keep thinking about Grandfather, and maman, and I…”
He stopped, voice dying in his throat. He looked away in shame. The Painter just sighed and ran his hand through Sho’s hair.
“You can talk to me about it. Come, you sit here and I’ll brew us some chamomile tea.”
Etienne had spoken to Sho only vaguely of his past, but it was obvious even from that that he felt a deep empathy for the boy. He had said before that he was reminded of himself as a young man, which flattered Sho to no end.
While the Painter set about preparing the tea, Sho attempted to collect his thoughts.
“Everyone leaves me,” he began unsteadily. “Eventually they become scared of me, or they’re torn away from me. And I can’t help but think, it must be my fault. There must be something wrong with me. And I just feel so guilty for abandoning Grandfather without a word. I know… I know that he never…”
He trailed off, throat closing around the words. Even now it was so difficult for him to accept that he had never been wanted, not truly, that he was just spare parts. His heart strained against the thought, and he clenched one fist to his chest, breath coming fast.
“But he still raised me. He was there for me. My father… does he even truly want me here? Am I just in the way? I mean, he just sees me as an obligation, right?”
He felt dizzy from fear of the answers to his questions, but he couldn’t stop his barrage. Etienne listened patiently, preparing two cups of tea with honey and setting them down on the small kitchen table as Sho spoke.
“I thought at least he and maman were…” He hesitated, but the Painter was unperturbed. “Well, I thought they at least loved each other, once. But not even that’s true. I was just a project. An experiment. Maman said she loved me, but I wasn’t born out of love. I was born to be a tool. And I did everything Grandfather asked.”
Tears were running down his cheeks as the shame of all he’d done welled up in him. His voice sped up as he went until he was at a fever pitch, breathing hard.
“But it turns out I wasn’t wanted, not truly. By anyone. Not even my mother or my father.”
Etienne waited as sobs overtook Sho’s tiny frame, one hand stretched across the table to take Sho’s. He spoke gently.
“Your life doesn’t belong to anyone but you. What matters most is that you follow the path you choose. Not your grandfather, not your father, not me. Your father and I will be there to support you no matter what, of course, but we want for you to find what makes you happy.”
There was a deep current of empathy underpinning his every word. Sho clutched his hand in both of his own shaky ones, his body shuddering with tears. The Painter gently pushed a cup of tea toward the inconsolable boy.
“Take a deep breath now. In through the nose, out through the mouth. That’s right, just like that. Now have a spot of tea before it goes cold, it’ll make you feel better.”
He was right. As Sho sipped the lightly sweetened beverage his tears slowed and he was able to hold himself more steadily. Still, the emotional outburst had drained him, and he felt himself growing more lightheaded.
“Let’s get you back to bed,” said the Painter. He stood with a grunt, his belly swollen and awkward, and went to Sho’s side. With a twirl of fabric he slid his robe off his shoulders and over Sho’s. When he tried to protest, Etienne just ruffled his hair.
“It’s chilly out here in winter,” he said, standing there in his long sleeved shirt. “Better that you stay bundled up, I have others.”
The robe was soft and warm fleece, with a downy texture to it. It smelled of old roses and Sho felt his eyes flutter.
“Come on now, let’s get up before you fall asleep where you’re sitting.”
The next day, Sho’s fever had grown considerably worse. He tossed and turned until he was awoken by the sound of his father and Etienne’s hushed voices. Odd for the Mask Seller to be up so early. Sho groaned and tried to sit up, but his arms gave out from under him as soon as he put his weight on them. He tumbled and slipped out from the cot, falling to the floor with a crash.
“Sho?” came his father’s concerned voice.
The two men exited the kitchen and rushed over to his crumpled form. He tried to wave them off, but his limbs were sluggish and unresponsive. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing them to respond, but he just succeeded in working up a sweat as he gestured feebly.
“Hey pal, how are you doing?”
Sho felt awkward any time his father used such phrases, but right now his annoyance was overshadowed by his alarm. It had been a long time since he had had a fever episode, and now, far from his grandfather, he realized he was scared.
All his life, he had known he was sickly, but with what exactly was never made clear to him. He simply went through any treatment his grandfather prescribed, and it had always worked.
Now he realized just how little he knew of his own body, and the uncertainty gnawed at him. His mother had been plagued by severe episodes of fever and weakness, followed by vision issues, before her illness had incapacitated her. He had been so little it was hard to remember specifics, but could he have what she did? It made his heart grow cold and before he knew it his body was shaking.
With Gheriun’s help, Etienne knelt beside Sho, one hand shot out to take his temperature. After a moment, his eyes widened and he nodded to the Mask Seller.
“He’s burning up. Help me carry him to the bedroom, it’s more insulated.”
“I’ve got him,” Gheriun said, waving the Painter off. He lifted Sho easily into his arms: despite his weakened state, the Mask Seller had little trouble with his son’s small and underweight frame.
They carried him into the bedroom and to the bed, Etienne throwing the comforter back and piling up pillows. Sho protested weakly as he was carried like an infant and set lightly upon the bed. His body felt like it was on fire, all his muscles burning and straining. He coughed and pain tore through him, so severe it stole his breath. With a groan he turned onto his side and curled into a ball.
“Sho? You hear me?”
He whimpered in response to his father’s question. The sound of footsteps hurriedly leaving the room could be heard as he spoke.
“Hey, it’ll be okay,” Gheriun said, though worry sat at the edge of his voice. “I’m right here.”
One of the Mask Seller’s enormous, calloused hands reached out and gripped one of Sho’s oh so gently, completely encompassing it in its mass. He brushed away the hair on Sho’s forehead.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I should have been paying closer attention.”
It was still jarring to hear his father apologize so earnestly for his mistakes. It wasn’t as though he never had, but whereas before Sho had been able to dismiss it, now it made him realize that his father wasn’t the uncaring man he had presumed. He had simply been caught in a difficult situation with no bearing on how to give his son the best possible life. He had truly believed that life was with the boy’s grandfather.
Footsteps entered the room, and a cool, wet cloth was placed on Sho’s forehead. He gasped but the feeling was pleasant on his burning skin.
“Here, can you sit up for me? I’ll help.”
Etienne wrapped his arms under Sho’s armpits and hoisted him up against the pillows so that he was propped up. He held up a cup of slightly green liquid.
“I need you to drink this for me. It won’t taste good, but it’ll help.”
Sho nodded weakly and with the Painter’s help drank the mystery liquid. It tasted awful, but it was warm and soothing as it went down his throat. He coughed and spluttered a bit as he finished it.
“Good job,” Gheriun said. His face was lined with worry and he kept looking to Etienne desperately. It made Sho feel more concerned. Did he really look so bad?
His mind felt fuzzy as he leaned back into the pillows, exhausted by even so little activity. He coughed again.
“I’m sorry,” he managed. “I didn’t mean…to cause trouble.”
“Shh, hush now,” said Etienne, patting Sho’s hand. “All you need to worry about is getting yourself some rest.”
“Sorry,” was the last thing out of Sho’s mouth before he slipped under the waves into sleep.
After Sho had fallen into a fitful sleep, the Painter let out a long sigh and turned toward Gheriun.
“What is it?”
For a moment the Mask Seller said nothing, only held one hand over the scarred left side of his face. He looked lost in thought.
“Gher?”
“His mother… She had a certain genetic disorder, in fact that was one reason she was, ah, chosen.” He waited to see if Etienne would say anything before continuing. “But I was never told he had inherited it. Maybe I’m being paranoid but…”
“What disorder?”
Gheriun shifted uncomfortably.
“It’s incredibly rare in boys,” he prefaced, “so I’m sure it’s not… but she had the Ophelia factor.”
Etienne’s eyes widened, and he glanced back at the sleeping figure on the bed. The boy looked so small now in his oversized bedclothes, what little weight he had on him drained by the fever.
“But surely… it would have presented itself by now? I mean he was raised up to prophet before the age it would…”
“It’s imperfect,” the Mask Seller said. “I don’t know the details, but what if removing him from the compound was the trigger? What if I’ve doomed him by taking him away?”
“You don’t know that,” Etienne said gently, one hand on Gheriun’s arm. “You’re jumping to conclusions. For all we know, it’s just another fever. You know how he gets them.”
But something was nagging at Gheriun, some incessant worry. He looked away.
“I knew the risks,” he mumbled. “For Rie, and for Sho. But I didn’t care then, I just. What’s wrong with me?”
The vitriol and self hate dripped from his voice, so deep and piercing it took Etienne by surprise. He spoke calmly, trying to assuage the other man’s fears.
“Gher. Look at me, Gher. It’ll be okay,” said the Painter sternly, placing a hand on either side of Gheriun’s face. “You’re getting caught up in your anxiety, and it’s making you think the worst of everything. But he’s a strong kid, he’ll be okay.”
He craned his neck up and settled his forehead against the taller man’s, before kissing him lightly.
“He’s going to need you to be strong for him. If he woke up and saw your face right now, it’d only make him worry. Come on, let’s let him rest. Help me put together a pot of soup.”
With one last reluctant look toward the resting figure, Gheriun nodded and followed his partner out of the bedroom, shutting the door to keep the warm air in. They made their way to the kitchen, minds buzzing with worry.
As they settled into the rhythm of preparing the meal, the nervous energy in the air dissipated somewhat. Gheriun had to sit part of the way through, the anxiety having sapped his diminished strength.
It would just be a simple stew of rice and chicken, with a few green vegetables and some ginger added in.
They checked in on Sho as they worked, but he had fallen into a deeper, peaceful rest. Both men were grateful to see his breathing steady. The studio soon filled with the rich scents of garlic and ginger and sharp lemongrass.
“You should speak to him later, once he’s feeling better,” Etienne said as the soup simmered on the stove. “Ask him the details on his history with illness, what he’s been told. If I have the history of symptoms, perhaps we can figure out what’s going on and what we can do.”
Gheriun nodded a bit stiffly. His mind was still racing with the possibilities, and the guilt that if it was what he feared, he had only himself to blame. Just how much damage could he inflict on his own child? Would the one on the way also be doomed to a life of misery and pain, all because of the Mask Seller?
The Painter sensed some of the other man’s discomfort and stood behind him, arms draped over his seated shoulders. Gheriun let out a rattling sigh, tension running through his muscles.
“Come, let’s take this to Sho and see how he’s faring.”
They entered the room, Etienne carrying the silver tray with soup, bread, water, and a fresh cup of herbal tea. As he set it down on the bedside table, Sho stirred and opened his eyes.
“How are you feeling?” Gheriun asked nervously.
“I’m okay,” Sho said after a moment’s hesitation.
Etienne placed the back of his palm against Sho’s forehead and then cheek, and shook his head.
“Still burning up. Are you in any pain? How is your breathing?” he asked clinically.
“It’s—“
He was interrupted by another violent fit of coughing, and gratefully accepted the Painter’s offer of water. He stared down at his hands for a moment as the two men waited for his response.
“Better. But it hurts.”
Sho felt pathetic admitting to it, but his body was wracked by pain. Every muscle and every bone felt raw, and when he coughed it brought tears to his eyes.
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I’m missing a big chunk of what happens between Sowaca’s death & this but, uh! Around the end of part 1.
The compound was eerily silent when they arrived. The Painter looked to the Mask Seller and nodded. They stepped forward as one, ascending the shrine stairway. As they passed the gate at the top, both felt the immediate wrongness of the place. It was deathly still, and a frost crusted the wisteria flowers in full bloom. None of the usual birdsong and bustle of the many lives under the roofs here could be heard. The Mask Seller put one hand before the Painter.
“Something’s not right. You should wait here while I scope out ahead.”
“Where you go, I go,” Etienne said with finality. There was no arguing with him.
“If things go south I want you to get out of here fast. Promise me at least that much. Not for you,” he added as the artist opened his mouth. “But for the future.”
Etienne locked eyes with him from behind their masks, but finally nodded. The Mask Seller let out a breath he had not realized he was holding. They proceeded inward. There was absolutely nobody around, and other than the occasional dropped item, no sign there ever had been. The knot in the masksmith’s gut tightened as they made their way to the inner temple.
Here the Mask Seller stopped them at the moon viewing room. He turned, removed his mask, and grabbed the Painter by either arm, staring into his eyes.
“Let me speak to him first. I’ll go ahead. It’ll be better that way.” He put his forehead against his partner’s. “Just trust me, Etienne.”
The artist reached up and grabbed the masksmith’s oversized hand in his own slender one. He let out a world weary sigh.
“I do. I’ll wait here. But the moment anything seems wrong, come to me.”
“I promise,” Gheriun whispered, and with a parting kiss, he was off.
He soon reached a grand courtyard in the center of the grounds and came to a stop. There, back to him, seated on a large rock in the middle of the yard, was the uniformed figure of the Prophet. From here it was easy to see just how small he was, but there was something outsized about the shadow he cast.
“Sho.”
The Prophet twitched, head lolling to the side, but otherwise didn’t respond. The masksmith stepped toward his son, hand outstretched. As he came within the range of his shadow, the boy’s shoulders flicked and a sudden sharp pain ran through the Mask Seller’s arm.
He stared down at the thick black thorns that had burst through his muscled forearm. They seemed to pulsate and twitch in the dim light, and sprouted up from the shadow that was now roiling and churning like a living thing. Just how many aberrations had the Founder forced his son to devour, to create such a hideous conglomeration of spirits? The unleashing of en was sickening and full of malice. Sho stood up from the stone he had perched on and turned around.
“Wipe that name off your filthy tongue,” he snarled. His face was contorted in rage, eyes wide and hateful. He shot one thin arm forward and pressed it against the Mask Seller’s chest. Gheriun moved to dodge but could not completely avoid the lance of darkness that shot out from Sho’s palm and pierced his shoulder. He grunted and rolled away, snapping it off in his muscle. He reached up to tear it out.
“Please, I don’t want to fight you,” he pleaded, but it only fueled the Prophet’s anger.
“Oh, is that so?” he shouted. “Well maybe you should have considered that before you decided to take every fucking thing from me! What more do you want? Get out of my life!”
With that last comment a barrage of black needles rose above the Prophet, aimed at his father, and went flying. The Mask Seller dove behind a decorative boulder, narrowly avoiding becoming riddled with holes. He realized then that he had left behind his mask, and cursed. Without it he would have no protective spells to help him out. It would be up to his muscle alone, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to get close enough for that to make a difference.
As he was going over his options, he missed the tendril of darkness that snaked up his ankle and pulled him out of hiding. He went flying into a thin tree, knocking it over. He coughed up blood as he hit the ground. The Prophet stood over him and aimed a kick square in his father’s jaw. The boy might have been small and sickly but the steel nailed leather boot managed to knock a tooth out and split his lip. He spluttered and put one hand up, but the Prophet just kicked again and again, harder each time, until he was out of breath and Gheriun’s face was a bloodied mess. A few of his fingers had been broken in the scuffle as well, but he had not struck back, just allowed the blows to rain down. He had hoped it would give the boy some sort of relief. Instead, it only seemed to work him up further, but still Gheriun attempted to speak to him.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of this. Please, I don’t want to fight you. I want to make it up to you, for all—“
“Shut. Up.” The Prophet kicked him again. “Shut up! You have no right! None! You’re six years too late!”
The Mask Seller backed away, getting unsteadily to his feet, his hands held in front of him. He was bleeding everywhere, blood mixed with the inky black residue of the mushrooms.
“I know. And I’m sorry. But please, you can’t stay here, your grandfather… you don’t understand what he’s trying to do. He’s just using you.”
“Grandfather has been the only one there for me,” Sho said heatedly. “While you’ve been off living as you please!”
“Sho, please—“
“Don’t call me that!”
As his voice broke, Gheriun stumbled forward, a huge presence knocking into him. He stared down at a massive mouth bitten into his side, blood already seeping from the wound. Even Sho looked surprised, and as he stumbled back the mouth let go and returned to his shadow.
That was when the Painter stepped in front of the Mask Seller.
“Sho, please. We’re here to apologize. Me and your father.”
“My father?” came the low voice of the Prophet. “Hah! You should know just how little he cared for me. I trusted you, Pierrot.”
There were tears in the Prophet’s eyes now, though he hurriedly wiped them away. The Mask Seller grasped at the Painter, eyes wild.
“I told you to wait!”
“And I told you to come to me if things went sideways. You forgot this, by the way,” he said, handing Gheriun his mask before turning back toward the enraged Prophet.
“Sho, killing your father won’t solve anything. You know what your grandfather is doing is wrong. I know you’re smarter than that.”
“You don’t know anything about me!”
The Painter’s expression softened, and he looked upon Sho with such a depth of love it took both father and son by surprise.
“I know that you’re an intelligent, sensitive, kind young man who has been dealt with more cruelty than anyone deserves,” Etienne insisted. He stepped closer to the boy, heedless of his partner’s warnings, arms spread. “I know how much my actions must have hurt you. I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything to deserve that. You’re not the monster your grandfather says you are.”
“You don’t know anything.”
Before anyone could say another word, the Mask Seller let out a strangled, wet cry. As Etienne turned, he saw a harpoon of shadows sprouted clear through the masksmith’s thick chest. Blood welled and seeped up through the wound and poured from Gheriun’s mouth as he tried to speak. The Painter’s eyes widened and he rushed to his side as the masksmith collapsed. The huge spike twitched, tiny barbs coming off of it making it impossible to remove. Not that he would if he could; it looked like it had pierced at least a lung and was very close to his heart. Etienne felt his own grow cold as Gheriun gasped and reached up for him. He held his hand firmly, blood covering them both.
“Get… away….” the Mask Seller managed.
“Stay here. It’ll be okay.” Etienne kissed his hand with shaky lips. “I’ll take care of everything for you.”
“You should listen to him before you get hurt, teacher,” the Prophet snapped.
Etienne set about stabilizing the Mask Seller as best he could, drawing his paintbrush and with quick efficient movements summoning some humanoid assistants and a roughshod stretcher. It would have to do for now—he just needed to get him steady and out of the way. Within a few practiced strokes he had brought forth his helpers, checking over Gheriun with one last kiss before he stood and turned toward the Prophet.
“I wish this could happen another way,” he said sorrowfully, brush held in front of him like a slim rapier. “But I’m going to have to teach you a new lesson.”
“And just what—“
The Prophet’s contemptuous comment was cut off by a flurry of movement and from the gestures sprung forth a sudden onslaught of attacks from the Painter. His illusions were a horrifying deluge of the Prophet’s deepest fears. The boy stumbled back, caught completely off guard. Etienne did not hesitate in grabbing the upper hand while he could and with a step forward he pressed his advantage. Gheriun was losing a lot of blood fast, and he was weak right now. They could not risk the Founder finding out and finishing him with the curse. This had to end now, for all of their sakes.
However, the Prophet was not pulling his punches, and after a brief moment of hesitation he had drawn up multiple long whips of shadow to throw at the Painter. He could dodge the first few but eventually wound up with a few heavy blows to his side that he managed to protect with his arms. Grunting with effort, Etienne twisted nimbly midstep to narrowly avoid a particularly vicious onslaught. The boy was growing more bold as time wore on, a wild, manic look to his face. His actions were flailing but numerous, making up in multitude what they lacked in accuracy.
When the Prophet began throwing up javelins of darkness from around the Painter’s feet, his patience wore thin.
“Let’s stop this now Sho, before one of us does something we regret.”
“Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up!”
After one blow nearly impaled the helpless Mask Seller in his creaking bed frame Etienne knew he must end things. His mask shimmered as its shape elongated into the avian form of the plague doctor while his paintbrush turned into a hideous, oversized bone saw. The illusions around the Prophet took on a more sinister tone; the form of a woman half eaten by maggots screamed Sho’s name as he looked on in horror. He sent a wave of black splinters through the air, a few impaling the Painter’s thigh but thankfully they were shallow enough. He needed to completely shut the boy down before he caused irreparable harm.
He inhaled deeply, then dashed around Sho’s reach, drawing his attention as he set up more illusions. He used his own blood to bring form to those shapes, and a wave of women with warm brown hair and half rotting faces sprung up around Sho, their half decayed arms reaching for him and grabbing his limbs. He screamed and tried to fight back, but every time he saw the face of the figure he shrunk back further. However his actions had grown only more frenzied and dangerous in his panic.
“This doesn’t have to continue,” Etienne pressed. “Just say the word, Sho.”
But the Prophet just shouted in rage and a deep resonating sorrow, sigils burning within a circle of shadow below his feet. He moved in unnatural, jerking motions, his lips working rapidly in a chant as his hands traced characters in the air. His eyes had glazed over, as though he were possessed. Something writhed within his shadow, tentacles of darkness struggling to burst outward. Very, very not good. Etienne glanced back just once toward Gheriun, took a deep breath, and dove forward.
He brought the bone saw down on the growing rune in the air, bearing down with all his strength. The air sparked and fizzed between them, but Sho’s eyes were still distant, his lips moving so rapidly it was impossible to make out the individual words. With a guttural shout, the Painter summoned all of his reserve strength, his rage, his pain, his heart, his everything into this strike. For the sake of their future, let this be the end.
For a moment he hung there, suspended in the air against the crackling sigil. Then there was a bright flash and air rushed inward before just as rapidly expanding out in an explosive force. It flung them apart, Etienne managing to catch his step, Sho tumbling over himself and bodily hitting a pillar suspending the perimeter corridor. As the dust settles, the Painter dashed forward, not wanting to risk the boy recovering and lashing out again.
He need not have worried. As he reached him, he saw that one of Sho’s legs was broken, twisted horribly, and he was covered in scrapes and bruises. It was more than he had wanted to hurt the boy, but he had been left little choice. Etienne slowed as he neared, one hand extended toward the cowering, bloodied Prophet.
“Please teacher, stop,” cried out Sho, now a hunched bundle of wide eyed terror. Tears were streaming from his eyes as he cringed before the Painter. He looked younger even than his teenage years, a terrified child lost and searching for family wherever he could find it. Should he knock him out first? Could he trust him?
Etienne hesitated, and in that moment, the Prophet struck.
Five shadowy tendrils whipped out and pinned the Painter to the garden wall, all limbs immobilized. One sharpened tentacle split open the mask covering his face with a resonant crack. Mouths burst from the tendrils and bit down on Etienne’s flesh violently. As he struggled to free himself, he looked up and saw in horror the Prophet crouched before him, staring wide eyed at him, a wall of black knives hanging in the air behind him. They were all aimed directly at him.
“You never trusted me with anything. You didn’t care. Grandfather told me everything. You just wanted to use me.”
It sounded as though he were trying to convince himself of the justice of his actions. If the Painter could just find the right opening…
There was no chance of Etienne getting out of this. He looked over to Gheriun’s limp form, and closed his eyes.
“Sho, you know that’s not true. Please, just talk to me.”
When he opened them again, he saw Sho hesitate, but the look in his eyes told him he would strike sooner or later. As the boy raised his arms, Etienne cried out.
“Please, Sho, I’m with child. Don’t do this.”
The Prophet froze, then faltered. His eyes blinked rapidly as he processed what had just been said, and his arms lowered. He grit his teeth and looked for a moment like he would let his anger win, but as tears poured from his eyes, the countless daggers that had been poised to strike melted into his shadow. He collapsed to the ground and sobbed, fists clenched at the cold earth. The tendrils holding Etienne up dissipated and he fell roughly to his knees.
It was as though something had burst deep within the boy, and all those years of pain and loss had broken him. The spear inside of Gheriun dissipated as well, allowing the Painter’s powers to work more efficiently. He sighed in relief, and turned toward the Prophet. Pressing a hand to the worst of the bite wounds, he strode forward and knelt in front of the boy.
Sho was sobbing and tearing at the ground, at his hair, at his skin, breathing heavily and hiccuping between tears.
“That’s it, isn’t it. Nobody wants me. I just hurt everyone. Grandfather was right. I don’t deserve a family.”
“Hush now,” Etienne said, reaching out to the boy, heedless of his own wounds. They weren’t as bad as they had seemed at first, and he wondered how much Sho had held back.
“Why do you think we’re here, you foolish child?”
It was the first time he had ever admonished the boy, and the Prophet’s sobs silenced for a moment as he cowered further into a ball, his fingernails drawing blood from his scalp, broken leg skewed awkwardly to the side. Etienne reached both arms around the small figure, embracing Sho gently.
“It’s okay. Nobody’s abandoning you. We came here to ask you to leave,” the Painter said quietly. “Why don’t you ever listen to me when I tell you not to assume the worst of everyone?”
That made Sho burst out crying anew, and he threw his arms around the artist. Etienne held his tiny body as he quaked and shook.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to.”
“I know, I know. But we need to get going. Your father—Gheriun needs proper medical care. You can settle your score later. We need to get you away before the Founder finds out what’s happened.”
“But Grandfather won’t hurt me… will he?” asked Sho, uncertainty heavy in his voice.
“I don’t want to sit here and find out. Now, can you be brave for me while I set your leg?”
For a moment Etienne wasn’t sure whether he had made it through to the battered child, but finally Sho sniffed and nodded.
“We can get to the Highway from inside the sanctuary,” Sho told him.
“Thank god,” breathed the Painter as he conjured another mobile unit of assistants to help Sho get about. “Try to bear with it.”
Etienne waited for Sho to lead the way forward, the Mask Seller’s stretcher coming up behind them. The nearest entry point that either of the men had been familiar with was off mountain. Sho’s tiny body was severely weakened after their fight. However, there was a new determination to his shoulders and a clearness to his eyes. He looked like he had a goal to call his own, one other than harming his own father. Etienne had to believe in the boy’s true nature.
They had been moving slowly through the inner sanctum for some time when Sho stopped abruptly, panting as he leaned against the two animated assistants.
“This isn’t right. We should have been there by now.”
Alarm began to creep into Etienne’s chest. He had put down the monotony of their passage to his unfamiliarity with the depths of the shrine, but they had been going so long in a straight line. Surely, on this limited mountainside, they should have had to turn at least once by now? He glanced down at the half conscious Gheriun, who seemed to be trying to say something. In that moment all hell broke loose.
The lights flickered and went off all around them and the walls seemed to warp, closing them off. Both Sho and Etienne let out startled gasps as the sound of a familiar instrument rang out along the corridors. The shamisen strummed again and the lights shot back on with a brilliance that was unnatural for their bulbs.
The Observer stood in the middle of the hallway before them, single uncovered eye blazing. He looked like he was barely standing up, all bruised and bandaged where his skin was visible. The Painter stared, uncomprehending, at his old friend.
“Rui, what—“
He said nothing, just strummed the instrument again and was behind them, knife drawn and aimed directly at Sho. In the harsh light it took a moment for the artist’s eyes to take in what he was seeing as the fell arm Suiko was driven directly at Sho’s heart.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion as he cried out, but the blade was caught in one large palm before it could reach the Prophet. The Mask Seller had blocked it, the weapon trapped deep in the meat of his hand. He closed his fingers as best he could to still the knife and grunted.
“Observer, stand down.”
Rui hissed and tugged feebly at the hilt of the weapon, but it did not budge. He dropped it and stepped away, reaching again to draw his shamisen. Etienne made sure Gheriun and Sho were steady before he stepped forward, exhaustion heavy on his exposed face. He didn’t know what was going on, but he had to stop things before Rui could get a chance to draw his sword.
“Don’t make me fight you.”
“If you’re protecting that brat, you’re in my way,” Rui said grimly. He reached up and tugged off his eyepatch roughly. As he opened his right eye, a tendril sprouted from its golden iris and bloomed before their eyes, a lily stuck grotesquely out of the center. It stayed open, unblinking, even as his black left eye moved independently. Oily black roots spread out across his right cheek, roiling as with his unsteady emotions. The Painter knew of the animosity between Observer and Prophet, but that should all be over now that Sho was no longer under his grandfather’s thumb. If he could only explain. Yet Rui was staring with naked animosity, such uncharacteristic hatred that Etienne nearly didn’t recognize him.
“He’s not after you anymore,” he tried to say. “It’s okay, you don’t—“
“Oh, well then everything he’s done is just fine then. Everyone he’s hurt, all he’s killed!”
Sho shrunk back, eyes downcast, as Etienne tried desperately to piece together what was going on. All he wanted was to get Gheriun to safety and to rest and let his little family heal, so why was one of his best friends now standing before him with such anger? He drew himself up, ready to fight once again if need be.
“There’s no bringing back the dead. But he can have a chance to—“
“To what? Heal, grow up, make happy new memories? Off of Sowaca’s corpse?”
That comment froze the Painter’s blood. He glanced from Sho back to the near feral Observer, and knew he wasn’t lying. Sorrow filled him as he realized that they had acted too late, and that the Prophet had committed one final act for the Founder’s grand plan. The shame was written plainly on Sho’s young face.
Rui stared at the three of them before laughing bitterly.
“Oh, he didn’t tell you. Well. I’m sorry Etienne, but I won’t be letting him walk out of here.”
“Then you leave me no choice.”
The two stared at one another, poised to fight. Sho hobbled forward then, his chin held upward, eyes ablaze.
“If you hurt them, I won’t stand by. You can do whatever you want to me another time.”
Rui stared open mouthed from one to the other, frustration and confusion written on his expression. He wore his hurt and sense of betrayal openly, staring forlornly at the Painter.
“If it’s for Sowaca’s sake, I won’t hold back.”
Rui was stood poised over Sho, the sharp clawed hands of his scarf aimed downward, when he jerked to a stop as though struck. Stood before him was a teenage girl with dark skin, long reddish brown curls, and two oversized ears, arms spread wide.
“That’s enough, Rui.”
Santu blocked his path to the collapsed Prophet, her eyes fierce in the dim light. The Observer grunted in annoyance, eyes burning into Sho.
“He killed Sowaca,” he stated. “He almost killed you, too.”
Santu shook her head, curls bouncing.
“Sho was nice to me while Santu was at the Power Plant. He’s not a bad guy!”
That seemed to make Rui snap and he flung his arms outward.
“Then what!” he shouted. “I’m supposed to just let him walk free? After all he’s done? You think someone can just change like that?”
It was Etienne’s turn to speak.
“He has his whole life to repent for what he’s done. But surely you of all people know what it’s like to be manipulated so.”
That struck a nerve deep in the Observer. The Painter was one of a select few who knew any details of his past. The roiling scarf twisted in the air about him, turning back over him like twinned snakes.
“It’s no excuse,” he hissed. “He has no right to get off, losing nothing. It’s unfair!”
Even Rui knew he was being unreasonable, but his voice broke as he stood there.
“Sowaca was my everything. He was my best friend. He was there when I had nobody.” Tears were brimming in the Observer's eye. “He was my only family.”
“Santu’s your family too!” Santu said, frustration in her voice. “Rui’s not alone! You just push everyone away!”
Rui’s face screwed up in anger.
“If you don’t move, I’ll make you.”
“Stand down, Observer!”
A new voice broke through the air, one Etienne did not recognize. From the darkness emerged a figure of medium height with bright red hair. She had a longbow raised in the air, arrow aimed at the Observer. Santu spun on her heels, eyes wide.
“This is not what we agreed upon,” the red headed woman said. Closer now Etienne could see numerous scars upon her freckled face. Her voice brooked no argument.
“I don’t recall agreeing to anything,” Rui said through gritted teeth.
“Oh? Then let me remind you.” She drew the arrow to her cheek. “It’s an order of protection, not execution. Stand down.”
Santu tried to position herself somewhere between the Prophet and Observer while blocking Rui from the path of the arrow. She looked from each person to the next rapidly.
“We don’t have to fight, please.”
“Observer. Now.”
“Oh piss off, Huntsman,” the Observer hissed, one hand reaching up to his shoulder.
In the next moment so much happened that Etienne could not fully recall it later. The arrow was loosed directly at Santu, but it seemed to flicker in and out of existence before sprouting through the Observer’s throat. Blood spurted out as he fell backwards, scarf falling with him. Santu spun and ran to him, while Etienne dove toward Sho. The so-called Huntsman strode forward calmly, notching another arrow and standing before Rui’s writhing form.
“Sho, are you okay?” Etienne asked as he knelt beside the boy. The fight had been brutal, and had it not been for the interference of the others Etienne was not sure whether they would have made it.
Sho stirred, eyelids flickering. Blood was streaming from his nostrils and the corners of his eyes, and he seemed dazed.
“Is it over..?”
Etienne glanced over to where the Observer was bleeding out onto the floor, the fight gone completely out of him. It was time for them to leave.
“It is, child,” the Painter said, wiping sweat from Sho’s forehead. The boy gave a weak smile.
“Everyone’s…okay?”
Etienne nodded.
“Let’s get you guys out of here.”
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Near Rie’s death, when Gheriun asks Sho to leave the shrine with him.
Rie’s condition had worsened considerably over the past few weeks. The dark veins that stretched up from her abdomen to her chest grew ever more, consuming her body as Sho watched helplessly. She seemed to waste away every passing day.
He sat by her bedside every waking moment, and even slept by her any time he could. The priests did their best to get him out, as his own health suffered from lack of activity, but he was so set on being with his mother that eventually they gave up: any time they tried to separate the two the stress would send Sho into a fever.
Day in, day out, he sat with his mother. When she was conscious she would talk and sing to him, tell him stories, and for a moment he would forget the reality of her condition. On the days when she could manage a small walk around the compound’s inner garden, he would accompany her and pepper her with all sorts of absurd tales of adventure. She humored her son, feigning shock and surprise at his tall tales. Her days up never lasted long, and Sho cherished every one.
The last week had been especially bad. Rie’s fever had her in and out of consciousness, and when she rallied to waking she would hold Sho’s hands in her frail ones.
“He should be here for you,” Sho cried, not for the first time. “Why won’t he come?”
“Hush now, little sparrow.” She patted his hand weakly. ��Your father has much to attend to.”
“But how could he just leave you here?” He wailed.
“Nobody left anybody. It’s okay, come now. There, there, my brave boy. He doesn’t mean any harm.” Rie hesitated. “It’s just that…this all has been much more than he expected.”
“He abandoned you!”
That made his mother pause thoughtfully.
“He’s a complicated man,” she started. “What we agreed to…well, life has a way of working out differently than one plans. But you mustn’t hold it against him. He cares…in his own way. He’ll take care of you when I’m gone.”
“I don’t want you to leave,” pleaded Sho helplessly.
“Shh, don’t cry my darling. Oh, my beautiful boy.” She cupped his tear stained cheek in one shaky hand. “All will be okay. I’m so proud of you. More than you could know. I know you’ll be strong for me.”
There was nothing Sho could say. He didn’t want to believe that his mother was dying, even as she lay before him, a shadow of her former self. Bloodstained tissues lay beside her from her coughing fits. At eight years old did not have the words to explain his complicated feelings about his father: all that he knew was that the Mask Seller had not come to visit in months. What could be more important than his mother’s life? It made him feel angry and frustrated and unable to express himself.
He had never known his father well. The man had been an inconsistent presence in his life, and Sho had been raised by his mother under his grandfather’s care in this far removed compound on the grounds of an old shrine. They were deep in the mountains of Xiu Tao on the border with Badhapur, and other than the occasional pilgrim or associate of his grandfather Sho had rarely met new faces. His father would visit sporadically, but even his semi regular visits had dropped off considerably. To Sho the large man was an intimidating presence, and the older he got the more anger he felt toward his father for his absence.
Now that his mother was sick the masksmith had only become more distant. Sho wondered whether he knew, or even cared, about his mother. Despite Rie’s words, Sho could not forgive his father for his absence.
Unlike his father, his grandfather visited quite regularly. He was getting quite old but his back was ramrod straight and he walked with confidence and elegance. Although not a warm man by any means, the fact that he was around made Sho trust in him more than his own father. The Founder ran some sort of energy company, but beyond that Sho did not know the details. Rie had been hesitant to let him spend much time with his grandfather but now, with her health in decline, there was not much she could do or say to stop him. Desperation and loneliness drew him to the taciturn old man’s side, heedless of his barbed words and cold tone.
On a cold day in the depths of winter, Sho awoke to the sound of hushed voices. He had fallen asleep at the little table in his mother’s sickroom, and he now stirred as he heard her speak softly.
“Please, Gheriun. Take him with you. We were foolish to think this would work. He’s just a child—if he stays here he’ll become a tool of my father’s. No matter what he’s told you, he only cares for his own goals.”
Her voice was weak but with an edge of desperation to it. Sho blinked open bleary eyes to see an enormous man sat beside his mother’s sickbed. From here he could only see his back, but he knew immediately that it was his father. Anger boiled up in him, coupled with a curiosity at what they were discussing. He decided to feign sleep and listen in while they murmured.
“Rie, I can’t. You know what your father would do if…” He shook his masked head. “We agreed to this, you and I both.”
“But he’s just a boy!” Rie’s voice rose before she lowered it again. “He needs you. I won’t be around forever.”
“Rie…”
The Mask Seller’s massive shoulders slumped. Their voices lowered further and Sho had to lean forward to hear. However he knocked the tin of crayons onto the floor, alerting both adults to his wakefulness.
“Oh Sho, honey, did we wake you?” asked his mother before a coughing fit overtook her. He rushed to her bedside as his father rubbed her shoulders and awkwardly held her through the fit. Blood as black as night and thick as tar dripped from the corner of her mouth as the masksmith dabbed at it.
“Maman, you should rest,” Sho pleaded, grabbing one of her hands in his. The skin was paper thin and the bones prominent.
“I’ll be okay,” Rie insisted. Neither Sho nor the Mask Seller believed her, but they said nothing.
“Your father was just telling me about his travels,” she added. “He’s been all over the world. Just like you want to one day.”
Her words were coming a bit forcibly, breath heaving. There was a rattle in her chest as she spoke, and she looked so weak there beside the large Mask Seller. Sho felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes but he sniffed and rubbed them angrily, not wanting his so-called father to see his pain. The man’s expression was impossible to read behind his face mask.
“But maman, you promised you’d read to me today,” Sho protested. He didn’t mind skipping it, but he didn’t want to have to spend the day with the masksmith. Rie however had other ideas.
“Sho, it’s been so long since you’ve seen your father. I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear what you’ve been up to.”
That seemed to surprise the Mask Seller as much as it did his son. His shoulders twitched up and he shot his head around toward Rie, who just gave him a tired smile. Something unspoken passed between his parents’ gaze, some inscrutable message.
“Your mother needs her rest today,” he said at last.
He was right about that, that much even Sho could see. Rie was propped up on pillows but her head lolled weakly and it seemed to exhaust her to so much as lift one arm. That coughing fit was not a good sign. Sho wanted to refuse his father and stay here, but he knew he would only be in the way.
Finally, lamely, Sho inclined his head just so and kissed his mother on the cheek.
“I’ll be back soon, okay?”
Rie smiled weakly and reached up with an unsteady hand to caress her son’s rosy cheek.
“Try to have a good day my little sparrow.”
Her usual compliment made him turn beet red in front of his father, but the Mask Seller did not seem to notice. With one last look, both father and son left the sickroom, calling on the nurses to watch after Rie. There was not much they could do but relieve the symptoms as they occurred. It was simply hospice care for a long, unforgiving illness. One, Sho knew, that was given to her by his father.
He did not know the specifics, but his grandfather had sat him down one day and explained the manner of Rie’s illness. It was an aggressive infection of inky black veins webbed beneath the skin, coupled with a hereditary disease that she had been born with. When he had asked his grandfather how she had gotten sick, the old man had not hesitated to tell him that she had caught it because of his father. Ever since he had learned that, his already complex feelings about the masksmith became murky and turgid.
Now as he walked with him down the narrow corridors of the inner sanctum Sho was once more drawn to these thoughts. He slowed as they went until he was a good yard or two behind and the Mask Seller had to stop to wait for him to catch up. They repeated this dance over and over before they finally arrived at the wide entrance hall. Here the Mask Seller waited at the head of the stairs leading down onto the outer shrine grounds. Sho dawdled as much as he could until he finally made it to the large man’s side. The masked giant hesitated a moment before proffering one oversized hand in Sho’s direction.
“I’m not a baby,” Sho protested weakly.
The masksmith reacted like he had snapped at him, flinching his hand back. He stared at it as though it had been burned before clearing his throat and wiping his hand on his robes.
“Ah, quite right… I do apologize…”
It was that tone that rankled Sho the most, the pathetic, mealy mouthed platitudes that the large man offered up. It was almost like their roles were reversed, the Mask Seller hedging as though Sho were the huge, muscled adult. It made him sick to see his father simper, hem, and haw, and his temper flared. Still, his uncertainty of the near stranger kept his tongue.
“You don’t need to apologize,” was all he could manage, feeling embarrassed by the situation.
The two of them descended the stairs in silence, pausing here and there so that Sho could catch his breath. Much like his mother, he carried a certain genetic mutation that weakened his body and constitution. It was not nearly as bad so long as he stayed active, but he was limited in what activities he could partake in. The inner stairway was okay so long as he didnt try them all in one go and took at least one or two short breaks. The Mask Seller waited patiently each time, always a few steps ahead.
They reached the perimeter walkway between the nested buildings, and here the masksmith slowed. Sho got the impression that he was working up to saying something, and he was soon proved right.
“I know it must be very scary for you right now,” his father began, picking carefully at his words. “And things must feel very overwhelming. Your mother has told me… well, it doesn’t matter what she’s told me, but what you want.”
He seemed to be making his way around a subject he was ill equipped to handle, but he strove forward nevertheless.
“I know I haven’t been very…present, in your life.” The understatement of a lifetime. “I won’t force you to make a decision right now. But you’re going to have to decide whether you stay here with your grandfather or come with me when… If the need arises.”
His inability to speak directly, or even look in Sho’s direction as he spoke, caused a flame of rage to explode in the young boy’s chest. Sho bit down so hard on his cheek that he drew blood, the metallic tang steadying him.
“What are you saying?” he hissed. His father turned his masked face away as Sho tried desperately to get him to look at him. He could at least pretend.
“Your mother, Rie, she only wants what’s best for you,” the masksmith said haltingly. “But I told her that you deserve a choice in the matter. If you’d rather be with your grandfather, I would understand.”
The meaning behind his words did not fully register with Sho right away, but when they did he bristled.
“You’re giving up on her.”
“Son, no—“
“I am not your son,” snarled Sho. “You are nothing to us. You left us, and when mom got sick you disappeared. Now you’re here, acting so high and mighty?”
His voice had risen and cracked with exertion but he could not stop himself.
“She promised me! She promised me that you’d be here, that you’d care. But you never cared did you? We’re just a burden to you!”
He was sobbing now, but still the words would not stop. All the stories his grandfather had told him, how the masksmith spent his days in idle luxury while Sho and his mother suffered, alone and isolated in the mountains. How he had given up on a life with them to pursue hedonistic whims. How he had all but forgotten about them entirely.
“I don’t want anything to do with you,” Sho finished in a low tone, tears pouring down his face. “I wish you were the one who would die!”
He spat these last words out with all the vitriol his tiny body could manage before he spun on his heel and ran off into the old grounds of the shrine, heedless of his father’s shouts behind him. He ran out into the rain and the ruins, his heart close to bursting, his ears filled with the sound of rushing water. He wished the entire world might get washed away in the downpour, that nothing of this sordid planet remained behind. He wished he might vanish with the waters. He wished for anything but the reality he was now faced with.
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I added a bunch to this the other night. Exploring Gheriun & Rie’s relationship leading up to Sho’s birth. Still poking at it
That day he was led by the Founder into a part of the lab he’d not yet seen. As the other man passed a keycard and allowed the Mask Seller in, he was struck by the size of the place. He did not think the underground space extended so far, but before him were tens of stasis chambers glowing a faint blue or green. There were all manner of aberration within, even pieces of some gods he knew. He braced himself, cursing for leaving his club with security.
“Oh do calm down,” the Founder drawled. “I did this all for your sake.”
“My..?”
The Mask Seller had no idea what the other man was talking about. The Founder merely nodded before calling out to the rows of creatures.
“Rie! Your subject has arrived.”
There was a clatter of objects getting knocked to the ground and the scuttle of feet on the tile floor. From among the rows came a woman dressed in laboratory whites, hair up in a practical bun although it seemed to be intent on escaping, and some of the most impressive eyebrows the Mask Seller had seen. Her freckled face had an inquisitive look on it. He coughed and turned his masked face toward the Founder.
“This is your researcher? The one you told me about?”
“Don’t dismiss her just yet. Ah, Rie, how good of you to join us.”
“Yes, father,” she said, out of breath. Her eyes had not left the Mask Seller once and he felt incredibly exposed in that stare.
“You’re so much…bigger…than I expected. I thought a masksmith would be more of a wiry kinda guy.”
“It takes a lot more muscle than people realize,” Gheriun said, a bit defensively.
Rie just smiled. She had the sort of smile that lit up a room, and the Mask Seller looked again to the Founder.
“She knows what the…research entails, right?”
“Hello! I’m right here!” Rie stepped between the two men. “Of course I do, I'm not stupid. But um, I also know that I have the perfect mutation for this to work. If my calculations are correct at least. If not…”
She shrugged.
“I die, and you start over.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. The woman beamed up at him, certain of herself. The founder had no particular interest written upon his face. This had probably been partly his doing. But they needed this first step done if they were to move forward. A vessel capable of destroying the curse of immortality. A vital step in preventing the tragedy should mankind overreach itself once again and spread like a curse amongst the stars.
“But I’m quite confident in my ability,” she said, interrupting the masksmith’s thoughts. “Even father has commended me, and he commends nobody.”
The Founder inclined his head, much to Gheriun’s surprise.
“She’s the real deal. You asked who broke the entropy matrix—-well, she’s standing before you.”
“So as you can see,” Rie gestured with both hands, “I may not be gifted your many centuries, but I know my way around the a-un processes and I’m quite prepared for the physical rejection if it comes to it, and—“
“You’re ready to die, I get it,” the Mask Seller said, raising his large hands placatingly. “But surely with your talent you could have a long, storied career. There’s no need to risk your life just for this…”
“‘Just’ for this?” She seemed baffled. “I might solve the mystery behind one of the most important phenomena in our world. Besides, my life might only be the blink of an eye, but if we truly have the process down I’d have first hand access to the subject.”
“The subject,” the masksmith objected, “would be your own flesh and blood. You’d have to raise a child with a clinical hand. It’s not something—“
“I’ll die either way,” she interrupted with a snap. “This way I have some control over my death—and my contribution to this world.”
The Mask Seller was stunned, and he tilted his head toward the Founder, who nodded.
“It’s a disease you might be familiar with. First your sight goes, then your mind, until all that’s left..”
“The Ophelia factor…”
“Yes, hello, can we not talk like I’m invisible?” Rie piped up. “It makes me the perfect fit, right? We caught it before it started deteriorating the visual cortex so it’s still dormant, making the physical aspect no issue, and if we can get this just right you’ll have your subject. I only have another fifteen, twenty years left at most anyway, the risk of complications is of no matter to me.”
There was something so unsettling about seeing someone mortal seem so set in their death. Here was none of the usual flailing and fighting against fate, just a hungry desire for knowledge. He could not exactly fault her for it, but the look in her eyes disturbed him. She had accepted the burden of this project in full, he saw that now, so the nagging doubt came from somewhere within himself. But there was no time to question it, he knew. If they were to commit to this project, it would have to be soon. The balance was on the verge of collapse, and when it did there would be no more chances to prevent it.
So he hesitantly extended one hand out toward Rie, who blinked in surprise before accepting it.
“I’ll be in your care,” the Mask Seller muttered.
“And I yours,” beamed Rie with an impossibly bright smile.
They spent time getting to know one another over the coming weeks. Gheriun found Rie to be a fascinating mystery, so brilliant and yet at times a cloud hung over her so heavy it seemed immutable.
She had been born after the Founder had already passed to her father, and the Mask Seller had been sternly warned not to reveal his identity. He wondered just what the other man had done as he raised Rie.
She had an older sister as well, whom Gheriun soon became well acquainted with. Mei was more than ten year’s Rie’s senior and, as the masksmith discovered, well aware of the Founder’s aims. She worked closely with the other man, sometimes acting as a go-between for the Founder.
Her attitude was severe and curt, a stark contrast to Rie’s warm and friendly nature. However, it was obvious to Gheriun that she cared deeply for her younger sister. Although Rie had agreed to this on her own, Mei continued to treat the Mask Seller with suspicion. He couldn’t blame her; their arrangement was not exactly the standard, and although he and Rie had yet to progress to the next stage it was an inevitable part of their relationship.
The closer he got to Rie, the stormier his thoughts. The inkblot pulsed in his left eye socket, sending shockwaves through his brain as he made his way through the power plant.
Was this really okay? He was still uncertain as to what the Founder planned. That man had always woven plot after plot, even as a mortal.
And yet, Gheriun had accepted his hand.
He had been in disbelief when the Founder first came to him. For nearly 150 years, he had believed the man he knew as Shinya had died.
So when he learned that not only had he survived, but he’d managed to accomplish so much in pursuit of his goal, the Mask Seller had been filled with conflicting emotions.
Their time together had been brief, but Gheriun still recalled it with fondness. Perhaps they had simply been using one another, but the two had found a safe haven in the other all those years ago. Shinya’s death had hit the Mask Seller worse than he’d expected, and he had once again withdrawn from the world.
And then, after receiving a curse, they were reunited.
The Founder, as he was known now, had prepared everything. The dream they once shared now seemed a surety, if Gheriun could simply fulfill his task without his emotions getting the better of him.
So, as he now made his way through the crisscrossing corridors of the labyrinthine power plant, his thoughts were filled with stormy premonitions of what would come. After all, it was no simple matter of his life alone; to see his task through, he had to be willing to shackle this as-yet unborn child with an immense destiny. Perhaps it would be more apt to call it a curse. The longer time went on, the less sure he was of which.
He pressed a hand to his simple, white mask, head throbbing. The mushrooms seemed to feed on his uncertainty and doubt, tormenting him further as he approached his destination.
He took a deep breath, hand to his chest as he tried to calm his beating heart.
Why, after so, so many centuries, did his emotions choose now to resurface? He had lived so long in a sort of numb haze, detached from the world at large as he passed countless decades. It was as though he were a teenager again, volatile and self critical, full of uncertainty even as he committed to his role.
The Founder had prepared a space for them in one of the many attached buildings encircling the heart tree. He had not minced words as to what he expected of Gheriun, yet the Mask Seller had only grown more anxious about what he was to accomplish. He knew his past made him the best candidate for the task—whereas the vast majority of immortals were impotent, he had come to discover such was not the case for himself. It had not ended well, and although the Founder had assured him the same tragedy would not come to pass with Rie’s unique circumstances, Gheriun could not help but fret over what might happen to her if he was wrong. Memories of blood and the horror that he had born witness to flashed through his head, and he swallowed. Surely Shinya—surely the Founder would not allow his own daughter, his own grandson, to suffer such a fate. He had to be certain.
The inkblot spasmed in his face, and he clenched his jaw. Shoulders squared, he rapped the door lightly with his knuckles.
“Come in,” a bright voice said from within. “It’s unlocked.”
The Mask Seller carefully turned the handle and entered.
Inside sat Rie, perched on the corner of a bed. Her hands were folded on her lap, and rather than her usual researcher’s garb she was dressed in a simply cut yet elegant navy robe adorned with carefully stitched butterflies in shades of blue and purple along the sleeves and hem, with accents of gold. It was not overstated, and it added a level of regality about her appearance.
She smiled shyly, glancing down.
“I thought this might be better.”
Gheriun stood awkwardly by the door, unsure of just what he should do. Or rather, the knowledge of what he was supposed to do was tearing him apart inside.
Rie got to her feet in a fluid motion, pushing a lock of hazel hair from her face. Her soft features were lined with a hint of anxiety, brows furrowed slightly as she approached.
She held her hands out, hovering over Gheriun’s chest as she stood less than an arm’s length away. He could smell the floral scent of the gardens she tended to wafting from her hair.
Finally, carefully, she set her palms upon his broad chest. As she did so, her eyes widened.
“Are you nervous?”
“Ah,” the Mask Seller fumbled, “it’s not, that…”
He struggled to organize his thoughts as she leaned her head against him. Her hair was done up in a styled bun, wisps of it tickling his chin. Even on her tiptoes, Rie barely came up to his chin, stretching her arms out to wrap them around him. She was so slender beside him, so small. So fragile.
Before she could go any further, the masksmith grabbed her wrists gently.
“Why don’t we sit down, first?”
Her light features turned a deep shade of red as Rie took a step back. He had never seen her so flustered before, and she quickly turned around.
“Then, is here fine?”
The room was almost bare but for the bed, a table, and a small house shrine up on a shelf. The combination was unsettling to Gheriun, and he took a seat beside Rie on the thin mattress.
They sat in awkward silence for what felt like an eternity, close but not touching. The Mask Seller sat ramrod straight, hands on his knees as he stared out into space. Sweat beaded under his mask, and the inkblot ached.
“I guess it isn’t as simple as it seems,” Rie said finally. “I didn’t think I’d be so nervous.”
The masksmith gulped down an anxious breath before nodding stiffly.
“It’s not something I’m used to either,” he mumbled. “At least, not like… this.”
To his surprise, Rie laughed. She covered her mouth with one hand, freckled fingers crooked over her pink lips. Gheriun relaxed slightly, a smile spreading over his own face.
Rie leaned back on her hands, staring up at him. Unable to bear the scrutiny, the Mask Seller finally asked,
“What is it?”
Rie shifted towards him.
“Would you show me your face?”
Her question made him jolt, and he gaped at her, though his plain mask revealed nothing. At his silence, Rie quickly sat up, waving her hands apologetically.
“Oh, unless that’s something sensitive. I’m sorry, sometimes I speak without thinking, and—“
“It’s okay,” Gheriun said gently. “It’s just… rather unsightly.”
He shifted uncomfortably.
Rie had a complicated expression on her face, thick brows furrowed.
“It’s all right if you’d rather not. I understand.”
“It’s not that.”
Gheriun scratched the back of his head as he sought the words. He turned towards Rie.
“Just… I’m sorry, if it’s unpleasant.”
Without another word, he reached up and removed the mask over his face. Rie watched with an expression he was unable to read.
As the mask fell away from his curse-scarred face, Rie did not even flinch. Instead, she leaned closer, eyes on the odd growths sprouting from the left side of his face. She reached one slender hand up to his cheek and Gheriun flinched.
“Ah, sorry,” she said hurriedly, drawing back.
Gheriun placed a hand over his face and sighed.
“No, it’s just… isn’t it disgusting?”
A questioning look came over Rie’s freckled features and she shook her head.
“I assure you, I see far worse working the Plant. Some mushrooms don’t really faze me.”
She flashed him a brilliant smile, the mole beneath her right eye crinkling.
“May I?”
She held her hand up questioningly, and Gheriun nodded.
With a steady hand, she placed her warm palm against his cheek. Although overgrown with the inkblot, he felt her touch against what patches of skin remained. Somehow, the roaring in his head settled down, and his shoulders slumped. He leaned into her touch, her fingers brushing against his stubbly cheek.
“I think short hair would suit you,” she announced suddenly.
The Mask Seller stared at her, confused. He ran a hand along his hair, pulled back and tied out of the way.
“Is it so bad?” he asked defensively.
Rie burst out into that sunny laughter, waving her other hand.
“No, no, that’s not what I meant. I was just—it was just a passing thought.”
Gheriun cracked a small smile.
“Maybe next time I’ll have you cut it for me, then.”
His comment seemed to catch her off guard, and Rie glanced up at him. Her light brown eyes sparkled in the greenish overhead light, lashes shining as they moved.
Without thinking, Gheriun reached out and placed a hand on Rie’s cheek. Her eyes widened before softening, mouth spreading into a smile. He brushed aside a lock of warm brown hair, tracing a line of freckles along her cheek. She leaned towards him, eyes closing, and Gheriun met her lips with his own.
He kissed her gently, her arms sliding up his shoulders as she held him.
They parted, faces red.
Wordlessly, Rie sat back on the bed, her mouth set and determined. However, Gheriun hesitated once more.
“Are you sure—“
“Gher.”
Her voice was soft yet stern.
“If this project goes forward, I’d rather…”
She fumbled with her words, hands gesturing until finally she sighed and leaned her head back.
“I’m glad it’s you, and not somebody else. I know it’s not… I’m not…”
She threw her hands up.
“But this was what we agreed to. I agreed to. I know Father organized all of this, and I know I’m nothing more than a piece of this.”
One thin wrist fell across her face, obscuring it.
“I know it’s not exactly romantic or anything. But I guess, I’m just trying to say, I’m glad that you’re the one I…”
Her voice trailed off. Gheriun reached one hand out, not sure what to do.
Rie’s fingers wrapped around his and she pulled him down next to her. The Mask Seller froze, but she didn’t do anything further, just stared over at him. He felt trapped in that tender gaze, unable to escape.
“I was surprised when I met you.”
The masksmith jerked his head up, eyebrow cocked. At his expression, Rie smiled.
“Father had always told stories, but meeting a real immortal? One of those fabled wise hermits, someone beyond this world. But you’ve turned out to be more human than I expected.”
Gheriun settled back down on his side, propping himself up on an elbow.
“Would you prefer I was some wrinkled old geezer with a head the size of a distended dew melon?”
Rie laughed, slapping him lightly on the chest with the back of her hand.
“That would certainly have been more alarming. Though, yeah, I guess that’s more what I had pictured…”
“And you still agreed to this?”
She shifted, looking over at him with a devilish smile.
“Well, how could I say no? Even if you were, I’ve no other chance to meet someone like you. And who knows,” she said, her voice taking on a sad edge. “Maybe this way I’ll have left my mark on the world.”
Gheriun lowered his eyes, fumbling for what to say.
“Surely there are other ways.”
Rie’s face twitched, eyes slowly widening as she stared at the masksmith.
“You sound as though you’ve changed your mind.”
Gheriun shook his head.
“No, your father’s plan is… I don’t mind. But for you, to ask this much is…”
He felt a soft palm against his cheek and opened his eye to see Rie on her side looking into his face.
“Then, we’re in agreement.”
He searched her face for any sign of doubt, but found only a strong determination.
Just how had he ended up here? He had been so sure that he could go through with this without issue, yet at this crucial moment he was hesitating.
He slowly sat back up, face in his hands.
“Let’s… call it a day here.”
Rie bolted upright, alarm writ large across her face.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” the Mask Seller responded hurriedly. “I just… We don’t need to rush, your father’s still getting everything together, so it’s…”
He fumbled about for the right words.
“I just, right now is… Give me some time.”
Her soft palm lay flat against his hand, and he turned to see her looking at him with a gentle smile.
“Mm, maybe you’re right,” she said in a quiet voice. “Honestly, Father was the one who… But it’s like you said, there’s no reason to hurry. Yeah, no worries.”
She slapped her face lightly, her cheeks reddening under the touch, before balling her hands into fists.
“I was a bit nervous,” she admitted. “It’s not like I’ve never… But still. I thought it would be easier, somehow.”
Gheriun smiled as he nodded.
“I think I know what you mean.”
Rie scooted to the edge of the bed and reached over to grab his mask off the table. She rotated it in her hands with a curious expression.
“Does it do anything special?”
Taken off guard by the sudden change of subject, Gheriun scratched his chin.
“What do you mean?”
Rie turned to him, eyes shining with interest.
“Well, you’re the Mask Seller; you make these, right? Father mentioned you could enchant them, so I was wondering what this one does.”
“Ah,” Gheriun said. “Well, no, it’s not like I cast a spell on them or anything. Rather… it’s sort of like, when I’m really connecting with the piece, it’s like those feelings get imbued with them…? I can’t say I have any fine control over the matter, they just sort of end up that way. The material and the shape I carve it into do seem to have some effect over it, but I can’t say there’s any interesting process. It looks much the same as any other masksmith’s work. At the most, I’ll add talismans to them, but even then, I don’t make those myself. As for that, that one is just to help me blend into the crowd. Nothing so fantastic as a glamor, it’s more of a… suggestion?”
As he spoke, Rie leaned forward, fists on her knees. Her nostrils flared as she listened, fascination written plainly on her freckled face. It was so intense that Gheriun felt self conscious.
“Sorry, sometimes I go on about these things.”
“Oh, no, not at all,” Rie said in a rush. “Honestly, it’s fascinating to me. I wonder just how it works… Say, maybe I could come to your workshop sometime to observe? I promise I’ll stay out of your way.”
Her excitement was evident in her rapid-fire speech, and Gheriun found himself flattered that she would think so highly of it all.
“We’d have to ask your father, but sure, if he says—“
“Excellent! Then,” Rie said with a clap, “we have to do it before the summer is out. What do you say?”
Unable to say no, Gheriun’s mouth turned up into a lopsided grin.
“Before summer’s out, then.”
“Deal.”
They shook hands before parting ways.
Despite the situation, despite the responsibilities looming over them, despite his own doubts, Gheriun could not help but look forward to when that day would come.
They met up like that numerous times over the coming weeks, then months. Summer was in its midst and they had yet to take that trip to the seaside—and they had avoided certain other things as well.
Every time they ended up simply chatting, or even taking a nap together, just enjoying each other’s company. The initial awkwardness had worn off, but they found themselves still putting things off.
The Founder had begun to grow weary of the wait, however. By the end of the third month, he was doing little to hide his frustration with Gheriun. However, the Mask Seller pointed out that in terms of getting pregnant, that was really very little time at all, and somehow had managed to convince the other man that he was performing his duties as expected.
Still, both he and Rie knew it was only time before her father began pushing harder.
That day, as a thunderstorm made its way through Mineshi’s hot and humid summer streets, Gheriun arrived at the usual room soaked through. He had been caught in the sudden downpour as he made his way between buildings, and in that short time alone had ended up drenched. His long hair clung to his scalp and back, and he lamented not letting Rie cut it for him sooner. With how hot the summer had been, perhaps it was about time.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said as he opened the door. “The trains were a mess, and I… Rie?”
The room was dark, lit only by the dim emergency lights, and he squinted to see. As his eyes adjusted, he saw Rie sat on the side of the bed, perfectly still. Her head was bowed and her hands sat folded in her lap, hair done up in a loose bun. Loose strands fell over her face. Gheriun turned to switch on the light when she jumped.
“Don’t!”
He flinched, turning towards her. In the red glow of the backup lighting it was difficult to make out exact features, but her thick eyebrows were furrowed and her mouth strained. The shadows cast over her face left one side in darkness, a sharp contrast like the faces of a moon. He noticed that her robes were slightly askew and picked up his step as he walked towards her, hand held out.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”
She turned away from him, one hand cradling her face.
“I’ve just… my head hurts. The lights in this place are so bright, it’s awful. Was my father trying to torment everyone who comes in here?”
She laughed quietly, but there was an edge to it. Gheriun hesitated before placing his hand on her shoulder. At his touch, her head snapped back around, eyes wide through the dangling locks. She reached up and grabbed his arm.
“Gods, Gher, you’re soaked through. Here, there’s a spare summer robe in the closet, let’s get you out of these before you catch cold.”
Caught off guard by her sudden tonal shift, Gheriun spluttered and flailed his hands.
“No, it’s fine, I—“
“Nonsense. Come on, get undressed while I fetch it.”
She stood and headed towards the small closet, opening it to reveal shelves with a few assorted linens. The Mask Seller watched in growing panic, frozen, as she grabbed some towels.
Even in the dim light, he could see her face contort in exasperation as she turned.
“Here, don’t stand around like a drowned rat all day.”
She thrust the towels towards him, which Gheriun accepted meekly. He shuffled to the farthest corner of the room, drawing the drape that hung over the bed to obscure himself. As he was hastily wrapping one of the towels around his waist and lamenting his large body and the fabric’s inadequate coverage, a soft voice called out from behind him.
“Here’s your…”
He whipped around to see Rie wide-eyed. Before he could say anything, she stepped closer, fingers stretched out to trace the edges of the large burn scar which covered his back.
“Oh Gheriun…”
At the sorrow in her voice he lowered his head, not wishing to turn and face her.
“That was a long time ago, now,” he murmured.
There was silence, and then the gentle pressure of Rie’s weight against his back. He felt her lean her cheek against his shoulder, her hands wrapping around the masksmith’s waist. He started to pull away when he heard the soft, painful sound of muffled sobs. Startled, he froze, standing there in only a towel and unsure what to do.
“Can we just stay like this for a minute,” Rie whispered. “Please.”
“I—of course.” Gheriun lowered his hands sheepishly. “If that’s what you need.”
They stood there as Rie cried, choked, muted sobs that barely left her lips. The Mask Seller felt paralyzed, barely even able to breathe. He couldn’t even muster the courage to ask her what exactly had happened, but a part of him suspected the Founder had played some part.
“Rie,” he said, breaking his silence as he placed his hands on hers. “Is there anything I can do?”
“It’s not… I’m just being foolish. As Father always says, it’s like I walk around with my head in the clouds, never giving any thought to my actions.”
Her hands twitched.
“I need to act like an adult already. I’ve been so spoiled.”
“Rie…”
Gheriun struggled with how to respond, and as he tried to come up with some comforting words, Rie shifted.
Her hands slid up to his face as she turned his head to kiss him. There was a desperation in the way she clung to him, and Gheriun froze.
As she parted from him, hair askew, her eyes were burning with some deep emotion he couldn’t place.
Before he knew it, they had ended up on the bed.
When everything was over, Rie lay atop Gheriun’s chest, her face obscured by her loose hair. She reached over and trapped his fingers in her own.
“It’ll all work out,” she said, almost as if to convince herself. “I just worry…”
“What is it?”
She let out a small sigh, slumping her head.
“Is it right,” she began, “morally? To bring a child into this world purely as a conduit…”
Gheriun shifted slightly.
“Though it might be unusual, doesn’t every parent wish for great things for their child, to some degree?”
His words sounded hollow even to his own ears, but Rie glanced up at him with a shaky smile.
“Mm, no, you’re right,” she murmured. “Father said something similar. I just… It does feel a bit strange.”
A pang of guilt shot through Gheriun like a bullet.
It wasn’t just a bit strange; it was terribly unusual. However, she had been raised within these confined walls, her own father none other than the Founder. It was not the first time that the Mask Seller was forced to face his own complicity in the matter. He coughed, trying to clear his thoughts.
“Say,” he said slowly. “Why don’t we plan that trip out to the sea?”
Rie perked up at his suggestion before wilting.
“But Father, he,” she stammered. “He’s worried I’m not taking this seriously. I understand, and maybe he has a point, but…”
Her round shoulders rose as she took a deep breath.
“I need this to work out.”
Gheriun thought for a moment.
“Then, I’ll speak to him. Maybe I can work something out. I owe your father a great deal.”
Rie looked like she wanted to ask a question, but instead she bit her lip.
“Is something wrong?” Gheriun asked.
Rie shook her head quickly.
“Mm-mm,” she muttered. “That’s a good idea. I’ll leave it to you, then.”
When it was time to go, the Mask Seller slumped into his still-damp clothing despite Rie’s protests. They lingered before parting, not saying anything for a long while before Gheriun finally nodded and donned his mask.
“Well then,” he said. “And Rie…”
He fumbled as he tried to find the right words.
“If there’s ever anything bothering you—“
“I’ll be fine. You just worry about yourself.”
Her voice was even but cool, and Gheriun immediately shut his mouth. Rie’s face relaxed into a smile.
“I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah,” Gheriun managed. “Later, then.”
Gheriun haircut
They continued to see each other, and within what felt like no time at all, it was discovered that Rie was pregnant.
The news should have elicited some sort of elation in Gheriun; after all, it meant that they had succeeded in Phase One of the project. However, he was instead filled with turbulent and difficult emotions.
Memories flashed through his head as the inkblot seemed to gnaw away at his brain. He grit his teeth as he made his way to the designated room.
It was not the usual place off in the distant side-halls of Power Plant No 1, but instead a larger meeting room located in the Administrative Wing. As he stepped through the finely lacquered double doors he was greeted with the sight of a long table set with many chairs. The far wall was itself the glass of a fish tank, with parts of the ceiling and floor also revealing an enclosure filled with brilliant red and gold arowana. There were elegantly inscribed scrolls and a few minimalist pedestals along the wall topped with fine works of pottery and jade.
The many seats were empty save two; Rie sat near the foot of the table, dressed in simple, grey-blue robes. It seemed that the Founder had stalled her lab work, and Gheriun had not seen her in the overcoats and turtlenecks she once fancied in a long while.
Meanwhile, at the head of the table sat the Founder himself. His black hair was streaked with grey from the temples, a trimmed, short salt-and-pepper beard along his sharp jawline. Age had sunken his cheeks, giving him an imposing and gaunt look.
As the Mask Seller stepped inside, the Founder snapped his head up and gave him a chilly smile.
“I’m sure you’ve heard the news,” he cooed. “Our precious Rie has successfully fallen pregnant. My congratulations to you both.”
He clapped drily a few times before lowering his hands.
“The upcoming months will be crucial. I understand the two of you have been wishing to take a trip to the seaside, and while I do so wish that were possible, unfortunately…”
He gestured toward Rie, thick brows furrowed.
“You understand, don’t you, dear?”
Rie bowed her head.
“Yes, Father.”
“Well then, Gheriun.”
The Founder turned his hawklike gaze on the Mask Seller. His black and gold eyes seemed to bore right into him as he shifted uncomfortably.
(This is a little bit after Sho is born)
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”
“Shh. It’s okay, Gher. I needed some time to recover anyway.”
Gheriun stood gazing in awe upon the tiny bundle in Rie’s arms. She gave him an exhausted smile as she lifted the blanket towards him.
“He’s just perfect, look.”
The masksmith accepted the bundle with extreme care, gently cradling it against himself. He stared down in disbelief as he peeled back one corner.
Therein lay a tiny, rosy cheeked infant. He already had locks of curly, dark hair clinging to his scalp, and Gheriun gaped as he watched him sleep.
“His name,” he said quietly. “Did you decide on one?”
“Mm.” Rie nodded. “I want his life to be full of joy. I know that a lot lays before him, but…”
She sighed, eyes relaxing into a warm look as she gazed upon the boy.
“Sho,” she said finally. “His name is Sho. Or, well, what do you think?”
“Me?” Gheriun asked, startled. “I-I think it’s lovely. Sho, huh…”
He stared down at the infant, caressing one of his plump cheeks with a calloused finger. As he did so, the boy’s round eyes snapped open. The Mask Seller was surprised to see familiar dark eyes ringed in lines of gold so much like his own. One small hand peaked through the blanket, grabbing onto Gheriun’s finger. The masksmith stood stunned as the tiny digits wrapped around his own.
“We really did it,” he said in amazement.
Rie laughed.
“He really takes after you.”
“Ah, Gheriun said, embarrassed. “Hopefully not…”
As he looked down, he noticed three moles arranged more or less at the corner of either eye and mouth. He smiled.
“He has the exact mole under his right eye that you do.”
“And one like my father, funnily enough!”
Her comment made him think of Shinya. It was true; his current body also had that characteristic mole at the left corner of his mouth. A small shiver ran down his spine, but he shook his head to clear it.
“How are you feeling, though?” he asked suddenly. “Has it continued to spread?”
Rie’s smile faltered for a moment as she shook her head.
“Mm-mm, don’t worry too much. I think that was just an episode. It’s been pretty okay…”
She trailed off in an unconvincing tone. Gheriun faltered as Sho started to babble, smiling as he squeezed the masksmith’s finger with all his tiny might. Both parents looked at him with warm smiles.
“What did your father say?” asked the masksmith.
Rie’s eyes flashed for a moment before she placed a hand to her cheek, glancing at Sho.
“He’s doing well. All the tests came back indicating everything’s in the clear.”
“That’s good,” Gheriun said with not-inconsiderable relief.
“He is rather small though,” Rie went on. “I worry about the burden it might all have on his body.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. He’s going to be strong like his mother. Aren’t you, pal?”
Gheriun tickled the child’s cheek as the boy laughed. Rie’s expression relaxed into a smile as she watched the pair.
(They go to the sea when Sho is a few months old, it’s Rie’s first time out of Mineshi)
“Look, Gher!” Rie said in breathless wonder. “You can see it from here.”
The masksmith smiled, breath misting in the cold winter air as they created a small hill. On the horizon spread a vast, endless expanse of grey water under slate skies, slivers of white speckled across speaking of turbulent waters. They had been able to smell the salt in the air since they’d departed the rail car, but now the ocean lay before them in all its bleak majesty.
Rie’s face lit up with excitement as she turned to Gheriun. Her nostrils flared as she grinned.
“It’s huge!”
He relaxed his shoulders, returning her smile from behind his mask.
“Don’t go too fast now. Are you sure you’re warm enough?”
She laughed at his concern, pulling the corner of the thick blanket they’d wrapped Sho in up over his tiny mittened hand. The infant was bundled in numerous layers, adorned with earmuffs and hat and swaddled in a fleece wrap. His face was a bit red, but the boy was sleeping peacefully despite his mother’s excitement. It had been surprising to see how well-behaved the boy was, although he had a tendency to sob when his mother was out of sight for too long.
Still, every time Gheriun came to see them, he found himself lost in amazement at the small life they had created. It was something he had long since been convinced would be impossible for him, and yet here they were. He watched Rie adjust Sho’s hat fondly before they continued on towards the sea.
As they neared the shore, Rie’s pace picked up despite Gheriun’s numerous warnings. He hurried to catch up to her as she rushed towards the crashing waves.
“Don’t trip while you’re holding him—“
“It’s fine, Gher. Look, he’s awake.”
The masksmith glanced down to see the infant’s dark eyes open wide, locked on the sight before him. Fine black hairs were already filling in on his brow ridge, and Gheriun wondered if the boy would have the same thick brows as his mother.
He stood behind the pair, hand hovering above Rie’s back before dropping limply to his side. Her brown eyes watched the waves with wonder, and a small sigh escaped her lips. Her breath misted in the air before being snatched away by the wind.
“It’s so much larger than I expected. I thought the lake north of the heart tree was huge, but this is on a whole other level.”
She braced herself against the wind, arms cradling Sho close to her chest. The little boy was giggling happily as he looked at the ocean. Together they made for a picturesque scene, and the Mask Seller felt at peace despite all that was to come.
“You’ve never been out of Mineshi, have you?”
Rie’s face reddened further at his question and she shook her head sheepishly.
“Mm, unfortunately, I never had the opportunity, though I did go to Xiu Tao when I was a little girl. It was so long ago I can’t really recall.”
She had a sad smile on her face, one he had grown used to seeing now and again, her eyes roaming the stormy seas as though an answer might be elucidated from them.
“I suppose Father didn’t really approve of me doing anything outside of his control,” she said, so quietly her words were nearly lost in the crash of the waves.
Gheriun followed her gaze out to the horizon.
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Small piece of Rie & Sho
“Maman, look!”
“Mm, what’s this dear?”
Rie accepted the boy’s excited offering with a warm smile, eyes creasing. He handed her a paper scrawled with a chaotic image, and as she looked down her heart leapt.
“Oh honey,” she said quietly. “It’s lovely.”
The picture depicted three figures, two standing hand in hand with the third some ways off. They were surrounded by tiny little creatures with smiling faces. Rie could immediately tell it was a drawing of her, Sho, and the masksmith. She’d have to show it to Gheriun the next time he came.
Her thoughts turned to the Mask Seller. As of late, he had been showing up less and less often. She had tried to tell herself that the move to the mountains had simply made it more difficult for him; even with his methods, they were located deep in the Rift, making even fast travel hard. However, as time wore on and his visits grew more infrequent, Rie had begun to worry.
They had not even planned to be as involved as they had been, so she supposed she should be grateful, and it wasn’t as though theirs was a relationship of romantic love. They cared for one another as friends and shared a love for Sho, but their lives were their own. Rie suspected that Gheriun had his own personal troubles, though he was careful to keep his life out of their discussions.
Still, the last few months had seen a marked progression of her illness. The dark discoloration had spread, starting from her abdomen and thighs and snaking up her chest and down her legs. Spots had begun to blossom across her body, growing with every week. The other day she had even woken up to see a dark blemish spreading beneath her right eye. It had made her heart stop as she stared into the mirror.
When her remaining attendant had seen her, even she had backed away in horror.
It had not mattered what the doctors said; the others feared Rie’s strange disease, afraid they too might be afflicted. She had lost her small circle of friends and associates, until only her family and Gheriun dared to come near her. The attendant was the last one outside of the doctors to stay by her side, and Rie had been unable to force the woman to stay upon seeing her reaction.
Still, her biggest worry had been what Sho would think, but the boy had carried on as though nothing had changed.
His own health had been turbulent, with bouts of fever following the strange trances he had started to fall into. They fascinated her father to no end, but Rie was only terrified. Sho’s eyes would grow distant as he’d speak in rapid-fire, cryptic prose. During the worst episodes blood would pour from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.
After, he would remember nothing, and would fall into a fever lasting days at a time. The episodes seemed to be growing more frequent the older he got, and Rie could not help but worry even as her father carefully recorded every one.
His attitude toward her son had always been cold and distant except for where his research applied. He would put on a smile and pretend to be a kind grandfather, but Rie could recognize his masks.
Her mind was filled with doubt as to his intentions; for so long he had convinced her of the righteousness of his actions, that this would not only benefit Sho but the world. Yet no amount of honeyed words could stay the growing worry in her chest.
Something about her father’s attitude and actions didn’t add up. Even as her body deteriorated, Rie had begun to investigate everything she could back at the power plant, and even now scrounged the shrine for any shred of information. The questions in her head only grew, clanging about loudly and forcing her awake in the middle of the night. Her dreams had become murky and panicked, seeming to always culminate in something horrible happening to Sho, to him being taken away from her.
“Maman?”
“Mm?”
Snapped out of her thoughts by her son’s hand on her shoulder, Rie turned and grinned. She cupped her fingers over his.
“I was just thinking we should show your father.”
“Mm.”
Sho’s face scrunched up at her words, thick brows like her own furrowing tightly.
“What is it?” she asked.
The boy puffed out his cheeks, glancing away.
“Why’s he never here anymore?”
Startled by his question, Rie grasped for the right thing to say.
“Mm, weeell,” she began, finger to her chin. “You see, he’s really, reaaally busy. He’s working hard so that you can be happy.”
Her son scowled, rosy cheeks contorted. He didn’t look convinced in the least.
“But maman, he should be here. With you.”
Rie let out a small sigh, smiling wearily.
“We can’t always get what we want, dear.”
She patted his cheek lightly.
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Part 2, Sho lost in false memories. Pretty gory fyi
Floating, fluttering, falling.
His heart was in a state of suspense, a whirlpool of turgid emotion tumbling through the void.
Crack.
The sound of bone, cracking, cracked.
Slice.
The sound of flesh, tearing, torn.
Plop.
The sound of blood, spilling, spilled.
Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop plop plop plop plopplopplopplopplopplopplop—
“Surely that was not nearly enough to end you, masksmith? Ah, and here I had hoped you might prove adequate for configuring this body.”
Sho’s hand held a quivering loop of gut, still steaming from its removal. He felt his face screw up in a sneer.
“Really not sure what I ever saw in you. You’re useless even as fodder.”
He flung the organ away and kicked the limp form of the Mask Seller, drawing a weak groan from the other man. Sho’s heart leapt, hoping against hope that his father might still be able to pull through this. He was the strongest man Sho had ever known, after all. Surely, surely he would not die here.
The Founder knelt beside the masksmith, hands on his knees as he stared down at him. He cocked his head and watched for a moment before snatching Gheriun’s chin and pulling it up. He stared into his barely open eye.
“So, you yet live. How does it feel? To know that your actions alone led you here? That you’ve nobody to blame but yourself? Even if you were to blame anyone else, Sho could have continued living a blissfully ignorant life, free of pain, until its predetermined end. It’s a far better existence than much of humanity.”
“Free of pain?” Gheriun scoffed, a manic smile stretching his cheeks as his eye burned. “Have you really convinced yourself of that, Shinya? If so, you’re more of a fool than I.”
He laughed weakly, but the Founder merely smacked him across the face.
“I told you decades ago to never use that name, yet you’ve been spouting it off quite recklessly, haven’t you?”
He glared down at the masksmith.
“You seem to have built up quite the outdated and nostalgic image of me, but unfortunately, I am no longer the same sniveling gadabout. What I’ve created, all that I’ve accomplished, requires a great man, so I became one.”
His hand drifted along Gheriun’s face, fingers tracing the bumps and ridges on the left side. The Founder let out a sigh in obvious exasperation.
“Weren’t you the one who told me to be less of a naive idealist?”
“Yeah,” the Mask Seller replied. “Unfortunately, I also had a lot of growing to do.”
Sho’s slim fingers ran down Gheriun’s scars to his neck, pausing there.
“It does sadden me that you’d so scorn the gift I bestowed upon you. I did work so hard on it.”
“Go to hell,” spat the masksmith, blood staining his words. “You, damned revenant. Give Sho back.”
For a moment, there was no response. Sho watched on in dread, not sure what was happening on his own face. Then, a terribly out of place thing happened.
The Founder laughed.
Gently, at first, but it grew exponentially until he was positively roaring, tears pricking his eyes as he held his sides. Sho imagined that his face would have had much the same expression as his father’s, had he been able to move it.
Sho had never, in all his life, heard his grandfather laugh. Even the nearest sound he made to one came nowhere near the level of raucous outroar that spilled from his lips. Even more than his cruel possession of Sho’s body and subsequent actions, that settled in Sho’s mind just how little he had known about his grandfather.
Nothing else was said while the Founder was overcome with mirth. Finally, it began to subside as he wiped away a tear from his eye and caught his breath. Sho felt the smile on his face, pulling his lips wide.
“Ah, ah, ah, Gheriun,” he said, the name causing the other man’s eye to widen. “So you were not just acting, then? You truly…hah, excuse me. You who so gleefully abandoned this vessel after performing your bare minimum duties by Rie… Surely you can understand just how amusing that is?”
He continued to chuckle as the masksmith watched him in open mouthed horror. Sho could see that his father had grown shockingly pale, and panic began to rise in him once more.
“You mean it, then?”
The Founder leaned in closer, one hand to his chest.
“That you value this vessel more than our dream?”
Sho was stunned when his father replied without hesitation,
“With all my heart. For Sho, I’d trample all over that pristine walled garden you’ve so tended before setting it alight. My mistake was in trusting you in the first—ghk!”
Around Gheriun’s throat, Sho’s fingers clamped down. The man had lost any strength to even lift his remaining arm, able only to toss his head weakly to and fro.
“I think your foolish prattle has gone on long enough.” His voice had resumed its icy tone. “Goodbye, Gheriun.”
Something flashed, but even as he stared forward Sho did not see what. He felt a weight in his hands, his mind screaming not to look, not to feel, not to think. However the Founder, with no consideration for the inner turmoil, lifted the object. It was quite heavy, and required both—
“Don’t look.”
Even though he knew he could not have turned, his vision seemed to pull back to glance behind himself. There, in the woods, the same black cat from earlier sat beneath a tree adorned with yet another painting. The feline had a somehow sorrowful expression on its face.
“You don’t have to see this.”
Huh?
“It’s just a cruel nightmare.”
Sho’s mind reeled, but the cat’s words only made his attention drift back to the Founder. He had the odd sensation of seeing himself from behind, and he proceeded forward.
“Sho, the painting—“
But the look on his own face locked out the rest of the cat’s desperate words.
The Founder had contorted his young features into a truly frightening picture of bliss. His lips were spread in a satisfied grin as he gazed at the object within his hands.
“In the end, you always were a superb subject. Let your 2000 year story end here.”
A shock. Nerves on fire.
“What’s happening now? Why is he—“
“I don’t know, damnit. It’s like he’s still got those cursed things attached.”
“Rui, turn him onto his side before he chokes!”
Sho was glad that he couldn’t feel the sensations of his own body anymore. He fixated on the large amount of blood flowing down the Founder’s hands, down, down, down, to some large shape by his feet.
“Fucking hell, it’s like he’s trying to reject his own soul.”
“But why would… Sho! Sho, listen to me. You need to come back to us.”
What were those voices he kept hearing?
Reflexively, he turned away from that which he did not wish to acknowledge. His mind felt like it was being torn apart, fracturing under the sights and sounds. Somehow, the smell of blood permeated the air even to his bodiless self. It was metallic and harsh, and he almost laid eyes upon what the Founder held within his hands.
“Sho, damnit, come on. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Was that his father?
For a moment, he turned his view to the painting. Had it come from there?
Surely it could not have come from behind him.
He felt himself stagger forward without legs, reaching without arms to grasp without fingers at the canvas before him.
The image was far more abstract than any of the others, but it shook him to his very core.
There stood a young boy with black hair. His face had an expression of utmost belonging and love, such that he did not recognize it for his own at first.
Surrounding him were two figures in markedly looser relief, their arms twined around the canvas in a protective frame. Their faces were full of love as they gazed down at the boy, guarding him from the darkness beyond.
One was unmistakably his father, albeit without the inkblot. Beside him, the slender second figure evoked a sense of longing from Sho, like he had not seen him in ages and wished only to see him again, to express his deep gratitude. He was not even sure for what, only that the second figure had saved him in some vital way.
The stench of blood had been washed away by the soft scent of rose petals filling the air around him. Sho imagined himself leaning his forehead against the canvas, and his vision dimmed as he cried out for those he had left behind.
He sat at the desk, palms flat on its surface. They were bare of any speck of the bloodshed which Sho had just been witness to. He also noted that while he was in uniform, his body was visibly different, older by some number of years. He had the sense of returning to how it should be, though that confused him.
The other desks surrounding him stood empty save for a single lily placed in a vase upon each. He cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the blackboard. Its surface was bare save for a simple phrase.
SELF INTRODUCTIONS
There in the empty classroom, where the shadows seemed especially long, the bell chimed over the loudspeaker system. He looked up at the speaker, then back to the empty teacher’s podium, and he cocked an eyebrow.
“Ding~dooong, congratulations, commendations. Did you have a safe summer vacation? What sights did you see while you were away?”
A light voice bubbled up behind him.
He recognized it immediately, although he could not place from where. Only that it sent a shiver of dread down his spine. He froze, not wishing to turn around. To his relief, his body obeyed him.
A disappointed noise sounded, and he heard a chair scrape back.
“Aww, you still don’t wanna look at me? Well~ it’s probably better if you don’t, after all. The others say it’s pretty unpleasant.”
“Who are you?” he asked.
The girl behind him giggled, and he heard the swish of fabric. Then, two arms were wrapped around his shoulders. Slender white arms crossed in front of Sho’s chest, and he felt the warm tickle of a breath against his ear.
“Something like, well~ Hah, that’s a good one actually? Something like that. You don’t know me, but I know you oh so intimately, proto-Prophet. I’d like to think you’re something like~ a cool upperclassman I can aspire to? Admire, too?”
He couldn’t follow her lackadaisical speech. She had a whimsical manner of talking, but the sense of danger grew within him. His heart hammered against his rib cage as she squeezed him tightly, lips fluttering against his cheek.
“It’s too bad we didn’t get any longer to play,” she said in a sickly-sweet voice. “But I have to play by the rules too- you know? Next time, I’ll make sure we have lots and looots of fun.”
Her arms released him and she stepped back. Unable to resist, Sho whipped his head around but to his surprise, there was nothing but the back of the empty classroom. When he turned to face forward, he jumped.
On the podium sat the black cat which had guided him throughout his voyage. Now, with his 20 year old memories slowly returning to him, he stared in wide eyed amazement.
“You’re…?”
“I’m sorry you had to see all of that. I did the best I could to get you to the paintings, but it seems it wasn’t in time.”
“No, I…”
Sho thought for a minute, considering all that he had seen. He clenched his shaking hands shut and shook his head.
“I can’t say it wasn’t terrifying. It’ll probably haunt me for the rest of my life. But… I’m not a lonely, scared little kid anymore.”
The cat squinted his eyes in approval.
“It seems you’ve grown in these past five years. However, I don’t have much time. You need to get back soon. You have people waiting for you.”
The cat spoke in a gruff voice, his three green eyes locked on Sho. He flicked his tail, and a door shimmered into sight beside him. Sho choked back a startled shout of surprise as he recognized the door to his parents’ home.
“If it’s really you… what are you doing here?”
The cat—Sowaca—narrowed his eyes in impatience.
“You could lose your soul and end up the empty vessel you saw in these visions,” he said bluntly. “They’ve been working hard on keeping you tethered this long, but you need to get out of here now or you’ll never leave. It’s not over until you do.”
“But,” Sho fumbled, “I can’t just… if you’re here, I have to tell him! Please, for the Observer’s sake—“
“That kid’ll be fine for now.”
Sowaca’s eyes turned fond as he spoke of his long separated partner. He soon turned urgent once more.
“But he won’t be if he loses you here. You’ve got a lot of folks waiting on your return. It’d make any god jealous.”
Sho faltered, sensing the urgency in his voice but unwilling to leave without answers for his friend.
“He misses you every day, even if he won’t admit it.”
“Hah?”
As Sowaca widened his eyes, Sho continued.
“He acts like it’s easy, talking about you, but I know it isn’t. Sometimes, he looks so fragile, like he’s about to break into a thousand tiny pieces. But he still forgave me, who took you from him, and showed me what it meant to be human.”
His hands balled into fists.
“So now I…! I need to do at least this much for him!”
The cat had a stunned expression on his face as he stared wordlessly at Sho. Finally, he let out a frustrated breath and scratched his ear furiously with one hind paw.
“You really did get big while I wasn’t watching. Will you get out of here if I tell you this much? What you did—it’s more like you disconnected me from the normal flow of things. Usually, that’d be enough to end a god, but you’ve been stubbornly lighting offerings to me, keeping me in your thoughts, no matter how much time’s passed, haven’t you? Since you’re my direct line—something like a disciple? I’ll be fine as long as you are.”
His last words spoken meaningfully, Sowaca thrust his chin toward Sho’s home. He understood then that he could not afford to dawdle; it was not simply himself at risk.
Still, just before he opened the door, he turned to Sowaca one last time.
“For still being here—thank you.”
“Okay, okay, now get going alrea—pwahhh!?”
The cat cried out as Sho lifted him in his arms and gave him a tight squeeze.
“For everything—thank you.”
“I get it already, now get a move on! I can’t go with you through the door.”
Sho sniffled as he set Sowaca down, hurriedly wiping at his eyes before tears could form.
“Mm. I’m off, then.”
The first thing Sho saw as he opened his eyes was his father’s worried face. He almost laughed in relief: as miserable as the masksmith looked, he was very much alive.
Although his body ached all over and he felt his left arm in a splint, Sho poured all of his strength into reaching up and grabbing his father around the shoulders. Gheriun looked startled for a moment before he gingerly reciprocated his son’s hug.
“Dad, you’re okay,” Sho said, biting back a sob.
Gheriun patted his back gently, looking baffled but nevertheless relieved.
“I should be saying that to you. Gods above, I was so afraid you wouldn’t wake up.”
“Welcome back, Sho.”
He looked up to see Etienne as the Painter seated himself on the edge of the couch beside him, one palm on Sho’s head. As it brushed against something, Sho realized that he was wearing a mask. He soon forgot this fact.
His emotions became complex all at once. He opened his mouth to speak but uttered only a strangled cry, one hand clawing at thin air.
“Father,” he finally managed.
The Painter stroked his hair gently.
“You had us worried.”
The dam within Sho broke at that moment, and he grabbed Etienne around the neck, tears pouring down his face and staining the wooden mask’s interior.
“I took it for granted,” he said in a husky voice. “But I missed you so much.”
“There there,” Etienne soothed. “You needn’t worry so.”
But his face wore a look of fierce love as he held the sobbing boy.
Nobody said anything while Sho recovered himself in bouts. Although he had yet to tell them of all that had happened, that other world held a firm grasp on him.
He had experienced firsthand a time where the Painter had not graced the shrine with his presence just as Sho needed him most. He had fallen into despair at his grandfather’s hands, lost without anyone to turn to until it was too late.
It was not a simple matter of getting over it, now that he knew it for a dream. By his own hands, he…
Shuddering, Sho sat back on the couch, pondering what to say. He was full of warmth at his parents’ well-being, but what had happened weighed heavily on him.
He reached up to remove his mask, startled to see that it was the gift he had received on his fifteenth birthday. His father had carved and painted it himself, but it had been carelessly left behind at their home after Sho had moved out.
“I was wondering where this went,” he said fondly.
“I found it while clearing out some boxes and placed it in your room,” the masksmith admitted sheepishly. “Though now I’m glad I did.”
“I don’t know why I ever left it behind.”
Sho stared into the mask’s face, fingers running over the careful marks left by his father. He had poured his heart into creating it, and Sho had at first scorned it, then become apathetic. At some point, he had lost track of it entirely.
“Ahem. Sorry to interrupt emotional family reunion time, but there’re a few things I need to ask you.”
Rui cleared his throat and announced his presence. Then, seeing the stern look on Etienne’s face, added,
“If you feel well enough, of course. It is imperative I know what happened sooner than later, however, sorry.”
“No, I understand. It’s okay dad,” Sho said when Gheriun tried to protest. “He’s right. It’s still somewhat vague, but it’s better I don’t delay this for selfish reasons.”
“If you say so,” his father said with lowered eye.
“Is Santu here?” Sho asked, noticing her conspicuous absence.
All three nodded in response.
“She’s watching your siblings,” the masksmith said.
“Then, dad, could you maybe ask her to come in here?”
Hesitating a moment, Sho added,
“In fact, why don’t you watch those two for now. I can catch you up later…”
He couldn’t look Gheriun in the eye as he requested this, causing his father to start in alarm.
“Sho? Are you sure…”
Etienne squeezed one of his thick arms gently, giving him a look. While it seemed that the Mask Seller might protest, his shoulders slumped and he acquiesced to his husband. Gheriun rubbed his scalp but nevertheless stood up to fetch Santu.
While they waited for her arrival, Etienne could not help but ask some questions at Sho’s odd request.
“Why don’t you want your father to hear? Is it something you feel bad about? If it’s relying on us, you shouldn’t.”
“Ah, that’s not it,” Sho muttered. “Or, well, I might, but it’s more…”
He trailed off, staring down at the fingers on his mobile hand. He flexed them as he tried to get the sensation of murdering his own father out of them. It did not matter that it had been the Founder in action, nor that it had been but an illusion playing out within his own head, Sho had watched, had felt, every moment by his own hand.
“Sho?”
The phantom memory made his stomach lurch, and Sho was soon retching into a swiftly retrieved wastebasket while his stepfather rubbed his back. Gasping, Sho wiped his mouth as his body shuddered.
“It was…like I was back in the past, six years ago, but everything was wrong,” he began slowly.
As he spoke, a realization dawned on him.
“Just, how long was I out?”
His eyes widened in alarm, but Etienne quickly reassured him.
“It’s the fourth day since you arrived here with Santu,” he said gently.
It wasn’t the shortest time to be unconscious, but Sho reflected on the relief he felt that it had not been weeks, or even months like in his dream. He let out a small breath before continuing on at the Painter’s look.
“It was like, small things would be different, and it’d lead to larger differences. Because of that…”
His voice lowered in abject despair as he clutched his chest, willing himself to confess what he had done. The Observer’s face looked grim.
“Because of that, by my own hand, I killed my father.”
His admission visibly stunned Etienne, but before the Painter could say anything Santu came rushing into the room. She nearly leapt upon Sho in her joy to see him conscious. He shot Rui and his stepfather a look silently urging them to say nothing of his earlier confession.
“Sho! It’s Sho! You’re okay!!”
Rui had grabbed the back of her sweater, bringing her to a halt, arms outstretched. Sho sighed in relief at seeing her so full of energy. Small scrapes and bruises as well as some wrapped bandages were scattered along her limbs and face, but she had a bright smile and nothing visibly worse than a few stitches.
As she calmed her struggles, the Observer released her to embrace Sho, albeit much more sedately this time.
“It’s good to see you too, Santu,” Sho said with a warm smile, patting her back. “I’m glad that you weren’t hurt too badly.”
“Mm-mm, I’m just hunky-dory! But Sho, you had a bunch of wibbly-wobblies coming out of your face, are you sure you’re okay?”
“I had what now?”
He turned to the other two for clarification, wondering if it had been some vestige of a dream Santu had had the night before. However, each wore a grim countenance and Rui scratched the top of his head.
“My darling little sister may not have the most poetic way with words, but she’s not exaggerating. That god you encountered laid some sort of new curseform on you, which culminated in a bunch of, ehm, ‘wibbly-wobblies” sprouting from your face. And chest, too.”
“What these two are trying to say,” Etienne said with a sigh, “is that it caused an infestation of something similar to thin tree branches which burst from your body.”
The mental image made the blood drain from Sho’s face.
“It was sucking out your soul, too,” Rui added.
“That’s certainly very… vivid.”
Sho shuddered as he imagined it, and he hurriedly ran a hand over his head and chest. He looked down at the silky texture to see a strange fabric wrapped around him. It was familiar somehow, though he wasn’t sure where exactly he’d encountered it before.
“Oh, that.” Rui pointed. “Sasabasari cloth. Your pa had a pretty brilliant idea.”
“The paintings,” Sho said, suddenly certain.
Both his stepfather and the Observer widened their eyes, though Santu just tilted her head. All had various questions writ large upon their faces, though it ultimately boiled down to how?
Sho scratched his cheek, slightly unsure of where to begin. The beginning and end were especially vague, except for the deep horror and trauma of what had occurred with the Founder and his father. He shook his head, scratching the back of his neck as he tried to draw the first thread in the sequence of events. He felt certain that there had been something of particular urgency which he had sworn to do upon waking, to tell someone something, but who or what remained fuzzy.
As his nails scratched at the skin of his nape, the fine hairs there stood up. He felt a strange electrical hum and a draw to reach out into the air just above his shoulder. The action made all three of the others make odd faces. The Observer, especially, turned in rapt attention, eye wide.
While not quite understanding it himself, Sho closed his fingers around something solid just behind him. He drew it forth from over his shoulder, causing Rui to choke out a startled gasp. Sho’s eyes widened when he saw what he held in his hand.
A long, thin sword in scabbard wrought in black and bronze laid there, inlaid with carvings of a strangely feline theme. Rui jumped up, startling Sho into nearly dropping the sword.
“Sowaca’s blessing? But how—“
“Ah!”
Sho shouted, interrupting him as he pointed, remembering with immediacy that scene in the classroom.
“That was it! I spoke to him.”
The muscles of the Observer’s face did an impressive dance as they struggled to find his expression. First he turned bright red, then a sickly green, until his face drained of blood and he went wide eyed. He looked lost.
Sho bit his lip, not sure just what to do when his friend reacted in such a way. Afraid to misspeak, he carefully considered his next words.
“Well, just for a bit, really. But he guided me through everything. Erm, and he told me that he’s still around because I might have messed up when I sealed him, and because, um…”
Sho trailed off sheepishly, but Rui’s state urged him on, so he sighed and,
“I might have, maybe, been observing some things one might be able to construe as possibly worship… so I think it may have led to some misunderstanding.”
His sheepish admission out of the way, Sho waited in silence for a response.
“Heh… haha….”
A chuckle echoed within the room. The next moment, Rui tossed his head back, laughing loudly as he slapped his knee and ruffled Sho’s hair.
“Geez, what’d you do, burn some incense, say a few words? That’s so like you. So he made you a disciple just like that? I guess he’s got no other choice.”
Sho felt his ears redden as Rui rocked him about. He felt rather embarrassed about his acts in memory of the god, as they were more an expression of his guilt than any true reverence. It shamed him to be recognized for such selfish actions, let alone with a treasured sword. He thrust it toward the Observer.
“Please, you should have this.”
To his surprise, although Rui gazed upon the sword with a sad, longing look, he held his hands up in refusal.
“Unfortunately, nobody can wield one of his Fangs but the one recognized—and seeing as that’s not me, I can’t accept it.”
Sho faltered at the regretful smile on Rui’s face. His fingers clenched around the sword’s hilt and he lowered his gaze.
“Ahh, don’t look so bummed, kid,” Rui insisted. “I’m just over the moons to know he’s still around. Not just some new incarnation. You did well.”
Santu had an uncharacteristically serious look on her face as she watched the two of them. Sho understood just how difficult it must be for the Observer, to be unable to so much as speak to the one he’d spent 1200 years with. Sho could not possibly fathom such a length of time. 20 years felt long enough.
Rui, having sufficiently set Sho’s hair askew at every odd angle, stood back and observed his handiwork with a satisfied smirk.
Sho almost expected Etienne to get them back on track, but the Painter simply watched with a warm look on his face. He had seemed so surprised to hear of Sowaca’s status as well, and as he watched Rui mess about with Sho he looked content. Rui scratched his nose a bit self consciously at Etienne’s unabashed expression.
“Ahh, I’m really happy, seriously,” he said. “But I’m sure Sowacchi’d understand, what I really need to hear about is anything you know about this new god. What happened that cursed you, and what, exactly, did you see?”
He knew he was being cruel in the wake of Sho’s narrow recovery, but it would ultimately harm them all if he neglected to be mindful here. Sho understood that much, and so he began.
“The beginning and end are fuzzy, but I know that whatever I ran into wasn’t the god we sought. I suspect she may be an apostle.”
Rui stared, blinking rapidly, before,
“Hah?”
He couldn’t help but scoff. Surely that was a mistake. The curseform which had bound the young man had been intricate and unique, a genius work of forumulaic design that built on a foundation requiring a strong gate. Not the sort of thing a mortal human would have, and even when considering the supernaturals such as himself, he knew of none that possessed quite such an insidious curse. His own shared some aesthetic similarities, but the underlying mechanism and ultimate goal of it was laughable in the face of what had happened to Sho. He had been certain that this was the god’s most wicked attack, but if Sho were correct, then could this really have been caused by human hands?
“Explain what you mean,” he said, voice fraught. “You don’t mean kin, or some kind of offshoot…”
Sho shook his head.
“Mm-mm. I didn’t quite get a, um, look at her,” he admitted with some hesitation. “But she claimed something like, she was with someone else, or had orders. I felt it, though, that she was something closer to me than to an aberration.”
His thoughts still a mess, Sho knuckled his temple as he scavenged amongst his spotty memories. If he dove in too deep, the memory of the Founder’s possession threatened to jump up and overwhelm him, and he found himself shying away from details even as he sought them.
“Arghh, damnit, my head’s a mess. But I’m sure she wasn’t the thing we were after. Though she definitely wasn’t good news, either.”
The conversation hedged toward the particulars of what had happened while Sho had been unconscious. Rui believed that there could be some clues to the perpetrator’s identity and answers to questions within the details of what he had seen.
Sho swallowed drily. He had been gradually preparing himself for the topic to get to this, but he found himself dreading it. So rather than think ahead, he simply recounted what he remembered, as he remembered, in roughly chronological order. It took him a long time, but none of the others rushed him.
As he had gotten to the memory of his fight with the Observer at the power plant, Santu abruptly came to sit closely against him. She put one long fingered hand on his head and patted it. Sho blushed, pushing her back slightly. Even at 22, she had a habit of rather childish gestures of comfort. While he appreciated the thought, his heart hurt far too much in anticipation of what was to come for him to accept her actions. Still, she sat near him, one hand sat close to his own. The consideration helped Sho steel himself as the story vaulted toward its horrific conclusion.
His recounting of the stabbing which he had received from Rui in Mineshi was not much different from the way events had happened in reality. Sho still bore the scars, though he had long since healed from the mental trauma towards the Observer. Their situation had been unusual and fueled by the actions of the conniving Founder.
“Because you weren’t there, dad didn’t come for me for much longer,” Sho said in a whisper. “I never questioned my situation, not seriously. I know it didn’t really happen, but I still feel how it was to be so utterly alone… I had forgotten for a long time now.”
His hand grabbed Santu’s without thinking, smaller than hers but gripped tightly. Sho looked up from the floor to face his stepfather, voice hollow.
“Even after everything, I guess I still wanted to think, maybe my grandfather was just misguided, had gone wrong somewhere, but that he did care about me. Even if only for selfish reasons, if he cared… It was a naive notion, wasn’t it?”
His eyes turned sorrowful, and he saw an empathetic flash of pain in Etienne’s own.
“But it was so much worse… The Dance of the Empty Vessel, and what happened after, it—hk.”
He bit back the sudden nausea that rose in him. Sweat poured down his face in buckets as his heart rate increased as though he’d just run a marathon. It had snuck up on him, and the others crowded about him in alarm, but Sho took a steadying breath and shook his head.
“I’m okay, I just… I’m sorry. Can we do this later?”
His eyes drifted away from the Observer in shame, but Rui only gave a sad smile and nodded.
“Sure thing. In fact,” he clapped his hands, “I think it’s about time we let you get some rest. I’ve been interrogating you for a while now, I really do apologize for it.”
His eyebrows turned up apologetically as he held his hands before his face.
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After Sho recovers. Follow up to last post.
Gheriun had noticed a sudden change in his son in the weeks after his recovery. Sho had begun to avoid Valeria, exiting any room she was in swiftly and eating hurriedly or skipping meals outright. He also seemed to be careful around the Painter and Mask Seller, always keeping a certain distance from them. While Gheriun had been elated at his son’s recovered health, these recent changes concerned him.
He had tried asking Sho about it directly one day after he’d nearly bolted out of the room upon Valeria entering it. Gheriun rapped lightly on the doorframe of Sho’s bedroom.
“Can I come in?”
“Mm.”
Sho gestured for his father to enter. Although he had chosen the house in part for its high ceilings, Gheriun still had to stoop to enter any room. His son was seated at his desk, still breathing a bit fast from his quick retreat. He was dressed in one of the oversized cardigans he’d started to fancy, corduroys, and an off-white button up, hair overgrown and unruly. Gheriun took a seat on the edge of the vacant bed and faced Sho, one hand on the back of his head as he tried to get his thoughts in order.
“Have you been feeling all right?” he hedged as an opener.
“Yeah,” Sho responded, eyes on the top of his desk.
“That’s good.”
The masksmith floundered a bit for what to say next. With nothing else springing to mind, he decided to just dive into the issue at hand.
“Say, is something bothering you lately?”
Sho shook his head hurriedly, long hair flying in front of his face. His reticence was even more telling.
“Son, you can talk to me, you know. If you feel like we’re too focused on Valeria, or I haven’t been there enough for you lately…”
“That’s not it,” Sho insisted. “Really.”
“Then, is it something about your sister? Or something we did?”
Sho screwed up his face as he agonized over his answer. Finally he threw up his hands in frustration.
“I just don’t have time to play with stupid babies,” he snapped.
He still refused to meet his father’s eye, and his tone seemed forced. Gheriun reached one hand out to him but Sho flinched away violently. For a moment his chair tottered on two legs before slamming back down to the floor. Even Sho seemed surprised, and he was wide eyed, hands clenched and knuckles white on top of the desk.
“Sho?” Gheriun asked, standing in concern.
But Sho recoiled from him, his mouth twisting into a grim rictus.
“Can’t I get any space around here without always being crowded? Always, always being questioned?”
His voice wavered uncertainly even as he snapped at his father. The Mask Seller lowered his raised hand, not sure how to respond. He could hear the agitated sound of Sho’s unsteady breathing, see the flash of color in his cheeks. Something like fear danced in his dark eyes, twins of Gheriun’s own, and the masksmith was at a loss as to what to do.
“Dad, please,” Sho said in a gentler, albeit still strained, tone. “I just need space. Without you, or anyone barging in whenever you want.”
The expression he held was pained and his father could only wonder at what was going through his head. However, Gheriun also knew that the boy had been through much, and he did not want to overstep himself. Even after being together so long, some part of the Mask Seller worried he might cross some boundary and set their relationship back to zero.
Hadn't Sho just gotten his health back? It should be expected that a boy his age need space, even without the extraordinary circumstances they had all been through. So Gheriun reluctantly took his leave of his son’s room, mindful of the complicated look on Sho’s face and not wishing to add to his burden.
“You know if you need anything, we’re here.”
“Mm.”
Sho’s response sounded oddly hollow, and so Gheriun left him despite his concerns.
Something triggers Sho to run away, afraid of accidentally hurting Valeria or his fathers with his powers.
The sky had opened with a thunderous crack, and within minutes Sho was soaked through to the skin. His large cardigan was heavy with water as he ran along the oceanfront, unsure of where to go or what to do. Out of the pouring rain materialized the shape of a small seaside hut. As he approached, he looked around the place but it appeared to be deserted. Figuring it was his best hope of finding shelter, he rushed under the eaves. With a last furtive glance about, he tried the old wooden door. It creaked open with a groan, swollen in its frame. Inside was dusty and dim, and Sho let out the breath he’d been holding at the sign of obvious neglect. From inside he could see that there were a number of holes in the roof, and water dripped down from the ceiling, but it was infinitely better than the downpour outside. He pulled the door shut behind him, muting the howling wind and crash of the waves somewhat. He shivered as he stepped about the abandoned building. It was little more than one room with a raised wooden floor and fading paint on its walls. It was not easy navigating by the dim light and as he made his way he stubbed his toe on something with a clatter. He cursed as he hopped on his other foot, looking down at what had snared him. His eyes took a moment to adjust and he saw the wooden trapdoor of a root cellar.
Memories of a somewhat odd habit he’d developed in childhood overcame him as he peered into the dingy space. He reached in and felt the cool packed dirt. It was just large enough that he could squeeze himself in if he curled his limbs, and before he could stop to think any better of it he crawled inside. He lay down with cheek against the ground, knees tucked up to his stomach, and took a deep breath. It had calmed him for as long as he could remember to tuck himself into any hole he could and lie among the insects and spiders. It felt like he was somewhere closer to his mother when the rich scent of earth filled his nostrils. It soothed him even now, and despite the chill and the damp he swiftly fell into a deep sleep.
He dreamt that he was deep underground, in a crypt that he had never seen but long known. He ran his fingers along the smooth, cold stone and heard the scuttle of unseen creatures in the dark. In this dream he had the distinct sense of someone calling his name from far off, but it was muffled as though wool filled his ears. He ignored it as he ran forward in the dark, searching desperately though he knew not for what. It was bitterly cold, he sensed that somehow, though his limbs felt numb and his head heavy. He couldn’t stop his pursuit, if he could just round the next corner he was sure that he would be in sight of his target. He needed to know why he wandered so endlessly in a maze of darkness.
“Sho!”
His eyelids stirred, frost covering the lashes. He could see his breath in the dim light, but he felt strangely warm.
He heard his name again, closer this time, but just bunched up tighter into a tiny ball. He just wanted to go back to sleep.
“Sho, damnit, answer me.”
He closed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep.
The next thing he knew he was being swept up in strong arms, his body stiff and unresponsive. He cracked open his eyes to see his father kneeling before the root cellar, holding him up and checking him all over for injuries.
“Gods, you had me worried. What were you thinking? You’re practically frozen. Here, take my coat.”
Gheriun removed his wool jacket and placed it over his son’s shoulders. It was comically oversized on the boy, and he had to hold it closed with one hand. Sho willed his numb arms to move, pushing weakly against his father. He tried to stand but immediately tumbled, Gheriun catching him.
“Careful now,” the Mask Seller cautioned.
Sho furrowed his brows, confused by his body’s lack of strength. It felt like it had only been a few hours, but his limbs were leaden. After a moment’s consideration, Gheriun turned around and presented his back and arms to Sho.
“Climb on. Let’s get you home.”
“I don’t want to go back there,” Sho objected immediately.
“We can talk about that once you’re warm and safe. For now, hop on.”
His tone brooked no argument, and Sho reluctantly slung one thin arm around his father’s neck. He flinched as they stood up. It was a bit embarrassing to be receiving a piggy-back ride from his father at his age, but Sho knew it was that or be carried. The two left the shack and to Sho’s surprise it looked to be early morning. He wondered if his fathers had been out all night looking for him and felt a pang of regret in his heart. The rain had ceased but it was bitingly cold, and the sea was in turmoil.
“Can you tell me why you ran off?”
Gheriun’s question was sudden, but Sho felt too exhausted to come up with a lie.
“Didn’t want to hurt any of you. ‘Specially Valeria.”
His father shook his head.
“Why in the eight hells would you think such a thing?”
“I already hurt Etienne,” Sho said, voice cracking. “I’ve hurt other people. I don’t mean to but my head gets so messed up and it’s like my body just reacts.”
His words made the masksmith stop for a moment before continuing on.
“That’s something we can work on.”
Sho just sighed. He thought his father was being too idealistic about things, especially now that he was back at, if not full, then halfway to complete strength. He might even kill one of them.
Too tired to think about it and what he would do any longer, Sho asked a sudden question that popped into his head.
“How did you even think to find me there?”
“Ah, well,” Gheriun stammered. “I saw a cat and just sort of followed it, and when I saw that shack I remembered a time from when you were little. Your mother and I looked all over for you, until finally the gardener found you in one of the newly dug flower beds.”
Sho could hear the smile in his voice.
“Rie was furious, but really I think she had just been worried about you.”
It was the first time he was hearing this story. He couldn’t remember it at all.
“When was this?”
“You must have been, oh, three or four. You always liked cool, dark places.”
“Hmm.”
Sho considered that. For some reason he had assumed he had developed the habit after his mother passed, but the foggy outline of a memory of her scolding him and dirt under his nails suddenly came to him. His eyes widened. Gheriun chuckled.
“You were always giving your mother the run around, despite how fragile you were. But she loved you so much, Sho. She’d tell you how proud she was if she could see you now.”
Sho wasn’t so sure about that, but he bit down on his remark. Instead he asked his father something he never had before.
“Can you tell me more stories? From when she was better?”
Gheriun obliged his son and launched into numerous recountings of his childhood. Sho was surprised to learn that he had so many; his father had been such a ghost in his life for as long as he could remember. But it seemed like things had not always been quite so distant. Lulled to peace by the masksmith’s cadence, Sho fell asleep before they were even halfway home.
The next time he woke, it was evening and he was back in his bed. He sighed and rolled onto his side, then nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the Painter seated at his desk. Etienne had dark circles under his eyes but he smiled warmly at Sho as soon as he saw him.
“It’s good to see you home.”
Sho felt tears prick at his eyes, and he wiped them away hurriedly. He noticed that someone had changed him into clean, dry clothes in his sleep and wondered at how heavily unconscious he’d been. His throat was sore and he felt somewhat flushed, sure signs of a fever coming on. Still, he managed a weak smile.
“Sorry.”
Etienne’s face turned stern.
“Sho,” he said slowly. “Your father told me a bit about why you said you left. You’ve had a lot on your mind lately, haven’t you?”
Sho shrunk as he nodded feebly. However, Etienne’s voice turned fond.
“You’re not alone anymore, Sho. I would have hoped you’d know that by now, but I know too it isn’t always easy to accept a new life. But you have a family that loves you dearly, who you can talk to any time, and who do worry their heads off when you vanish without a word.”
He had a sad smile on his face.
“I just want you to be able to tell me these things.”
Although his words were warm, Sho felt ashamed for how he had not considered his family’s feelings. He had convinced himself it was the best course of action, before he did any worse.
“I could have killed you. You were just trying to help me, and because I couldn’t control my emotions—“
He was interrupted by a gentle flick to the forehead. He looked at his stepfather in confusion.
“You speak as though these things are set in stone. We all go through some awkward growing as we learn to control our powers. It’s unusual for someone so young to have to do so, so you’re really balancing two very difficult phases of your life right now.”
Sho was unconvinced.
“Yeah, but one could actually kill someone.”
Etienne stared at him gravely.
“I won’t let that happen. I can help you, Sho, if you’ll just let me.”
Tears were welling up in Sho’s eyes. He scrunched his face up and lowered his head, grateful for his longish hair just then. He didn’t know what face to make or what to say.
“It’s when you lock us out that you hurt not only us, but yourself, the most. I know it isn’t easy to trust in others after what you’ve been through. That you’ve allowed me a piece of your life as your stepfather is my greatest pride.”
“I didn’t want to worry you,” Sho objected.
Etienne gave him a soft smile.
“It’s a parent’s job to worry about their child,” he said gently. “Let me do at least that much for you.”
“I’ve already made you worry so much.” Sho’s tone was shaky. “What if I mess up again in the future? It’d be better if I wasn’t here.”
The Painter shook his head.
“You want to avoid hurting your family by hurting your family?” His voice turned sharp. “How did the last time make you feel?”
His comment made Sho blush and look down. It was true. He had acted rashly without any explanation to those around him.
“We’ve only just got you back,” Etienne continued. “For you to just run off like that… Can you imagine how we felt? We had no idea if you were even alive, let alone safe. God, if you had just come to me, none of this needed to have happened.”
“I’m sorry,” Sho said in a voice barely above a whisper. “I just thought after I hurt you…”
Etienne sighed heavily.
“I’ll be fine. I am fine. What hurts far more is for my son to just…vanish. We won’t hurt you or reprimand you for coming to us with your issues. But you can’t keep pushing everyone away out of fear you’ll hurt someone or get hurt. Eventually you’ll find yourself completely alone.”
The frustration was evident in his voice.
“Sho, you’re barely 15. You’re bound to make some mistakes. But you’re not a little child anymore. You can’t just run off like that. We can always do something to improve your handle on those powers of yours.”
Sho nodded meekly. He didn’t quite know what to say and he felt foolish for how he had jumped to action before talking to anyone. Etienne placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m here for you. We all are. You just have to learn to trust in us.”
He spent two days in and out of sleep, his fever breaking late the second night. As soon as he was well enough, his fathers had insisted on speaking with him. They each had grave looks on their faces as they sat down with their son. The Mask Seller was the first to speak.
“Son, we need to talk about this. All of us. I don’t want you to end up leaving again because we didn’t.”
Sho nodded his head and swallowed dryly. Gheriun continued.
“You got lucky this time, but you could’ve been seriously injured. We had no idea if something had happened to you.”
“I’d heal from it,” Sho mumbled defiantly. “Probably.”
It was Etienne’s turn to speak and he cut off his partner sharply.
“You’re not invincible. Just because you heal a little better than the average person doesn’t give you leave to be reckless.”
Sho flinched at the truth in his words. The Painter huffed out a breath and brought one hand to his temple.
“What happened in the past wasn’t your fault. But your actions from now on are the ones that count. Don’t just throw your life away. You have people that love you and worry about you.”
Etienne massaged his temple irritably. His frustration was palpable and Sho felt his face burning in embarrassment. He lowered his head.
“I really thought it would be the best for everyone.” He hesitated. “It’s not like I’m meant to be here in the first place.”
“Sho,” Gheriun said in exasperation. “This is your home. It always will be.”
“You can’t keep pushing us away,” Etienne added. “I know that you weren’t trying to hurt anyone, but your actions have consequences. Just when we passed this hurdle… You have to be mindful of how others are affected by what you do.”
It was difficult to hear, and Sho curled his shoulders inward in shame. Two hands touched his shoulders and he looked up to see his fathers with one hand each outreached.
“We just want you to talk to us,” the Mask Seller said, his scarred face pained. “I know I haven’t been there for you, but please, let me be your father.”
Etienne’s expression and tone were stern but he squeezed Sho’s shoulder.
“And no more of this foolishness. You had us worried sick. If you want to help this family then be a part of it. Tell us your worries, your anxieties, your frustrations. You don’t need to keep it all bottled up anymore.”
He withdrew his hand and nodded. Gheriun made a helpless smile before leaning back. The two of them kept their eyes on Sho, who was struggling to keep a straight face as tears threatened to break.
“I’ll do better,” he said in a fragile voice. “You guys don’t deserve what I did. I’ll learn.”
Both men nodded solemnly. There seemed to be much each wanted to say, and their expressions were complicated.
“Valeria’s going to need you as she grows up,” the Painter said. “You’re a big brother now, you’ll need to set an example.”
“She misses you,” Gheriun added. “We’ve been keeping her out of your room so that you can rest, but she doesn’t understand.”
Hearing that made Sho’s heart ache. He looked down.
“I’ll make it up to her,” he said. “I miss her too.”
It took him a moment to realize that he was crying and he rubbed at his eyes, frustrated with himself. Gheriun took him in his arms as he cried, patting his head. It was a bit awkward but Sho fell apart, the shame and gravity of his actions hitting him. He had never meant to hurt his family, but nor had he considered them, not truly.
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Hmmm I’m changing things up a bit so I suppose this is after the main Founder story?
Around the time Valeria was a little over a year old, the tremors returned. He was washing dishes after dinner when he dropped a plate, and as he tried to reach for it he saw that his hands were shaking. Sho swallowed hard and held them down, willing the episode to pass. As long as the adults didn’t see, they wouldn’t worry. Gheriun had caught a nasty strain of flu, his body struggling to recover. He had regained some muscle over the summer but that seemed to melt away with his illness. Etienne and Sho had been running around with the chores and the now-tottering infant whose energy seemed endless. Any time Valeria refused to sleep, Sho could find Etienne cradling her in the living room, and he would sit with the Painter. His presence always seemed to calm Valeria, and no matter how much sleep he lost Sho was always happy to spend time with her.
It had not been easy though. The Mask Seller was finally able to move about the house again when Sho began getting shortness of breath. He had dismissed it as a cold, but when the episode in the kitchen happened his blood ran cold.
His body had grown a bit, but that also meant that his illness developed without the usual dinner rituals. He tried his best to hide it from the adults, but the next day he woke up with a fever and strange shapes dancing across his vision. He cried out in alarm, tumbling out of bed as he backed away from a strange and horrific face that seemed to come towards him.
The commotion had drawn both Etienne and Gheriun to his room. He could dimly hear Valeria crying from her crib as he lie tangled in the sheets. As his father snapped the light on overhead, Sho winced, but the figures he had seen were gone. He stared, wide eyed and panting, in a momentary confusion.
“Sho, what’s wrong?” Etienne knelt by his side, one hand instinctively going to his forehead before Sho could stop him. His eyes widened.
“You’re burning up. How do you feel?”
“I’m fine,” Sho groaned, but his body fought him. He tried to stand but only managed to get himself more tangled in the blankets. His head pounded and the earlier panic had started his heart racing. It hammered away in his chest and he closed his eyes.
“Come on, let’s get you into bed. There we go.”
Gheriun had come to help his partner haul Sho back into bed. The boy’s limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, like lead weights had been tied to them. His head fell against the pillow, sweat pouring down his neck. Etienne leaned over him and lifted first one, then the other eyelid.
“How’s your vision?”
“It’s fine, teacher,” Sho insisted weakly. “It’s just a fever.”
The Painter glanced silently at Gheriun, jaw set. The Mask Seller knelt beside the bed, one cool hand against Sho’s hot cheek.
“Hey Sho,” his father began, “have the shakes been back?”
Sho didn’t respond, but that was as good an answer as any. Gheriun’s face grew grim.
“You’re not seeing anything that’s…unusual? That shouldn’t be there?”
“I said I’m fine,” Sho said. “I just need rest, really.”
For a moment he was afraid they’d press the issue, but it wasn’t so out of the question with Gheriun’s recent flu. With some hesitation, the two men were assured that yes, he was fine, but please let him be.
After they were gone, Sho fell into a restless sleep. His dreams were filled with strange shapes and unnatural forms, creatures unlike any aberration he had witnessed. They seemed like scribbles on paper come to life, shapes indefinite and undulating. He could not tell when he was awake and when he was asleep.
His anxiety would raise him sharply to awareness, bolting awake with a heart lurching terror. The source of his panic was always vague, yet ever present, a dread that wound itself through him with sinewy fingers. Not even sleep broke its dogged pursuit of him, and Sho cycled between the horror of nightmare and the uncertainty of reality.
Was this what his mother had seen, near the end? When she no longer recognized him, or mistook him for his father, was she hounded by these uncanny visitors? Sho felt himself drowning in memories of those days when she began to lose herself, alone by her side even when she did not know who he was, or cursed someone he wasn’t.
Now he wondered what would happen to him. A part of him had truly, naively, hoped that maybe he’d be fine even without consuming monstrosities to keep his illness at bay. That much, he never wished to do again.
After all, wasn’t that endlessly selfish of him?
A blurry outline took shape around him, slowly resolving itself into a familiar, bubbly young woman he had not seen since he was 8.
Sima beamed down at him, impossibly, her hands spread towards him. As Sho stared in disbelief, others began to shimmer into focus around her, multitudes as the room stretched impossibly to accommodate them. He blinked, and looked down as he seemed to go from prone to standing among them without anything in between motions.
He knew each and every one by name, and he bit back a startled wail of shock as they all reached out towards him. Their faces wore blissful, hazy eyed grins.
Ah.
For the first time in 8 years, Sho was face to face with those who had lost their lives for nothing more than his grandfather’s goals, in belief of he who was nothing worthy of such belief. Together they had trampled over these countless lives, all for the purpose of, what? Creating some vessel for his grandfather, a tool, a weapon. Could he really justify continuing to feed his powers on the lives of others?
The lips parted on all those around him, a susurrus of whispered condemnation for his actions, even as they smiled on.
Sho closed his eyes and raised his throat to the outstretched hands. It was only fitting that they decide his fate, after he had so one sidedly decided all of theirs. He sighed, one panged longing for his family before he was swallowed in darkness.
Gheriun was woken from a restless sleep that night. All day they had tended to Sho, but the boy had slept throughout. The Mask Seller’s mind was full with worries about the Ophelia strain, and whether it had resumed its progress. He could tell that it was on Etienne’s as well, and that night the two of them had a very difficult discussion.
“How much can you tell me about the Ophelia factor?” Etienne asked pointedly. “I only know what I’ve read, and there’s precious little information out there.”
Gheriun poured himself a thumb of wine and swirled it thoughtfully, staring deep into its red depths.
“It’s a manifestation of the prophet Ophelia’s sorrow, or so it’s told. In truth, Ophelia was just the first to develop the disease, and it drove her mad. It also drove her to create a religious organization interested in reviving the twelve faces of Jordan. Ironic, considering, if she had just isolated herself none of it would have spread. She created her own self fulfilling prophecy.”
The name Jordan gave the Painter pause. He was one of a very select few to have some idea of the meaning behind that. The Mother of Monsters was closely related to a dear friend of his, after all.
“It’s not contagious by proximity, nor saliva or sweat. Only blood and through intercourse occasionally, but mostly it’s passed on through children. Once it had spread, all we could do was keep an eye on the populations where it presented and hope it would disappear from this world.”
He sighed heavily.
“But humans are never so logical. Sho’s mother carried the gene, and unfortunately it seems she’s passed it on to him. His grandfather wouldn’t tell me the details of his illness, but I always suspected. It’s more aggressive in those with a Y chromosome, though why is a total mystery.”
“And what can be done? Surely by now some treatment has been developed, we can take Sho to a specialist, or…”
“Have you heard of any specialists for it? No,” Gheriun shook his head. “The most that can be done is relieve his symptoms as they present themselves. If it truly is the Ophelia complex, I know better than most that we’re powerless. And… it was because Rie had the gene that she volunteered. This is all my fault.”
Etienne sat as he processed what he was being told. It seemed so hopeless, but how could they simply give in to self pity? He grabbed Gheriun’s hand.
“There’s no time to despair. We have to be able to do something.” He set his jaw stubbornly. “I refuse to not try.”
Later that night, sleep evading him once more, Gheriun slowly disentangled himself from his sleeping partner’s arms. Etienne wore the exhaustion of recent weeks plainly on his slumbering face, and the Mask Seller ran one hand down his cheek fondly before he stood and wrapped his robe around himself. He needed time to himself, to think and to plan just what their next course of action would be. He slipped downstairs, not wanting to disturb his son. He’d last checked on him an hour ago to discover him resting peacefully.
As Gheriun made his way to the living room, he was careful of his footsteps, using his hands to guide him in the dark. He had poured so much work into their house that he could easily navigate by touch alone. When he got to the big living room, he flicked on the light switch and nearly had a heart attack.
Sitting in the middle of the room where Valeria’s little art table was set up was Sho, his back to his father. He was hunched over sheets of paper scrawling something aggressively. Gheriun could hear him whispering something rapidly under his breath, words indistinct. He reached a hand out to his son hesitantly.
“Sho?”
As he neared him he began to make out some of what he was saying. Sho’s face was wide eyed and slack, eyes darting to and fro out of sync with his movements.
“I regret to inform you that all future deliveries will be handled by our associate company. We thank you for your business. The next stop on the Shokan line is Kichijoji station. Kichijoji station. We can’t forget to be late or else the things teacher says will fall out our ears, plop plop plop, drowning our laughter like rain.”
“Sho,” Gheriun repeated, growing increasingly concerned. He shook his son lightly by the shoulders and his head lolled back and forth but his eyes kept pacing the room as he continued uninterrupted.
“Times gone by as two by two by four by none and we are left here to decipher the words of god. Ah, what a cruel and selfish god that directs our world, our works, our workplace conduct.”
He wasn’t making any sense. With growing alarm, the Mask Seller gripped him by either shoulder.
“Son, look at me. Can you hear me?”
“Can the insect know the man as the man loves the sea and o! Great providence such as we could never know, we thank you kind lord for these your gracious gifts. TV tuning services offered in all forty districts, act fast, time is running out.”
Sho continued to babble incessantly, each sentence running into the next. His hand had not stopped scrawling at the page before him and Gheriun looked at what he was drawing.
It was a horrible mess of shaky lines and scribbled shapes, but it seemed to form some coherent image. Of what, the Mask Seller could not tell, but it sent a needle of dread through his heart.
“In times of uncertainty may we offer you and your loved ones our complimentary package. Packaging materials available for all major holidays, holy days, holy day of our lord who ascends from the deepest sea to bring salvation to our rocky shores. Please be prepared for unusual weather patterns.”
Nothing he was saying made any sense, and in his trance he wasn’t responding to his father’s presence at all. Gheriun tried desperately to rouse him from his reverie but the onslaught of words just continued.
“Will there be time in the morning to pet the neighbor cat? Will mother be mad? Will we get scolded once again for not brushing our teeth? It’s good oral hygiene that is the first step to a hygienic soul. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk to strange shadows in the well? We forget it’s time for evening prayer and must repent.”
Sho’s eyes locked suddenly, staring behind Gheriun.
“He sees you too, Mask Seller. He’ll devour you whole.”
With that final proclamation, Sho fell limply forward. Gheriun had to catch him, as though a marionette whose strings had been cut. He stared down open mouthed at his son’s closed eyes. He was breathing steadily as though he had been asleep the entire time. With a shudder at his final words, Gheriun glanced over his shoulder furtively. There was nothing there. He let out a breath he had not realized he was holding and with a grunt lifted Sho in his arms. Even with the few inches he had gained in height, Sho remained an underweight and small boy, and the Mask Seller carried him back to his room. He set him on the bed and brushed away a lock of his blue-black hair. Here now, Sho looked so peaceful that Gheriun almost wondered if he had imagined everything.
Upon returning to the living room, he gathered the pages that Sho had been determinedly drawing on. Perhaps some answers lie there. He looked over them but could not make heads or tails of what they could mean. With a sigh, he went back to Sho’s room, pausing in the doorway. He decided to sit by his son’s bed for now and let what he had witnessed be processed.
He soon fell asleep with one hand on Sho’s, listening to his steady breathing.
The next time he woke was to his father’s sleeping form slumped over the side of his bed. Sho squinted into the dim light, unsure what had happened. His throat felt dry and his limbs weak, and as he stirred he woke the slumbering Mask Seller.
“Sho,” his father said, blinking rapidly. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”
“Dad,” Sho said weakly. “I had the worst dream.”
Gheriun’s face darkened as he ran one hand through his son’s hair.
“Do you remember yesterday? Or last night?”
Sho thought back but his head hurt too much.
“What happened?”
The Mask Seller looked down at his hands, brow furrowed, considering his answer. It made Sho uneasy and he racked his brain for what could have happened to affect him so.
“Dad..?”
“You had…an episode. Last night, in the living room. You don’t remember it at all?”
Sho shook his head slowly. Had he collapsed again? He couldn’t remember getting out of bed whatsoever. There had only been that dream… he shook his head a bit faster. His father’s face was lined with worry, and it made sweat bead on Sho’s forehead.
“You drew these.”
Gheriun handed Sho a sheaf of paper, each page completely covered in layers of crayon. Sho squinted at them, then froze. They looked just like the creatures he had seen in his dreams.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sho saw a movement, and he whipped his head around. There was nothing there, but his father had an expression of alarm on his face.
“What? Did you see something?”
“It was just my imagination,” Sho mumbled, embarrassed.
Before Gheriun could say anything more, Etienne entered the room carrying a tray with warm food. Valeria toddled in behind him, one hand clinging to his apron and the other stuck firmly in her mouth. She had taken to walking early and with great vigor, and her fathers were constantly amazed at the lengths she could go to get into trouble. As soon as she saw Sho, her face split into a wide grin and she dashed over to him, jumping onto the bed and snuggling up to him before either man could stop her. Grateful for the interruption, Sho gave the girl a hug.
“How’re you doing, V?”
The bubbly infant giggled and babbled. She didn’t make sense but he always spoke to her seriously. Etienne brought the tray of hot porridge and buttery bread and set it on his bedside table.
“How’s the fever today?”
“Better,” Sho said.
He must not have looked very convincing. Both of his fathers glanced at one another, a thousand unsaid words between them. Shifting uncomfortably, Sho took a shaky bite of his porridge. He was immediately struck by nausea and gagged. The flavor was like rot, and the texture made him think of maggots. As he coughed Etienne patted his back.
“Hey, here, drink some water. That’s good.”
It did help wash the taste out of Sho’s mouth. He eyed the porridge and attempted instead a small bite of bread. That too tasted awful, like it was riddled with mold, but when he squinted at it he saw nothing. Until he looked closer and saw the many dancing forms of multi eyed stalks with wide open mouths that seemed to be screaming out. He blinked and dropped the toast as he flinched, but they vanished in a heartbeat. Both of his fathers stood, alarmed.
“Sho?”
His breath was coming fast and he felt faint. What was going on? It had to just be the fever. He kept telling himself that over and over, hands clenching the blanket. His ears were ringing loudly and he could feel a pounding in his head. Words seemed to drift through his mind unbidden.
The seasons back home pass as one and we weep at the loss of the rains. All is lost, all is lost, we regret our excesses with great remorse.
He blinked as he heard other, fuzzier words. It took him a moment to realize that it was his family calling for him. Trying to catch his breath, Sho looked at them. Their faces were distraught. He felt faint.
“Sho? Can you hear me?” Etienne asked in a strangled voice.
Even Valeria had stilled with a look of concern and confusion on her infant face.
“It’s—nothing. I have a headache.”
“Sho.”
Gheriun’s voice was stern. With the fever rising, his thoughts all in disarray, Sho felt unable to hide things further. Not that he had done a great job in the first place. However, he didn’t know where to begin. It felt like he was losing his mind.
“It’s just the fever,” he insisted weakly.
Neither man accepted his answer.
“Please, talk to us,” Etienne said, placing one hand over Sho’s. “We want to help. We…know a bit about the dinner rituals. How can we do it, Sho?”
Sho’s stomach dropped. He had hoped neither man knew about what he had done to retain his immortality. He’d rather go mad than perform the ritual again.
“I won’t,” he said heatedly.
“Son—“
“No! I’m done with all of that. I…I won’t.”
His fathers both looked absolutely terrified, but Sho refused to tell them. It might mean suffering, but wasn’t he used to that? Didn’t he, after all, deserve that? He had trodden over the lives of so many merely for the sake of keeping this illness at bay. Was it not simply what he was due?
“Please, Sho. We don’t want to lose you.”
Gheriun’s voice sounded on the verge of tears. Sho felt a bit guilty but he knew that he couldn’t justify extending his life that way. It would be unfair to all those who had died by his actions were he to continue on with those cruel dinners.
“Please just… I’m tired, okay? Let me get some sleep.”
There was nothing his family could say to him. Sho patted Valeria on the head and nestled into his blankets, turning his back on his fathers.
Someday in July we felt the rumble of the earth as thousands of flowers bloomed around the world.
The words continued to run through his head until he fell into a restless sleep.
Etienne and Gheriun took turns watching after the sleeping Sho. He seemed to be having countless nightmares, crying out as his fever rose. The Painter’s assistants had come to help with Valeria in shifts as both fathers watched over Sho and tried to wrack their minds for what to do.
“I’ll go to the Archives, see what’s there,” Gheriun said finally after much pacing. “You stay here, tend to him.”
Etienne nodded.
“Don’t worry Gher,” he said despite everything.
With a parting kiss, the Mask Seller set off. Etienne checked in on Valeria. Alma, his student and Sho’s tutor, was staying in their guest room for the night to help watch over the infant so that the Painter might keep an eye on Sho. His daughter was sleeping peacefully in her crib, and he let out a breath of gratitude. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about that. He was running ragged after the last few days. It had only been a few weeks ago that they had had that scare with Gheriun, and just when things were starting to get back to normal Sho had fallen ill. Etienne felt so powerless and frustrated with himself and the boy. Why was he refusing to tell them how to help? It made no sense. Sho had struggled with a sort of self inflicted penitence, always harsher on himself than he should be, but this was on a whole other level. He’d been making so much progress, it had seemed like he was finally enjoying life. So why now was he giving up? As a doctor, and even moreso as a parent, Etienne felt overwhelmed by the despair that unless Sho decided to tell him, he would be totally unable to help.
Etienne sat over Sho’s bed, watching him sleep. The boy hadn't been able to keep what little food he ate down, and his strength was quickly draining. As the Painter held his limp, thin hand, he felt a pain in his chest.
What could they even do? Watching this boy he had taken as his own son suffer so was eating away at him. After they had gotten this far, how could Sho just give up? It was more than he could handle. His thoughts were stormy as he sat there.
Please Gheriun, come back soon.
“…ove such as parts the seas…to endless des…”
Etienne’s ears perked at the sound of a quiet voice. He leaned over Sho as he realized that the boy was whispering in his sleep, eyes moving rapidly beneath the lids.
“…sating our deepest desires, those we’ve lost wait and judge as we waste our precious time. Tic, tic, toc, the clock betrays our hidden thoughts and we are awoken to a dream long buried.”
“Sho,” the Painter said, one hand to the boy’s forehead.
Sho’s eyes snapped open and stared at the ceiling before locking on Etienne. They seemed so hollow and empty, like he wasn’t really there at all.
“It’s only time until our bones are laid to rest beneath your feet. Guillermo sends his deepest regards.”
A wide grin spread slowly across Sho’s face, mechanically and stiffly.
“You’re going to lose them all, Marisol.”
In the next moment, his eyes shut and he went limp, but Etienne had stepped back from the bed. What had just happened? He struggled to catch his breath. It would have been impossible for Sho to know that name, so just how..? He stared in disbelief, telling himself that he simply misheard the boy’s fevered words. There was no other explanation.
Gheriun had still not returned the next day. Etienne had gotten barely any sleep, and what little he did was filled with nightmares of the past and the future. Sho’s condition had worsened early in the morning and the Painter had not left his side, even when Alma came to swap shifts so he could get some rest. Valeria was confused with what was going on and cried all day, further gnawing at his nerves. It felt like he was going to be crushed under the weight of his worries.
With dark circles under his eyes, he stepped out from the room for the first time in hours to fetch a cup of tea. Alma was drawing with Valeria at her small table when he walked in, and she shot up when she saw him.
“Master Pierrot, how is he?”
Etienne shook his head. He could not even think of what to say, and his student sagged. It was obvious just how worried she was but he couldn’t bring himself to utter meaningless platitudes. All they could do was hope that the Archives had some record on the procedure, or some lead for what they might do instead. His heart creaked under the strain of it all. What would they do if nothing was found? Would they be resigned to treating the symptoms as they came, watching their son lose his mind and his life? Hadn't the boy suffered enough?
His head was filled with these thoughts as he brewed his tea. His hands shook slightly as he poured his cup, exhaustion eating away at his strength. Alma hovered nearby while Valeria tottered around his feet, tugging at her father’s pant leg desperately. Etienne took a moment to pick her up and hold her, cooing as she fussed.
“Sho? Sho?”
His heart broke. It had been her first word, and as she repeated her brother’s name he fought back the tears that came to his eyes.
“It’s okay my sweet,” he said quietly. “Hush now, we’ll do everything we can.”
As she looked up into his face he could only hope she understood some part of what he said. The next moment however she began to bawl, and Alma stepped forward.
“Ah, there there, it’s okay. Your da’s got everything under control, right?” she said, trying to distract the infant.
Etienne tried to smile, but his head was screaming. He rocked Valeria back and forth but her tears wouldn’t stop.
“Hey now, don’t worry, Sho’s strong,” he said, trying to convince all of them. “He’ll be okay, and then you can play again. Please, Valeria—“
An ear piercing shriek sounded throughout the room, coming not from the infant but back within the house. Without a moment’s hesitation, Etienne passed his daughter to Alma’s waiting arms and then dashed out of the kitchen, knocking the teapot to the ground in a crash as he did so. Burning liquid spilled over his legs and feet but he didn’t feel a thing. He ran full tilt to Sho’s bedroom, entering to see the boy pressed up against the wall, looking absolutely terrified as he struggled to breathe. Etienne hurried to his side.
“Sho? Sho can you hear me?”
“It came into the room,” he cried, tears streaming down his horrified face. “I told it not to, but the next thing I knew it was Grandfather and I just thought—I didn’t know! I promise I didn’t know!”
His words ran together in a jumble and the Painter couldn’t follow what he was saying. He looked around, but the room was empty. Had it been another hallucination?
“I just wanted to apologize, I just—I thought—I didn’t think it would come in. I didn’t mean to!”
He gasped out a sob, throwing his hands over his head as he cowered. Etienne reached out to him but Sho flinched, breathing erratically.
“It’s in my head. I can feel it, crawling around in there. But I didn’t think it would come out. And it keeps coming closer. I can’t get the words to stop, my head is going to burst, and then it’ll be free and everyone will be hurt. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault!”
“Sho!” Etienne shouted desperately. “Sho, look at me. You’re okay. Nobody’s here.”
He heard a sound and turned to see Alma standing in the doorway, still holding Valeria. The Painter was aghast.
“Get her out of here,” he snapped, startling them both. He didn’t have time to consider it though. He couldn’t let Valeria see her brother like this. If she was left only with his memory, let it be the good times. Not this.
He turned back to Sho, whose nails were digging deep into his scalp, drawing bright red blood. Etienne knelt on the bed and grabbed either wrist in his hands.
“Sho. I need you to listen to me. You’re okay. You’re just having a hallucination because of the fever.”
“You don’t get it, you don’t get it, you don’t get it,” he stammered, resisting Etienne. “If I’m here it’ll come for you all. I brought it here, it’s my fault, I invited it in. Everything’s so screwed up in my head.”
He groaned in pain.
“It’s—within expectations weather should hold for the upcoming week and starting in early Se-Se-September expects a bountiful harvest expects a bouncing babe expecting departures—“
He cut himself off sharply, biting down on his tongue.
“Sho,” Etienne started, but he was cut off.
“I can’t—stop it. It’s all coming through. It might be too late. I don’t know anymore! What is this? What is this?”
His words melted into loud sobs and gasping breaths. Etienne finally managed to pull his hands from his bloody scalp, and Sho looked up at him with such despair it threatened to drown him.
“It’s going to come. It’ll kill you all.”
“It’s just the fever,” the Painter pleaded.
Sho’s face slackened, and for a moment Etienne hoped that his words had reached him. The next moment however, Sho shoved him away with surprising strength. His expression was filled with an anger that took the Painter completely by surprise.
“Why didn’t you kill me?” Sho shouted. “None of this would be happening if you had. I’d rather have died that way than this. I don’t even know who I am sometimes. I forget Valeria’s name.”
His voice was shaking with rage, at his fathers or at himself Etienne could not tell.
“All I do is cause you all pain! It would have been better if I’d died then!”
He fell into a coughing fit, and despite his outburst Etienne gently placed his hand on his back. However, Sho once more swiped him away.
“I hate you. I hate you! Why did you ever talk to me! You should have just done your fucking job and left. Why did you have to complicate everything? I should be dead already!”
He coughed again, harder, and when he removed his hand from his mouth it came away covered in blood. He was shaking but wouldn’t let Etienne say a word or come near him.
“If you hadn’t interfered, Valeria wouldn’t be in danger. As long as I’m here, none of you are safe.”
His voice was faltering, and it was obvious that his strength was flagging. But his diatribe continued.
“I hate you.”
“Sho—“
“I hate you!”
Sho’s voice broke as he shouted, his heart roiling. As he did, dark spears suddenly rose before him, and before he could stop it they had flown into the Painter’s gut. Blood gushed out of the wounds as Etienne gasped. He brought one hand to his wrecked abdomen, both of them in shock.
Etienne’s ears were ringing as he took in the boy’s words, his difficulty breathing, the not insignificant amount of blood he’d coughed up, the fact that there was nothing, absolutely nothing he could do to help. And now he was standing impaled on dark blades. He was transported back to his time as a mortal man, the constant loss that came with the plague, the brutal oversight of the man he so loved. Would he be doomed to sit and watch as this boy he considered a son broke under an unforgiving illness? It was too much. He felt like his heart was being torn apart. Blood flowed over his hands as he gripped his stomach. His mouth ran dry as the ringing increased. A quiet laugh sounded in his head like a bell, slowly growing in strength. A voice rang through his head. And the next thing he knew—
Nothing.
Sho heaved as he watched Etienne. The older man was frozen with a shocked look of horror across his face. Sho knew he had gone too far, but he had to make a point. He had to die. His fevered brain didn’t know exactly why, only that if he didn’t something horrible would be unleashed on the world. His fathers had called them hallucinations, but he knew better. Something was coming.
He had not counted on hurting him though.
Sho was having a hard time getting his breathing under control, hand held out toward his stepfather in horror of what he had just done. Etienne sat still, unmoving, just staring as blood poured from his wounds. Sho was about to speak when the Painter’s eyes rolled back in their sockets. His jaw clenched and he spasmed suddenly, then fell forward. Concerned, Sho grabbed one of his shoulders.
“Teacher..?”
Etienne’s body lurched upright, and he spread his arms wide as tendrils of smoke rose around him, encompassing him. It shifted and swelled until finally settling into a solid form. Where Etienne had been was a large, muscular man, even larger than the Mask Seller. He wore a long coat covered in blood, and his face was scarred with pox. His wounds had vanished. His eyes were wide and manic as he grinned at Sho.
“Ah, what’s this? Highly irregular! I’ve never seen anything like it.”
The voice that came out of the man was huge and booming, unlike anything Sho had ever heard from the Painter. It immediately sent him into a cold sweat, and his breath caught in his throat. The stranger brought one hand to his chin as the other propped up the elbow.
“Curious, very curious indeed. Let us begin examination of the patient!”
Before Sho could do anything, the man had pinned him back and peeled one of his eyelids wide open, peering into it. He was so strong that Sho could hardly budge, and his presence was crushing. The whiplash from terror over what he had done to fear of what might be done to him rocked through Sho’s core.
“Hmm, how strange! There seems to be a new layer developing just beneath the iris, but I’d require a decent light to know more. And what’s this?”
He leaned in so close he was almost touching Sho’s face with his own, wide oozing sores taking up Sho’s field of vision.
“Odd. Something seems to be moving in there. Just what is this, lad?”
Sho was frozen in fear at the presence before him, struggling to catch his breath.
“Now, cease your messy breathing! Calm now. You will answer me.”
The bloody man’s tone was icy cold, and Sho was convinced that if he did not calm down and answer him something bad would happen.
“I-its called the Ophelia factor,” he managed. “I don’t know anything about it. But it’s making something happen or—I don’t know what’s happening, I just—“
“Enough useless filler,” the man boomed in that uncanny voice. “I see. That is a new illness. Is this what’s become of the world? Very interesting!”
His grin widened and he lifted his hand, flourishing an oversized and wicked looking bone saw. It dripped with blood as though freshly used, and he held it before Sho as he held the boy by his throat.
“Surely if I take a little peek inside I’ll find some answers.”
Sho wriggled in his grip. He was gasping out and desperately clawing at the man’s hand but his struggles were in vain.
“Let… go!” he managed but the man just clenched down on his throat. His eyes closed, and he thought he would faint right there.
“Now now, we can’t have you struggling.” The man grinned wickedly. “Maybe I should start with a leg? An arm? Surely you don’t need them all.”
Sho tried in vain to get free of his grasp, mind racing. His vision was clouding with shifting shapes, and he choked out a meager breath. If he had just listened to his fathers and not been so stubborn, could this have been avoided? Sho tried to open his gate and draw from the well, but he knew it was pointless. He was totally out of power.
“You don’t have a right to Etienne,” he gasped.
The man’s face screwed up in thought, and a slow, fumbling laugh bubbled up in his broad chest. He loosened his grip on the boy, causing Sho to cough.
“Who now? Hmm, the subject is being difficult. Well.”
With a flick of his wrist he sliced open one of Sho’s forearms. Blood welled up from the deep wound as Sho recoiled. He gripped his arm to himself, whimpering in fear as the man laughed.
“Feeling better now? A little too much blood excites a man.”
“What are you?” Sho hissed.
The man blinked, then grinned.
“Why, a doctor of course. Doctor Guillermo, at your service.”
Memories of conversations with the Painter began to trickle back into Sho’s mind. He grit his teeth through the pain as rage bubbled up in him. Was this the man who had caused Etienne such pain? The one who he had spoken of with such a hurt expression? Sho whipped his head up and glared.
“You…damned revenant,” Sho spat. “Go back to the hell you crawled out of. Let my father go.”
He was slapped across the face, ears ringing. The man lifted his bonesaw.
“Don’t you deign tell me what I can or cannot do with my property,” hissed the bloody man. “Now stop struggling and let’s see what we find inside.”
The light glistened off of the saw as it swung down. Unable to do anything more Sho lifted his arms over his head. He waited for the blade to bite into his flesh as he cowered.
“Stop this now!”
There was a metallic clang and a clatter, and when Sho looked up he saw his father. Gheriun had his arms around the strange man and was struggling to hold the saw in place.
“Ahhh, my replacement,” said the doctor with a wild grin.
“That’s enough,” Gheriun grunted. “You’ve done enough. Your care is complete!”
The larger man froze, then gave an extravagant bow. In the next moment his form shimmered and shifted, wisps of smoke peeling off in layers. As it dissipated it left behind the form of the Painter collapsed in Gheriun’s arms, wounds opening again. The Mask Seller let out a sigh, holding him gently. The commotion had drawn Alma, whose eyes went wide at the sight.
“Did he appear?” she asked without preamble.
Gheriun nodded.
“Check on Sho for me,” he instructed before carrying Etienne from the room in a hurry. Alma ran up to Sho’s bed.
“Are you okay? Let me see that.”
She took his cut arm in one hand and winced.
“Let me get the aid kit. Just a moment.”
After she had left the room, Sho sat in stunned silence. He had never seen anything like what had just happened and a cold sweat overcame him. His mind was a sea of words overflowing and churning within him.
Past due we had our mistakes arighted, the oncoming squall will prevent vehicles…
He shook his head and clenched his bedsheets.
“I’m sorry you had to see that.”
He jumped as Gheriun entered the room. His father held up his hands.
“It’s okay now.”
Alma nearly bowled the Mask Seller over in her haste.
“Sorry, sorry,” she said. “Here, I brought the kit.”
“Thank you Alma.” Gheriun accepted the small box. “Can you go check on Valeria?”
With an uneasy look, the Painter’s apprentice nodded.
Alone together now, Gheriun brought the kit to the side of Sho’s bed and cut off the dangling sleeve to examine his injury. The blade had cut deep into his flesh and blood was still seeping from it. It dripped down his arm and elbow, staining the bedsheets crimson. Sho winced as his father wordlessly dabbed at his cut with an alcohol soaked cloth.
“What was that?” he asked finally.
Gheriun sighed.
“It’s his own version of a curse. Things he hasn’t let go…”
His voice was distant as he placed butterfly clasps to close the wound.
“He’s just under a lot of stress.”
Sho looked down, ashamed.
“It’s my fault,” he said quietly.
“You can’t keep blaming yourself,” was his father’s response. “You hurt more than yourself when you do.”
“But I—I tried to kill him. How can you not hate me?”
Gheriun had finished wrapping Sho’s arm.
“Please son,” the Mask Seller begged. “How do we fix this?”
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Sho shook his head, placing his hands over his ears. He couldn’t do this anymore. In his fever riddled state he didn’t know what the answer was anymore. When he had been faced with a sure death, his heart had cried out, desperate to live. He knew it was selfish, but…
“I’ll tell you,” he whispered. “How to do it. The Dinner.”
For a moment there was silence, and then he was pulled into a gentle hug by his father.
“Thank you.”
He could hear the tears in Gheriun’s voice. How could he have been so blind to how much pain he was causing his fathers? Sho wept into Gheriun’s shoulder as his father patted his head.
“There, there. It’ll all be okay now. You’re going to be okay.”
Etienne’s condition had stabilized despite the massive damage Sho had caused. A few more of his assistants had come to help Gheriun with caring for Sho, Etienne, and Valeria. The Mask Seller had finally managed to get in contact with the Observer, and he made a strange request of him; to obtain an aberration and bring it to them. Rui had not batted an eye at the odd request, only agreed and told him he’d be there in three days.
Sho was still having episodes, crying out nonsense and flailing in his half-sleep. Alma had started to sit by his side now that they had more hands on deck. Her presence seemed to calm the boy, and Gheriun took the opportunity to see to Etienne.
The Painter’s wounds were healing, albeit slowly. He had regained consciousness in fits and starts, and today as the Mask Seller walked into their bedroom he was awake with a book in hand. Valeria had come and cuddled up to him, avoiding his bandaged midsection. Etienne read aloud in a sonorous voice, but as Gheriun entered, he stopped and closed the book, one finger holding place.
“Hey,” Gheriun said lamely, holding up a hand.
“Hey yourself,” replied the Painter with a sad smile. He turned to Valeria.
“Why don’t you go play with your aunties and uncles? Come now.”
As he ushered the toddler off the bed, Gheriun led her to his masked assistant. Left alone in the room, the two men stared down in silence. Gheriun was the first to break it.
“Sho, he’s… he’s really sorry for hurting you. And so am I.”
Etienne shook his head.
“I know he didn’t mean to,” he said. “There’s too much power for such a small body, and his emotions are…well.”
“Still,” Gheriun insisted as he sat beside the Painter. He grabbed his free hand and kissed his fingers.
“Also he told me. How to save him.”
Etienne’s eyes widened and he dropped the book he was holding.
“Why didn’t you say that first?” he asked, wincing as he moved. “Then..?”
The Mask Seller nodded.
“It’ll be okay. Sho’s going to be okay. The Observer is taking care of it.”
“I’ll have to thank him,” said Etienne as he leaned into the pillows supporting him.
However, there was more Gheriun needed to ask of his partner. He was reluctant, but it had gone too far. His son had been hurt. He sighed heavily before speaking.
“Etienne, I need you to tell me. Just who was that? It’s the second time he’s appeared, and…” He reached up and ran one hand through his wiry hair. “Please, my love. I need to know.”
The artist stared into his hands for a long moment, and Gheriun was not sure whether he’d get an answer at all. The man did love his secrets, and in truth there was much hidden between them. However, he had tired of secrets.
Etienne began to speak, so quietly at first his voice was a whisper.
“My mentor. He’s… a part of me.”
The Painter brought one hand to his chest and gripped the front of his shirt, gritting his teeth. He whipped his head around and fixed Gheriun in his stare.
“Give me time. When this,” he gestured to his bandaged abdomen, “has healed up a bit more, I’ll show you.”
Gheriun nodded.
When Sho opened his eyes after the ritual, the first person he saw was Valeria, soon followed to his surprise by Santu. They had both fallen asleep on either side of him, Valeria easily fitting under one arm while Santu was half on top of him. She was drooling far more than the literal infant, but before he could get annoyed he heard a sound from his left. He turned his head to see not only his fathers but the waiting forms of the Observer and his art tutor, Alma.
“You’re awake,” Gheriun was the first to say.
“Good morning sleepyhead,” said Etienne.
“Why’d you have to go and worry us like that!” was Alma’s flustered but teary exclamation.
“Yo,” was all Rui had to say.
The commotion had woken his sister and Santu. When she saw that he was up, the batling gave a big toothy grin and pulled him into a rough hug.
“Sho!!!”
He could practically hear the extra exclamation points she put into it and winced, blushing lightly at the close contact. He managed to get her off of him, but let Valeria stay wrapped around him.
“Sho!” his sister babbled happily.
The next moment, he was pulled into a bear hug by the both of his fathers. To his surprise they were each crying openly.
“Gods, you had us worried,” choked out Gheriun.
Etienne held the back of Sho’s head gently in one hand.
“You stubborn child,” he chided lightly, but there was only warmth in his voice.
Before he could stop himself, tears welled up in Sho’s eyes. He had not meant for things to get to this point. He had caused his family pain once again. If only he hadn’t been so stubborn…
“I’m so glad to see you both,” he said, crying freely now. “I was so afraid. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize, idiot,” said Rui. “We’re all glad to see you.”
Remembering the others there, Sho tried, and failed, to get his tears under control. Since when had there been so many people in his life who cared about him? Some of whom he’d hurt, more than once even. Yet they’d still shown up to greet him when he woke up. He knew he didn’t deserve to be so happy, but he was suddenly grateful he was alive. For so long he had just survived, despising life, the only support in his life an abusive and unloving grandfather. How had he ended up surrounded by those who loved him? He sobbed as he clung to his fathers, grateful for their strength and presence.
“I’m sorry, Etienne,” he choked out. “I didn’t mean to… to hurt you. You saved me when you came to the compound. That’s the truth. Please don’t hate me. I’m so sorry.”
“Hush, my child,” Etienne said, but Sho could hear the tears in his voice. “You’ll always be my beloved son.”
The words made Sho begin crying anew, uncaring of the audience. The others were also tearing up, save the Observer, though for his part he had removed the smug look from his face.
“Come now,” said Gheriun as Sho’s weeping calmed. “We’re all glad to see you up, but you’ve got to eat something and then rest. You’re still not out of the woods.”
The others were ushered out of the room, though not before Santu gave Sho one more claustrophobic hug and a pat on the head.
“Good job!” she said magnanimously, giving him a thumbs up and audacious wink.
Etienne turned to him with a small bowl of clear broth once the room was empty.
“Can you try and eat some of this for me?”
Sho nodded, and with the Painter’s help took a spoonful. To his relief, it tasted like a lovely warm chicken broth with some bright ginger undertones. He let out a sigh.
“Is something the matter?”
“Mm-mm.” Sho shook his head with a bright smile. “It’s wonderful.”
Etienne returned his smile, and soon Sho had managed to finish most of the bowl.
“Don’t force it. You did a good job, son,” Gheriun said as he brushed away the hair from Sho’s forehead and gave it a light kiss.
“Dad,” Sho protested, but the Mask Seller just broke into a teary grin.
“Allow a father a few overdue moments, okay? I’m just so relieved that you… that you’re here.”
He reached out and held one of Sho’s hands. Etienne placed his own on top.
“Thank you, Sho,” he said. “For fighting so hard. You can rest now. Just focus on getting your strength back.”
“Okay.” He hesitated. “I really am sorry.”
“Don’t worry yourself. We all say and do things we regret. It’s inevitable to lash out at those close to you.”
His statement seemed to have a question in it, and Sho grabbed him in a tight hug.
“Thank you,” he said. “For everything. I’ll treasure always that I have you in my life and our memories together.”
The Painter patted his back.
“And I you. Now get some rest. You have a long time ahead of you to make many more memories.”
Sho hesitated.
“But, Teacher, are you okay?”
Etienne nodded.
“Don’t you worry about me. Get some rest.”
As Sho was recovering from the ritual and his illness, the house gradually quieted down. Rui and Santu had decided to stay over to help out with any adverse effects, and Alma was staying in town just in case they needed another hand.
As night fell, Gheriun and Etienne were at the table. Valeria had finally fallen asleep, and now that the Painter was back on his feet, it was time for some answers.
They sat for some time over cups of chamomile tea, the tension in the air palpable. As Etienne set his down he let out a long sigh before locking his eyes on Gheriun.
“It’s time I told you. About him, about my past.”
He shook his head.
“No, time I showed you. Will you go with me?”
He brandished his paintbrush. It took Gheriun a moment to understand, and when he did he nodded.
“Anywhere.”
With one last look to his partner, Etienne began to move the brush through the air. The room around them shifted and dissipated, and before them appeared a scene like out of a painting. As Gheriun watched they were pulled inward, and they were standing in a dusty street. It looked like somewhere southwest of Grand Lake, judging by the architecture. It looked straight out of a picture book. Gheriun let out a breath in amazement, before his eyes alighted on a figure standing before a magnificent church. It was hard to tell their features from this angle, but they were tall with long flowing hair pinned up, dressed in a sort of style Gheriun had seen in some of the rural areas of the peninsula. They appeared to be a tall, incredibly handsome woman. Despite himself, Gheriun was transfixed. She had bronze skin and her hair was shiny black waves undulating in the golden light. Her chin was held high but her gait was somewhat unsteady as she approached the doors of the church. She slowed and took a deep breath.
“Who..?”
The Painter smiled softly.
“Me, in another time.”
Now that he said it, Gheriun could see the resemblance. When the figure turned their head his mouth went dry. Standing there was a younger Etienne, face free of the plague scars and eyes glittering. He looked so full of hope, so innocent and free. Gheriun wondered just what had happened to him since.
The young Etienne adjusted the luggage in his hands, took a deep breath, and stepped through the heavy wooden doors. The world melted around them, running down in rivulets of paint and reforming on the canvas before them.
Now inside the church, the younger version of the Painter approached the figure of a huge man. He was decked all in doctor’s whites, a cowled overcoat and shiny leather boots. His face was lined but kindly, and he welcomed Etienne with arms spread.
“Welcome to Rosarito, o child of god.”
As the man turned, Gheriun’s stomach went cold despite the warmth of the atmosphere. He knew that face, although here it looked far more normal than the manic and bloody Doctor he was familiar with. He felt himself step forward as though to prevent Etienne from going to him, but the memory easily passed through him as though he weren’t even there.
“It’s pointless,” said the Painter, the real one beside him. His voice was bittersweet. “It already happened. This is but an echo of the past.”
Helpless to do anything but watch, Gheriun turned back to the scene.
“Doctor Guillermo,” the younger Etienne greeted the doctor with a rosy grin. It was so difficult to watch. The doctor gripped his proffered hands in his own huge ones, shaking them vigorously.
“Welcome, dear Marisol. We are blessed to have you among our flock. Your talents have not gone unnoticed.”
Gheriun was mortified to see the blush that rose on Etienne’s pox-free face as he glanced down and brushed a strand of dark hair out of his face. Still, even he could see that the man was not only ruggedly attractive but had a vast charisma. It reverberated even in this shadow of a memory. Did Gheriun not know all too well what it meant to be young and in love with the wrong person?
But he had also seen the specter that remained of the Doctor, and it terrified him.
His thoughts were a stormy sea as they watched.
Gheriun was led through a labyrinth of memory, helpless to change the events as they passed before him. He watched with a careful reverence, knowing just how much Etienne was trusting in him. There was some spark of jealousy, yes, but even more so a sort of deep sorrow that he had not been there. He watched as the studious young Etienne, before he had even taken that name, struggled so hard to live up to his master’s expectations.
At first, it all seemed normal enough for the times. The Mask Seller had visited the central city-state of Rosarito before the Plague—it had flourished in the arts and sciences, a leading force in the scientific renaissance. Seeing it in vivid hues was breathtaking, like a film from the past playing all about him. When the tree-lined avenues bloomed it was with vibrant shades of red, orange, purple, and blues. The trees that appeared so gnarled and mean off-season now became decked in rich robes, shedding flowers on the cobblestone. The warmth in the early evening air was pleasant, and the sound of music could be heard throughout the city being played from cafes and rooftops. City dwellers climbed to escape the heat, seeking outdoor spaces and pools of water to relax in comfort after a long, hot workday.
The Painter beside him spoke suddenly in a voice thick with longing and nostalgia.
“It was a beautiful city. You never found time to be bored.”
As he spoke the colors seemed to deepen and the sounds took on a depth to them. Voices rang across the dusty streets as people of all ages and all backgrounds hurried to their destinations to escape the midday sun. They came upon a plaza with a massive carved fountain depicting women with the bodies of birds holding urns in their half-wing arms. The square was stuffed with beautiful stonework and tiles with brilliant designs on them. There were stalls set up along the hexagonal square and six main streets came together here.
They watched the young Etienne weave amongst the crowds, dark eyes filled with wonder. There were even some who recognized him from the clinic and thanked him for his service to this or that family member. It was both sweet and heartbreaking to see how easily he used to smile.
The differences between his past and current selves were much deeper than appearance alone. The Painter had lost something beyond words. Gheriun could understand that feeling, and he found himself gripping his partner’s hand. Etienne gave him a thin smile. It was jarring to see the two versions of him side by side; the pale, scarred, and hollow eyed Painter, and the tanned, bright eyed, beautiful young Marisol.
“It was so wonderful,” the Painter continued. “There were cafes lining many streets—my village did not even have a restaurant. But here, you could do anything, be anything. It was my dream to come here.”
He sighed, his voicing turning sorrowful.
“I got much more than I bargained for. I wonder, what did I do to deserve it? What was my fault? If I just knew that then maybe… maybe it would be easier to let go.”
“You didn’t—it wasn’t your fault,” Gheriun insisted. “You did your best.”
“Hmm.”
The Painter just turned back to the projection.
They continued through the square when Etienne suddenly broke out with a laugh and pointed out a group of kids crouched by the fountain.
“Gher, take a look at this,” he said with a smile. “Ah, it was such a little thing, but.”
They got closer to the group and Gheriun tried to peer over their shoulders. They were playing a game of dominoes, and one in particular seemed to be gloating over the others. Etienne pointed to him.
“I remember, because he was cheating. Quite badly, I might add!”
The Mask Seller wasn’t sure if the other man was more annoyed at the cheating or the lack of tact. It was nice to see him smile though. Gheriun had been so caught up in his own worries that seeing his partner happy felt like a small respite from the storm.
The young Etienne, long hair pinned back and dressed in patterned layers and a long skirt stepped up behind the cheater. He considered for a moment before speaking, tugging lightly on the youth’s arm.
“Huh,” he murmured. “Odd, could have sworn it was… ah.”
He grinned mischievously before giving the other sleeve a tug, and from within came tumbling numerous tiles surreptitiously hidden within. The other children raised their voices in unison.
“I told you it wasn’t the same tile he put down!”
“No way!? Did you do the same thing last week? You totally owe me!”
“Yeah, yeah!”
After the scene with the dominoes, Gheriun took a moment to appreciate the sight of the young Etienne. He had a look of satisfaction on his face and a charming lop-sided grin.
“You look pretty pleased with yourself,” Gheriun remarked with a smile.
Etienne laughed again and nodded,
“In a way, I suppose I was. It was just…” He sighed. “It was such a lovely day. And it was rather fun.”
The sun began to set on the square as the scene dimmed.
Etienne was not the only student under Doctor Guillermo; the man had a handful of them. One, a woman named Iska, stood out to Gheriun in her closeness to the young Painter. She took on an almost big sisterly role despite being all of five foot nothing. She had come from up north, where women were often second class citizens and any education had to be done in secret. Since coming to Rosarito, her personality had flourished and she took her training seriously. Often she would stay up late simply to help tutor the others or listen to their woes. She had a calming atmosphere about her, and Gheriun was grateful to see someone who seemed to care about Etienne’s wellbeing.
One thing that stood out to Gheriun was the way scenes would suddenly change, the tones shifting discordantly as the Doctor’s disposition would fracture without warning.
Etienne bringing him objects he’d requested, only to be lashed out at and reprimanded. Etienne brewing tea only for it to be splashed at his feet in disgust for some trivial reason. Every time, Gheriun felt more than saw the pain it caused his partner.
As they traversed deeper into the maze of memory, the relationship between Etienne and his mentor progressed. It was difficult for Gheriun to see the way the Doctor would lash out at him, and in shame he recalled his own past words toward the Painter. He swallowed dryly.
There were times when Iska sensed that something was off, and would simply brew the two of them a pot of tea. She did not ask him any probing questions; she merely offered a spot of warmth when things were stressful.
Guillermo found any excuse to humiliate and tear down Etienne. His episodes grew more frequent and intense in nature. Yet afterwards he would shower his student in love, and he used every chance to endear himself to him. He drew the younger man to him, slowly drawing him into his arms. And Etienne was hopelessly struck with the man, his talent, the side of him that was so tender and loving. As they became deeper involved with one another the Doctor grew possessive of who Etienne associated with. Anyone outside of the priory were immediately suspect. He would question Etienne on where he’d been and with whom. His attitude would turn aggressive on a dime and he’d go from praising his student’s talents and treating him with love to screaming at him and hitting him. Bruises began to blossom across Etienne’s body in a gruesome map of abuses suffered. As they watched him beaten and bloody, Gheriun could not fathom how his partner had not batted an eye.
“How can you stand to watch this?” he finally asked. “How could you stay throughout all of this?”
Etienne took a long, hard look at the Mask Seller.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
His voice was grave, but Gheriun gave a stern nod.
The scene shifted to one of the Doctor’s quarters. It took Gheriun a moment to realize what he was seeing, and he took a sharp intake of breath.
On the bed before them, Etienne and Guillermo were entangled in a mess of limbs. Etienne’s eyes were closed and he gasped beneath the Doctor. Guillermo was kissing him tenderly, hands grabbing at Etienne’s exposed breasts. As they moaned and grasped at one another, Gheriun could not help but turn away. His face was burning and his heart racing. Indeed, it was more than he had hoped to see. Etienne considered him with a deadpan stare.
“It was my first love,” he said, voice cold. “I hadn’t ever left my little town before, and he seemed to shine so bright…”
Even without looking, Gheriun could hear the younger version of his partner gasping out another man’s name. He knew he was being cowardly, and with a dry swallow he moved his head stiffly, robotically, back to face the memory. It was true that despite his erratic treatment before, the Doctor was caressing Etienne with gentle hands. It was painful to watch.
“I was called a harlot, and maybe it’s true,” Etienne said. “But god, I truly believed this was what love was like. I believed that the pain was merely due to my own faults. I’m not sure you can understand what it’s like, for many of us raised as girls.”
It was true, and Gheriun thought immediately of their daughter. What would it be like for her, growing up? The world today was much different from that of the past, but it was not always a kind place.
“We are told that any hurt wrought unto us is earned, a natural product of our being. And back then we didn’t have the words for people like me. I didn’t quite know where I sat, or how to express myself. I’m grateful to know my children will grow up in a world much different from those times.” Etienne nodded to himself and then sighed. “But I was enamored with the man. It may seem foolish now, but back then I truly thought that I had found love, and despite his anger and his wrath, that he loved and valued me.”
Gheriun could at least understand the desperation of first love, the way it blinds some. Some like himself. He bowed his head.
“But then, I was naive. He was an idol to me, and perhaps I put him on something of a pedestal. I just wanted so desperately to be wanted, to be needed, to be loved. And here I thought I was so lucky that a man such as he would fall in love with someone like me.”
The nuns of the priory were another source of camaraderie whenever the Doctor became harsh. When they first laid eyes on Etienne they were in awe of his height and looks. They preened over him like a gaggle of hens, much to Gheriun’s amusement. To his surprise, they were also the ones to first suggest painting as a hobby to Etienne. He had taken to it hesitantly, but was soon spending any free time he had working away at a canvas. Especially after Guillermo had hit or berated him. It seemed to ease his stress, and Gheriun watched in fascination as his skills developed. What had begun as a way to pass the time soon blossomed, although his time was limited. In those early days at least, Etienne found solace among the nuns and the paint.
The Doctor soon noticed the paint on his student’s fingers, and during a group session took the chance to humiliate him.
“Ah, I see young Marisol here finds finger painting a more productive use of her time than, oh, I don’t know, studying the arts of healing.”
His false grin soon fell.
“We will speak of this later.”
When Etienne entered Guillermo’s office, the scene turned sharp and harsh. The Doctor’s face was dark, sharp black lines hiding his eyes. He had his fingers steepled before him.
“Sit,” he commanded in an imperious voice.
His student sat, back ramrod straight.
“Now,” began the Doctor. “I don’t think I need to explain to you what an insult I find this. You are not here to play around. You are here to devote yourself, body, heart, and soul to saving others!”
He slammed a fist down on his desk, making Etienne wince. But he was not finished.
“You dare waste my valuable time with frivolous activities. I did not accept you here to idle away your time.”
“Sir, I—“
“Silence!” roared Guillermo. He stood, breath heavy as he tried to control his temper.
“You are now on double shifts. I’ll hear no complaints.”
Etienne bowed his head. Sweat was beaded on his forehead and his hands balled into fists.
“Yes, sir.”
The scene before them revealed itself to be that of the Painter in the Doctor’s personal quarters. He was buttoning up a pair of the man’s trousers and looking over himself in the mirror. He pulled his hair back with one hand as he kept the large pants up where they were meant to be with the other. His eyes were zipping up and down as he turned to and fro. Beside him, the real Etienne chuckled.
“Ah, a foolish little experiment,” he said.
The younger version of him had found a belt and was looping it through the belt loops. As he buckled it he adjusted the waist slightly and looked up with a nervous smile. Gheriun felt his heart skip a beat. It was strange to see his partner as he had been before the plague and his horrific death. Still, he didn’t find either more beautiful; he was totally enrapt with the Painter. He just mourned that it had so hurt the other man.
Suddenly, the door swing open to show a furious Guillermo. He looked about ready to strangle the young Etienne, but then a cruel smile came over his face.
“Oh isn’t this cute,” he said with a sneer. “You’re playing dress-up.”
Etienne’s face had drained of color.
“He was supposed to be out for the next three days,” explained the current Etienne. “So I had thought…”
He trailed off as Guillermo approached his younger self. He towered over him and his body was well muscled. He grabbed the collar of Etienne’s shirt roughly and shoved him up against a wall. His voice was low and dripping with malice as he spoke.
“You believe you deserve the respect of a man? Or is there something that gets you off about this?”
Guillermo pressed hard against Etienne’s collarbone with his forearm as his student clutched at his jacket desperately and coughing.
“Please—“
“Already pleading like a silly little girl? Aren’t we something.”
The color around them gradually seemed to drain and shift to sickly hues as the beginnings of the Plague made themselves apparent. It all began with one odd report from the seaside town of (??).
As Etienne read aloud the report Iska had sent them from (??), his voice faltered. He glanced up to Doctor Guillermo for some sign of what to do. The doctor’s face was furrowed in thought and he gestured for Etienne to continue, which his student did after some brief hesitation.
“…the family described has been ordered to quarantine, however I fear that their interactions with the broader public and status as traders poses some risk to public health, being located as they are in a central food supply area of the greater city. Doctor?”
Guillermo’s expression had darkened.
“We’ll set off at once,” he said in a grave voice. “Pack for a few days. Bring your mask.”
At that, the blood drained from Etienne’s face.
“Is it that bad?”
The Doctor stood with a grunt.
“Let’s pray not.”
They decided to visit the town themselves to confirm what the situation was. As they readied themselves to leave, the young Etienne hedged a question.
“Do you have any idea of the cause?”
The doctor shook his head slowly.
“It’s something we will need to see. Come now. Do not forget your mask.”
Etienne foisted the bag containing his flower-filled, long nosed mask, and they were off. The scene melted to that of a rural seaside village, sun beating down on the tall grass surrounding the settlement. As they approached they could see ships of various sizes on the water. The buildings were largely constructed of plaster and wood support beams. There wasn’t much to the town, and everything radiated out from a well in the town square. Despite how small it was, it was an important stop for many international ships on their way to the main ports in Rosarito or Pampuda.
They arrived late in the afternoon and were greeted by the town’s mayor.
“Thank you for coming to our small settlement,” he said, wringing his hands.
The Doctor nodded.
“Can you show us to the afflicted’s abode?”
The mayor wiped sweat off his wrinkled forehead tanned dark by the sun, and swallowed before nodding.
They were brought to a house located eerily close to the well that was the heart of the little town.
“Like a body afflicted at its very core,” commented the Painter.
Gheriun could only nod.
The home was a more modern two story with brightly painted wooden beams. Inside however the atmosphere was grim. They had donned their plague masks before stepping inside, the odd bird-like faces obscuring their own. They were greeted by a shawled woman in tears and a man who looked like he had not slept in days.
“Oh, god bless you doctor,” she said.
She had black hair that was greying at the temples poking out from her slightly askance head covering and her black eyes were rimmed in red.
“Our son Nicolas had been running a fever the last few days,” she explained in a rush of words. “But then, the other day he fell unconscious and these bright red marks appeared. Now they’re black and he’s struggling in his sleep and oh doctor what do we do?”
“Calm now,” said the imposing Guillermo. “I will inspect him for myself. Can you lead me to him?”
They were brought to a dimly lit room on the second floor. There was a boy lying in a bed whose black hair was plastered against his sweat drenched face. The two doctors approached the patient, Guillermo kneeling beside the bed. As he pulled back the sheets he froze for a moment. Even witnessing it as an illusion, Gheriun winced at the sight.
The boy was covered in dark black boils, blooming together in clusters.
“Just what could cause this?” Etienne asked his mentor hesitantly. His voice was muffled through the mask.
The Doctor’s face was grim as he muttered.
“Let’s hope it’s an isolated incident, for all our sake’s.”
It was as they were about to leave that Doctor Guillermo removed his mask. They had left the infected family and were now visiting on the other side of town an acquaintance of his. The man’s son had been dealing with an odd lethargy and Guillermo had promised to give him a look. He insisted that the symptoms were completely unrelated to the suspicious outbreak they’d overseen earlier. He did have a point; those had been rapid onset and with very visible symptoms. Still, Etienne shifted on his heel as the Doctor performed his close examination. He felt uneasy, like they were standing on the edge of a crumbling cliff.
“Well this is very unusual indeed.”
The Doctor’s comment snapped Etienne out of his reverie.
“Sir?”
“There seems to be quite the irritation in the throat, the lymph nodes are horribly swollen. Curious. When palpated, they feel solid.”
The patient squirmed in his grasp.
“It it bad, doc?”
Doctor Guillermo’s face split into that sunny grin of his.
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much. You’ve probably overworked it. I’ve got just the tea that will get those lungs clear in no time.”
Within weeks of their visit to the seaside town, Iska was dead. She had stayed there even while those still able fled to the city. It was a similar story across the countryside, and as villages fell in turn the survivors fled on to the next settlement, bringing with them this disease. It was rapidly becoming too late to attempt a quarantine, and not everyone was even convinced the concept would work.
The number of infected and dying rose only higher. Even as illusory memories the stench of death was enough to overwhelm you. Bodies were at first hauled off to mass graves, then burned, but eventually they were simply left to pile up in the heat.
Gheriun watched as Etienne fought in vain against the onslaught, his colleagues slowly falling to the plague.
Many of the firsthand records had been lost to the massive burns that had occurred in the later stages of the plague. However, it was ever more horrifying than the Mask Seller had heard. He knew only the Observer who had seen anything, and the other man refused to discuss it. Any time the subject came up, Rui’s face was a stony mask and he quickly changed the subject. Let alone the Painter.
That day, Etienne was at the clinic treating the ever growing wave of those in need. It was miserably hot, the sun glistening off of the surface of the brick and mortar buildings around them. Etienne was sweating over a patient when he was summoned to the side office of the clinic by another nurse. As he got there, his pace faltered.
A proud looking woman stood there, chin held high. Her pregnant stomach was thrust forward and on display prominently, almost a threat. Before he had even reached her, the woman was striding toward Etienne in a rage.
“You think I’m so blind,” she hissed. “But I’m no fool. I see what the two of you are up to.”
“Madam, please—“
As the young Painter raised his hands, the woman slapped him hard against the face. The sound rang out through the small space.
“You harlot. How dare you touch my husband, you filthy little tramp.”
Etienne ran a hand across his bright red cheek, eyes wide and stunned.
“I don’t—“
“Don’t you try to lie to me,” she said, raising her hand again. There were tears in her vivid eyes. “I saw you two… I saw you together! You filthy slut, how dare you go after a married man? A man whose wife is pregnant? Have you no shame?”
Although she was considerably shorter than the Painter, Etienne shrunk back. He didn’t reply, but his silence seemed only to further anger the woman. His modern self spoke.
“I had no idea,” he said in a quiet voice. “I’d always thought… but of course he was married.”
Gheriun’s eyes widened as he realized who the distraught woman was.
“Her name was Emelia,” Etienne continued. “She wasn’t a bad woman, just… it was a complicated situation. I remember feeling like the ground had fallen from under my feet. My stomach felt hollow and cold.”
He gave something like a laugh, a bitter, distant sound.
“And she was pregnant? Here I was, imagining our future together, and the entire time he had been married. I had without meaning to stepped in and broken an entire family. Of course she was angry.”
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After the mass death event at the shrine which accompanied Sho becoming Prophet. Short piece.
The Mask Seller hesitated outside of the open doorway, taking a few deep breaths on the wooden perimeter. He clenched his shaking hands into fists and nodded to himself. He could do this. Just a few more steps.
Before the uncertainty could overwhelm him, he adjusted his mask and strode into the room.
Everything was perfectly in order, which only stood out in the room of an 8 year old boy. There were no toys scattered about, nor knickknacks of any sort, only scrolls and books on shelves and simple tapestries with hymns scrawled upon them.
In the middle of the room, at the low table, was seated a young boy. He was small for his age, scrawny and pale, but as he turned to face Gheriun the masksmith noted that his complexion seemed sickly. His eyes were lined with dark circles, and there seemed to swirl within some complex emotion beyond his years. For a moment, another face flashed through Gheriun’s mind, freckled and smiling, yet somehow the eyes…
“Why are you here?”
Gheriun blinked, the image in his head dispelled. He stepped closer hesitantly.
Since Rie’s death, the boy had become cold and closed off toward his father. Not that the masksmith could blame him; where had he been when Sho needed him most? He scratched his short black hair as he thought to all the time he had been spending at the atelier. It had been his own form of escape, a selfish attempt at avoiding all that was happening in the rest of his life.
“I’m sorry,” he started slowly, turning his gaze to the side. “I know it’s been a while. Your grandfather told me you’ve been well.”
Sho took a sharp intake of breath at the mention of the Founder, hand clenching around the pencil he held. For the first time, Gheriun noticed that he had been drawing. The boy had always taken to his fantasies and illustrations, and the masksmith glanced down at the page.
He clenched his teeth at what he saw even as Sho rushed to cover it with his hands.
“You’re still drawing?” he asked, trying to cover up his unease.
Sho stared down at his hands before covering his work with a nearby book. He bit his lip and glanced up at his father.
“Do you even care?”
Gheriun winced, but he sat at a careful distance from his son. Sho eyed him cautiously.
Closer now, the masksmith could hear the slight hitch in Sho’s breathing, saw the sweat beading on his neck.
“Of course I care,” he began. “If it’s important to you, that matters to me.”
His words seemed to only make the boy more agitated. Sho fiddled with the pencil, flipping it about listlessly.
“Hmm,” he sighed. “Sure.”
A droplet of sweat fell onto the wood grain of the table, sliding smoothly off the varnish. There was a slight shake in his hands, and the Mask Seller frowned behind his mask.
“What?” Sho asked.
Gheriun leaned closer, reaching out to Sho’s forehead and placing one palm against it. Sho winced at the touch.
“You’re burning up. How long has it been like this?”
Sho waved his hand off with a scowl.
“It’s fine,” he said.
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Piece from about when Sho was 7. Not long before Rie’s death.
When the Mask Seller heard that his son had fallen ill, he hurried to the old shrine grounds in Xiu Tao. He had embarrassed himself before the Painter, having invited the other man to his humble studio. However, when he’d seen the return stamp on the letter in the mailbox, his heart had lurched in his chest. He’d made some lame excuse that the inkblot was acting up and maybe they could reschedule, kicking himself internally at his poor cover.
He found himself wondering just what Etienne thought about his odd actions, hoping that the man’s disinterest in other’s secrets would keep him from thinking too much on the masksmith’s actions. However, when he’d read Rie’s shaky scrawl within the envelope, all that Gheriun could do was hurry to the shrine.
He brought along a gift he’d picked up while in Medina, a cloth doll in the shape of a cat, and some sweet tangerines. When he arrived, his presence was immediately questioned by the shawled guard standing watch before the inner sanctum.
“Mask Seller. You were not called.”
Gheriun scrutinized the woman, a particularly devout follower whose name escaped him at present. He knew that she was close to the Founder’s faction, and wondered whether the man himself had ordered this.
“I’ve got clearance to come and go as I need,” he said, calmly but coolly. “So if you’ll please excuse me.”
Ignoring her protests, he pressed on to the room where Sho lay. His only concern was making sure the boy was okay. His fevers had gotten worse lately, and Rie’s tone had been distraught in the letter she sent him. It had already been two days he’d been under when Gheriun received the letter, and by the time he made it here another had passed.
It had taken him by surprise just how worried he felt every time Sho fell ill. He had lived so detached from others for so long, and the fragility of his son’s life terrified him. Would he lose him before he had even had a chance to be a father to the boy? Would Sho’s short life be nothing but this shallow experiment?
The mushrooms in his face spasmed and he clenched his jaw tight. He knew these feelings were unnecessary, a side effect, surely nothing more. But something compelled him forward nonetheless.
He stood before the sliding door of Sho’s room. Despite his status, the boy did not live in any particularly nice or new part of the shrine. Instead, they had seen fit to place him in a room deep in the back of the inner sanctum, a small and simple dwelling. It had taken the priests much hardship to get Sho to sleep alone, and he often snuck back to his mother’s side. Since Rie’s health deteriorated, however, he had slowly come to accept the new space.
Gheriun hesitated as he stood there. He looked down at the meager gifts in his arms, wondering whether he had made the right choice. Sweat beaded on his forehead as his heart rate increased, anxiety prickling the hairs on the back of his head. Finally, he took a deep breath, reached out, and,
“I don’t recall requesting your presence, Mask Seller.”
A cold, caustic voice sounded from behind him. Gheriun whirled around to face a short old man with thin, white hair dressed in a finely tailored but subdued suit. His sharp black eyes, irises lined in a ring of gold, belied a cruel intellect.
Although he stood considerably shorter than the masksmith, the man had an overwhelming aura that managed to nearly strip the breath from Gheriun’s lungs. He recovered himself and lowered his head reverently.
“Rie sent a letter, that he was sick, so I…”
“And what does that have to do with you, I wonder? Since when are you a doctor? You’re simply getting in the way.”
Gheriun gaped, unable to work up a suitable reply as the mushrooms seemed to stab deeper into him. The inkblot always had a habit of acting up in the Founder’s presence, though paradoxically he was also the one able to keep the curse subdued. Gheriun suspected his own psyche was more at work here, and cursed his cowardice.
“Surely I don’t need to ask to see my son when he’s sick? Since when?”
The Founder’s stare was full of disgust as he pointed a sharp finger at the Mask Seller.
“You and Rie both, your choice of language has become… highly inappropriate. I can excuse her, women can be so uselessly sentimental, but you?” He scoffed. “What, don’t tell me you’re aspiring to such a mundane reality. You know what this project means, and it is far beyond some silly family fantasy.”
Gheriun winced. He had been careful to avoid thinking of Sho in terms of a son, but over the years it had become difficult to maintain that distinction. His closeness with the Painter had also made him evaluate just what he was doing, and lately he felt conflicted more than not.
However, to let the Founder know just how complicated his feelings had become would be dangerous. He took a deep breath.
“No, you’re correct. I was just… when I heard he was sick, I—“
The Founder cut him off with a sharp gesture.
“You needn’t worry. I would never jeopardize our work. We are approaching the pivotal eighth year, after all. I have observed all necessary precautions.”
“Then, if I can just see him?”
Immediately he sensed he’d overstepped, a chill running down his spine as the other man’s eyes narrowed.
“He is in a sensitive state. I do not advise you intrude right now.”
His tone was final, and Gheriun’s shoulders slumped. He weakly held out his gifts.
“Then, if you could just give him these? When he’s well enough?”
The Founder eyed the objects as though they might bite him before reluctantly accepting them.
“Fine. You may leave,” he added with finality.
The Mask Seller departed, heart still aching at being unable to do anything more.
Gheriun watched the boy as he ran about the garden, giggling in the late summer sunlight. Beside him, Rie had a smile on her face, but something about it unsettled him. He turned away from Sho.
“Is something wrong?”
She turned to him, unable to hide her surprise. Gheriun scratched his chin under the mask self consciously.
“Oh, no,” Rie started, biting her lip as she glanced at their son. “Mm-mm, I’m just glad to see him so energetic.”
The masksmith’s heart clenched as he thought to the bout of illness the boy had just gotten through—and his own absence throughout.
“Yes,” he said lamely. “It’s good that he’s feeling better.”
Something complicated passed over Rie’s face, and her eyes snapped to Gheriun’s mask. Although she couldn’t see his face, he felt utterly exposed beneath her stare and swallowed drily. He could hear the slight whistle as she breathed in and out, a telltale sign of the disease which slowly ate away at her. Even with the patches of strange, green-black skin, there was a beauty within her strong eyes and freckled features. She reached out to touch the back of his hand. Gheriun did not flinch; unlike the superstitious priests and fearful attendants, he did not fear catching the disease.
For it was partly him which had caused Rie to be in this state.
Her fingers were cool against his, shaking slightly despite their being seated. The tremors had become more frequent since he had last visited.
No, his fears were of something else altogether than the sickness which ravaged her body. He glanced back toward Sho, heedless of the atmosphere between his parents as he lay bathing in the sun, grass staining his knees beneath his shorts as he played with some imaginary friend or other.
The boy seemed to have a lot of those, even at his age. Though, Gheriun supposed he didn’t exactly know what was typical for boys, age 7 or otherwise. Still, the way that Sho spoke of these invisible friends made him uneasy. Some were certainly minor oddities of some sort, but others were strange even to his ancient ears. It unsettled him, even if he knew he was being fussy. That Sho was beginning to resemble someone Gheriun knew long ago did nothing to help the sense of unease.
Rie followed his gaze, and though she could not see his expression, her hand squeezed his. Her thick brows were tilted up, a weak smile on her face, as though she were pleading with Gheriun. It made the inkblot in his face throb unpleasantly, and he wondered how much Rie had read into his silence. He hated his own weakness as he saw the way she looked at him—free of blame.
Gheriun did not deserve to be absolved. Not by her. Not after all he’d done in service to a selfish goal.
It did not matter to him what they had agreed upon at the outset; life did always have a way of working out differently than one expects.
He had abandoned her here in the mountains alone with the project which was their son, far from civilization and under constant watch. Gheriun had no way of disobeying the Founder’s wishes, and even his minimal efforts in their lives had been more than he’d promised Rie, yet even so he felt raw guilt at having abandoned them so. It was not entirely due to the Founder’s desires either, but the Mask Seller’s own cowardice.
While Sho ran about like any boy his age here, to most here at this compound he was known solely by his title: the Prophet. A rather overbearing one for someone so young, but apt. The trances he fell into and what was said had proved him more than deserving of such a title. It became such a phenomenon among the researchers charged with overseeing him that it had soon grown into a following. Not only those directly involved, but their families as well, moved close to the old shrine grounds deep in the Rift in southern Xiu Tao when the Prophet Project had relocated there from Mineshi’s Power Plant No. 1. The Founder had seen this as further proof of the success of the project, but Gheriun felt uneasy about it all.
He suspected that Rie did as well. After all, she lived on site, and so she saw firsthand the ways in which people were treating Sho differently. There were a number of especially pious devotees that looked at the boy with feverish eyes, and it seemed to Gheriun those in their ranks had increased since he last visited. It made him particularly nervous, and he wondered just what the Founder was thinking of doing with these people.
“Gher.”
His thoughts ground to a halt as Rie squeezed his hand and called him. Looking away from Sho, who was in the middle of animated conversation with the air, he turned back to her. Her face was pale and grave, and he involuntarily took in a sharp breath.
“How much has my father told you?”
Her sudden question caught him off guard, and he struggled to comprehend her meaning.
“About his illness? Only that he also has…” Gheriun glanced at his companion. “The same factor. But with his constitution, that shouldn’t be a problem so long as he receives the proper, erm, sustenance, right?”
“No, not that,” Rie said, voice taut. “Or, not just that. Umm. Hm. What is the goal for Sho, do you know?”
The Mask Seller cocked his head.
“Rie, you know as well as I do…”
“Just tell me.”
Her tone was desperate, and Gheriun thought for a moment before carefully responding.
“He’ll break the karma of this world,” he began hesitantly. “He’ll restore balance. Once next year is past, he’ll be a guidepost so that we,” he gestured to himself, “no longer monopolize humanity’s future.”
Rie let out a frustrated sigh.
“Sure, pretty words, but truly, do you believe that’s what…”
She trailed off, biting her lip as she searched the blank mask Gheriun wore. Finally, in a whisper barely audible,
“Do you trust my father?”
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