(note: from here on in it gets a little more graphic, violence wise)

Chapter 4: Visions of Blood

Jovey winced only a bit as he slipped his hands into a bucked of cold water. Very carefully he cleaned the blood and dirt from his lacerated flesh. He watched the water swirl about them to concentrate on something other than the sting. With numbing fingers he rolled his sleeves to his elbows, so that his forearms could also be cleaned. All the while he scowled at his foolishness.

I’m such an idiot, Jovey berated himself over and over. What was I thinking? Celena…Dilandau-sama? I must be losing my mind again.

He worked his jaw, remembering the feel of her blow. The force behind it alone testified to his delusion--most men couldn’t slap hard enough to fell a former Dragonslayer. But when her hand touched his skin, he’d felt his muscles go slack, as if numbed by the water he used now. He had allowed his body to turn, exaggerating the damage she’d done. It was instinct.

Jovey dug his thumb into his palm--the pain forced him to regain some sense. "It’s impossible," he told himself deftly. "Simply impossible."

The door swung open suddenly, without warning. Jovey quickly straightened. Standing in the doorway was Allen Schezar. Though casually dressed, the sword at his hip and his piecing, blue eyes portended his ill temperament. Shit. What did Celena tell him? Though he had always been confident in his skills as a fighter, now he was in no mood or condition to face any kind of accusation from Allen Schezar.

Jovey forced himself to nod respectfully. "Allen Schezar. Can I help you?"

"What I have to say will be brief." Allen didn’t move, which perhaps was more frightening than if he’d entered the room. "I want you to stay away from my sister."

He paused. If Celena had told her brother the truth--he didn’t think her capable of lying to him--then Allen should have known he’d done nothing wrong. "Either you’re obsessively possessive," he murmured without thinking, "or you’re hiding something."

Allen’s posture straightened, and his expression hardened. His hand slid menacingly to his sword hilt. "She’s my sister. If you go near her again, you’ll be punished."

"You don’t frighten me." Still soaking in the bucket, Jovey’s fingers curled into fists. He’s serious. God, what have I gotten myself into? I should just back down. It’s not worth fighting a Caeli Knight for god’s sake!

"In fact, I never came near your damn sister," he continued, hating himself for every word. "She came to me. She asked me to tell her about Zaibach. So to Hell with both of your for all I care!" He lifted his hands, displaying the raw, damaged flesh. "See? She’s nothing but trouble for me. I don’t want to go near her."

Allen regarded the youth with a fixed, cold glare; his hand remained on his sword. "Fine," he nearly growled once he’d been made sure of the youth’s sincerity. "But this is the only warning I’ll give you. If I find her with you again, you’ll regret it."

"You didn’t find her this time," he retorted bitterly. "You probably should keep a better eye on her."

The knight nearly drew his sword at that remark, but he managed to restrain himself. His eyes gleamed dangerously in the dimming light. For that instant Jovey stood transfixed, genuinely frightened by the harsh, wrathful glare. Without a word Allen departed; his boots made only the slightest of noises as he strode swiftly away.

Jovey sank into the nearest chair, though even then he didn’t release the breath he was holding. He stared down at his hands, watching the fingers curl. "Damn it all." With a sigh of disgust he reached for the bandages he’d set out earlier.

*****

"Sir, we’re approaching the city."

Celena opened her eyes slowly, revealing a complex mechanical scenery that she didn’t recognize. She stared, bewildered at the gears and devices that surrounded her. An acrid, bitter odor pervaded upon her delicate senses. Where am I? Past the iron face grate she could see the outline of a valley, nestled among forested mountains. Tiny homes rested there. Fanelia? But it looks different.

"Sir?"

Where is that voice coming from? She turned to look, and was startled when the metal structure beneath her twisted in response. I’m in a guymelef! she realized, and she nearly laughed out loud. She felt a chill; her muscles flexed, testing how well the armor would copy her movements. To her delight each replication was perfect. I can’t believe it. Finally.

"Sir, is there something wrong with the Alseides?"

"No, nothing." Celena grinned, trying to calm her excitement. Now let’s see. That’s right: the city. She turned her attention forward once more, focusing on the peaceful kingdom below. "Let’s go." With a deep breath she started down the path to Fanelia.

The Alseides followed her instructions exactly. This is great! I must be dreaming. Not only a melef, but an Alseides! The gates to Fanelia grew larger as she approached. And as she got closer, a strange feeling came over her--she didn’t like Fanelia. It was a small, crowded country filled with weak-minded peasants. That same bitter smell filled her nostrils, like something burning. It caused her insides to twist and dance excitedly.

Celena lifted her hand--slowly, methodically--and pointed at the immense wooden gates. Go away, she commanded. I want to test the strength Brother wouldn’t let me have.

From the Alseides’s hand spewed several claws of gleaming metal. They struck the guard tower, shredding it like fine paper. She felt a thrill as the gates were then sliced and destroyed with only the slightest effort.

Celena stepped inside. Already she could see the soldiers gathering about her feet like tiny ants, their voices lifting in confused babble. They can’t see you, something told her, watching as they desperately searched the area for signs of their attacker. And she laughed, scorning them. You can’t stop me.

The men scattered as she started toward them--she didn’t even bother to see their fate. She didn’t care. There was something more important that she had to find. She could feel it, lying in wait within the city, or perhaps even within herself. It paced back and forth in her stomach like a restless, angry beast. It clawed madly against her ribs; its fangs poisoned her blood with its insanity.

"Burn everything!" The words leapt like laughter from her throat. "Don’t leave anything!" Brother will scold me if he knows.

Somewhere to Celena’s right a building erupted into flames. She stopped, mesmerized by the sight of it. The fire snapped and roared, growing and changing. Its beauty entranced her. That’s right. Burn--burn everything. It was meant to be burned.

Celena lifted her hand once more, and by her will the wooden structure ahead of her was quickly reduced to smoldering ash. The sight of the destruction she’d created caused her body to quake with an excited, perverse pleasure. With a laugh she turned her weapon on the building next to it.

Several more stores and homes were incinerated. One after another they toppled, melted, and trampled beneath her pounding feet. Her claws ripped wood, steel, and flesh with ease; she reveled in her newfound power. Her laughter spilled over the red earth like a poison.

*****

Celena did not jolt from these dreams as one might a nightmare. She slipped from them calmly, as if stepping out of a quiet bath and into a warm room. Even her heart lay still and content. Her limbs were comfortably sore, though from what she couldn’t imagine.

Her gaze sought the ceiling--her sight wavered, as if clouded by steam. She rubbed her eyes to clear the mild impediment. What happened? I was dreaming? Of melefs? She replayed the images in her mind, and frowned only slightly. How…odd. I wonder if that really was Fanelia we destroyed. Celena pondered the dream for some time, tugging gently on the ends of her hair. I guess that’s the only chance I’ll ever get in a melef.

And suddenly Celena realized what was happening to her. She had been dreaming of Fanelia’s destruction--a bloody, terrifying act. For the sake of her entertainment hundreds--perhaps thousands--of innocent people had given their lives.

She didn’t care. She felt no guilt for having envisioned so heinous a sin, nor for enjoying it at the same time. She had laughed at their pain, and savored the odor of burning corpses. No shame accompanied the memory of these actions; not even shame at having felt no shame. It was pleasure and satisfaction and hunger, and there was no remorse.

Celena pushed herself out of bed and moved slowly to the window. She wanted the cool air to clean her; not of her discomfort, but of her joy. Had she felt the slightest nausea in her gut she would have rejoiced the evidence of her humanity. But she felt none at her deeds, which in itself frightened her deeply.

Celena turned, as the sight of Fanelia’s kingdom outside the window brought her pain. Away from that view her focus fell upon her sword that lay in a rack near the wall, bearing the Schezar family crest. Brother fights all the time, she told herself. But has he ever felt this way? Her fingertips covered her lips, remembering how easily they had given birth to curses. Did he ever…enjoy killing? Like I just did?

She shook her head. No, he’d never. Brother is the greatest knight in the world--he’d never kill for fun. He’s got integrity and compassion.

Celena left the room; she couldn’t stand to remain there, in the place of her sacrilege. She didn’t know where to go or who to turn to. For a moment her thoughts drifted to Jovey, but that idea was quickly banished. Talking to him started this, she reasoned bitterly. I can’t see him again. It’ll only make it worse.

Van sighed deeply as he made his way toward the palace balcony. Another sleepless night had guided him to this wandering, with Merle at his side. "I can’t help it," he confided in her as they walked. "I get restless this time of night. You don’t have to come."

"I don’t like you being out in the cold by yourself," Merle replied cheerfully. "You can catch cold in the summer, too, ya know."

He chuckled. "I know, Merle. I just--"

Van stopped at the entrance to the balcony, as they weren’t the first to reach it. Celena was leaning against the marble rail, still dressed in her clothes from the day before. Her silver hair hung limply down her back. The king and his friend exchanged a glance. Gathering his courage, he stepped forward. "Celena?"

Celena jumped, startled by his call. She didn’t look back. "Hello, King Van."

Van joined her at the railing, and took a careful not of her face. Merle sat at his feet. "Are you all right?"

Celena didn’t answer for some time. "I just couldn’t sleep."

"Same for me." He noticed that her gaze was very focused--she was trying not to look at him. "Is something wrong? Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asked.

Her hands tightened around the railing. After a short, internal debate she said, "Can I speak to you in private?"

Merle glowered at her suspiciously. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Merle." Van sent her a steady, serious gaze. Someday I'll tell you. Please, understand.

Merle read the expression in his eyes and sighed. "Good night, King Van." With a warning glance over her shoulder at the offending blade, she scampered off.

Van turned to face the young woman. "What's the matter?" he asked, trying to keep his tone even. Despite his own desire to trust, knowing that Celena wasn't well made him wary.

"It's…well, you used to fight a lot, right?" she asked, still facing forward. She gulped.

Unsure of the direction she was going, he answered, "Yes. A lot." He sighed deeply. Some of my best and worst memories.

Celena fidgeted. "I had a dream," she confessed at last. "About fighting in a guymelef."

Shit. Does this mean…. Van managed to contain his anxiety enough to ask, "Why does that bother you?"

"I liked it!" She whirled on him, finally showing the extent of her own apprehension. Her blue eyes were wide and close t panic. "I was killing and killing…and laughing…" She grasped his hand tightly. "Van, tell me you once felt the same," she begged. "It's…it's not so wrong to enjoy fighting, is it? To want to fight…."

Van could only stare, his breath held. He could see in her face that she was serious. Thankfully, there wasn't the same glinting bloodlust he remembered from Dilandau--she was afraid. That might have been his--their--best chance.

He licked his lips, and covered her hand with both of his. "Celena," he began quietly, hiding his insecurities, "I'm going to be very honest with you. And I want you to listen to what I have to say very carefully."

Celena nodded eagerly, her eyelashes splashing heavy tears. With each passing moment he felt his misgivings drain away; he had been right in first believing in her. She didn't want to be Dilandau.

"I have fought." Though the memories caused him grief, they would help her--it was for such purposes that he kept them. "And there was a time that I was consumed by it. For a long time I could think of nothing but avenging my country."

The young woman winced just barely, allowing him some insight into what her dream must have been about. I thought it might have been Fanelia. But now…I have no will left to hate her for it. Hitomi, give me your strength. "It was my everything. And I know it's everything to your brother, too. Now, I don't know what your dream was, or what you really felt, but fighting shouldn't be pleasure. It can be exhilarating, and refreshing, and necessary." He pushed the words through. "But fighting to kill because you like it is wrong. Samurai and knights and even bounty hunters fight out of necessity, sometimes even entertainment, and it's all right to live that way without shame, but…."

Celena's body grew limp, visibly so. Before he could react she fell against him; he hastened to support her. "King Van, I…" She clutched him desperately. "But I felt those things. I…I don’t know what to do." Her tears slid down his neck, and he started, unsure how to help her. "I can't talk to Brother. He'll think I'm awful."

"No, he won't," Van said quickly. "Allen will understand. As a knight, he's been through hard times. You have to trust him."

"But what will he say?" she insisted. "He's a Knight of Heaven--he's never hated anyone. But…in that dream…." She choked on a quiet sob. "I hated everyone. I hated this country, these people--all people. I hated you for ruling them, and Brother for keeping me from--"

Celena halted suddenly, and pushed away from the king. She wrapped herself with trembling arms. Van was overcome then with a profound sense of pity for this delicate girl. She was suffering, and he could do nothing to ease that pain. Hitomi, tell me what to do. How can I help her?

"King Van." Celena raised her gaze to him imploringly. "Can't you tell me what's wrong with me? Whatever it is…can't I know?" Her arms tightened. "The way Jovey looked at me, expecting something--it's the same way you and even Brother look at me. What do you expect of me?" Her voice rose shrilly. "What am I?"

"Celena…." Van bit his lip, struggling between responses. I don't want her to suffer. It would be better if she never knew, right?

"There's nothing wrong with you, Celena," he answered strongly, praying it was the right decision. He placed a hand on her shoulder and held her eyes. "You're just going through a difficult time. Having one frightening dream doesn't make you a bad person--your brother will understand." He smiled faintly. "Thank you for trusting me, but I can't give you much advice. Just…" What did she used to say? "…you have to be true to your real feelings, and honestly believe in yourself. If you do that, you'll be all right. And we're all willing to help," he added.

Celena nodded, seemingly somewhat convinced by his short speech. "Thank you."

"Come on. I'll take you back."

"No, I'm fine." Thought she could not bring herself to return his smile, she wiped her tears and gathered herself up. "I want to stay out here a while longer, if that's okay."

"Sure." Van sighed through his nose as she turned back to the railing. I guess…I just have to trust her. After a silent prayer he left the balcony and continued his wanderings.

To Next Chapter

Return