Worlds of Blue and White
Part One: With Fingertips Touching
Chapter 5: Stained
Celena spent the next day in the castle, exercising every possible excuse to travel the maze-like halls and visit each room several times. She even volunteered her help to the servants—anything to keep her mind occupied. She laughed and joked with those people she met, as if assuring herself that the malice she’d felt towards them was nothing more than her brain’s wild concoction. She studied the faces and buildings she saw, imagining all the love and spirit dedicated to each. She celebrated the life they portrayed.
Only once did her ill ease return. It was only a flash, but it terrified her with its intensity. She had paid a visit to the court in hopes of thanking Van; when their eyes met, her stomach lurched. For an instant his face changed, from the young king to that of a scaled, gruesome beast. His eyes burned like magma imbedded in a twisted skull, and fangs gleamed from within his malevolent grin. The sight of him caused her flesh to crawl. But more than that, she felt a profound sense of disgust for the creature before her: it was ugly, and grotesque, and pitiful. She hated it. And in the span of those brief moments she trembled with fury. She imagined her sword dislodging his scales, and tearing into his filthy hide. She wanted to see his blood fill this damned, hellish pit of a city to overflowing.
What’s happening to me?
--
In the afternoon, Van met with Allen and Gaddess in his chambers and relayed what he’d witnessed. “There’s no mistaking it,” he said quietly. “The look she gave me just before running away—it was Dilandau. Her eyes were dangerous.” He sighed. “I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. I trust Celena. But…Dilandau, I don’t.”
Allen closed his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. For a moment his face was stricken with a pained expression. “God, can this really be happening? If Celena….”
“Our best chance of saving Celena is that she’s afraid of what’s happening to her. She might be able to resist the change.”
Gaddess scratched his stubble beard thoughtfully. “Isn’t there anyone left who would know what they did to her?” he asked. “The sorcerers, I mean.”
Van pursed his lips. “I have heard of several that defected from Zaibach after the war,” he murmured. “They’re living in Balsm now, I believe.”
Allen turned a desperate gaze on the young king. “Can they be reached? If we knew what they did to her….”
His crew comrade nodded. “The Crusade can carry a message there in no time.”
“No. I’d rather we take her there, and not wait.” His tone dropped grimly. “I think it would be best if we took her out of Fanelia—Jovey, Van, ever this country are having an effect on her. I don’t want to risk her safety or anyone else’s.
Van folded his hands and set them on the table, staring at them solemnly. “I understand, and I agree. I’d…hoped this wouldn’t happen, but I can’t risk anything.”
“Then it’s settled.” Allen rose from his seat with the wary movements of an old man. “Gaddess, alert the crew that we’ll be leaving as soon as Crusade is ready. I’ll prepare Celena.” He paused. “Van, I’m sorry to leave you like this, as the festival begins tonight. But I suspect you’ll have enough to worry you without this.”
The king nodded slowly. “Yes. Take good care of her, Allen. I’ll send a message ahead to tell them you’re coming.”
Allen and Gaddess left together. “Is it me,” the latter asked thoughtfully, “or does he seem a lot older now?”
“Yes, he does. I suppose we’ve all aged.” Allen released a deep breath. “It’s times like these that I miss Hitomi, as well. Perhaps she would have been ale to help.”
Gaddess smiled ironically. “Looks to me that our king friend was thinking the same.” Then they split up to attend to their separate tasks.
--
It was if the world had gone silent. Celena drew her knees in close to her chest and listened, seated on her unmade bed. She could hear nothing outside the small window, even as her eyes confirmed the hundreds of bustling, excited citizens. They were preparing for the festival that night which she had all but forgotten about. Their laughter just barely tickled the insides of her ears, like remnants of a strange and unsettling dream. She gazed listlessly at their activities without registering anything. To her they were as ghosts, pale and silent, drifting through smoldering debris.
Celena released her heavy breath through a dejected sigh, and his her face in her knees. I hate this. I hate myself. Where is it coming from? What’s happened to me? Her shoulders raised, even as she refused to cry. Brother, King Van, Jovey, even Gaddess—they seem to know why but they won’t tell me. Why? Why do I feel so helpless? It all happened so suddenly.
Three days ago she remembered eating dinner with her brother. It had followed a long day of packing for their trip, and the quiet privacy of their meal together had been a welcomed relaxation. Her mouth watered a bit as she imagined the taste of the carefully prepared vegetables and tender meat. Afterwards, her brother had stared at her long and thoughtful across the table. With his hands folded delicately and blue eyes shining sincerely, he spoke to her. He told her that he was proud of her skill, her intelligence, and her looks. And he’d sworn, as he’d done a dozen times before, to protect her forever.
At the time Celena had smiled, and thanked him graciously as she always did; his short speech was nothing new. As an older brother he was practically required to compliment her, and as a knight he was obligated to protect her—facts she often took for granted. She missed those bright, serious eyes now. She wanted to share in some of the purity he kept about himself—justice, elegance, compassion, and integrity. But then, she felt as if she had somehow become dirtied, and to even want such things was a sacrilege against what they stood for.
Celena lifted her head once more, attempting to console herself in some way. There was no use in this self-pity—she had to confront and understand this problem, somehow. What possible reason could she have to hate Fanelia, and its king, who had been her brother’s acquaintance for years? What reason could anyone have? It was a beautiful country with mountains, valleys, sparkling rivers—
--and mountains of burning, rotting—
Celena hid her face this time in her hands, trying to force the dream images out of her mind. “No, stop it,” she hissed fiercely, and several tears leaked from her tightly pressed eyelids. “Leave me alone. I’m not like this. I’m not a murderer.”
“…enjoyed pain of others…”
Celena stopped, and carefully wiped her eyes. She glanced about her, but the room was empty. Several long moments passed before she realized that the voice had been a memory. She frowned, whispering the phase to herself.
“…vicious…obsessive…”
She transferred her gaze to the window, hoping to lose herself in the movement of the people. One of the figures captured her attention immediately—a man with short black hair was moving through the crowd. Her stomach twisted. “Jovey….”
“…ruthless, commanding…”
“Jovey knows,” she heard her lips form, staring at his back as it slowly weaved through the waves of happy townsfolk. “Maybe he….”
“I think I understand you.”
Celena leapt off her bed and bolted for the door. Already she felt faint with hope that he—someone—could help her. She disappeared down the corridor used by the servants just as Allen turned the corner at the hall’s opposite end.
--
Jovey rested his pair of polished swords against a nearby tree. He had journeyed into the forest, alone, to escape the cheerful clatter of festival preparations. The celebrations were not only for the resurrection of Fanelia, but the defeat of Zaibach, and he had no intention of participating. It wasn’t patriotism that spurred this annual protest—he couldn’t claim to understand. But even if he had no love or sympathy for his former country, he couldn’t consider praising the deaths of his comrades.
More importantly, he knew that any festivities would be presided over by King Van and—most likely—his guests from Asturia. After the night before, Allen Schezar was the last person he wanted to meet.
Jovey stretched his arms and legs, preparing for a work out; from here he would be able to hear the sounds of celebration, the thought of which warming his blood. Exercise was the best way to deal with the complicated, swirling emotions. He finished stretching and proceeded to change the bandages on his hands.
Celena…what am I going to do about her? he wondered as he applied a stinging medicine to the slowly healing cuts and bruises. Why did she react that way? Maybe…she’s a relative of Lord Dilandau? He frowned. But she didn’t even recognize his name. It didn’t even look like she knew why she hit me.
Jovey retrieved his swords and, after a few testing swings, began the workout. I’ve gotten stronger. He managed to complete the entire series of moves without the blades touching once. And better. But then, it’ll be a lot different in the Alseides.
He’d just begun the second sequence when he detected the sound of someone running towards him. He lowered his swords and looked to the surrounding trees. “Who’s there?” he called. “I’m armed.”
Celena burst out of the woods a moment later and staggered to a halt. She gasped for breath after what must have been a long run. Jovey bit his lip and forced himself not to speak. She had come for a reason—she would have to share it before he made assumptions.
Once Celena had calmed her breath somewhat, she managed to straighten and look him in the eye. That contact lasted only a moment. “I need to talk to you,” she said slowly, deliberately.
Jovey felt the grips on his swords relaxing. Again he exercised his restraint. She looks so lost, so helpless. She’s trying to hide it—I know that look. Damnit, I know that look! “So what is it?” he asked calmly.
She came closer, forcing strength into her legs with each stride. “I…I want to hear more about Dilandau Albatou.” He could have sworn that his heart stopped. “You said you were a Dragonslayer, but they’re gone now, aren’t they? Where is he? What happened to him?”
“Celena….” Jovey took a deep breath, trying to calm his turbulent emotions. “Why? Are you looking for another excuse to hit me?”
“No! No, I didn’t….” Celena looked away guiltily, wringing her hands. “I’m sorry, I just—“
“No, it’s alright,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like…but really, why are you so interested?” He returned his swords to the tree and motioned for her to take a seat beside him.
She did so hesitantly. She appeared very unsure, and he wondered what had happened to bring her to this state. The last time they’d spoken she’d been bright, confident, and spirited. She must have been really upset. No wonder Allen was so angry. But why?
“What you said…” Celena began quietly. “It frightened me, somehow. And lately….” She shook her head as if to clear something from it. “Please, just talk. I have to understand him.”
Jovey shifted uncomfortably; he wanted to demand an explanation, to settle these doubts, but he respected her, and frightening her would do nothing. “I’m not sure what to say,” he admitted. “I don’t…I don’t really know what happened to him.”
“You must know something,” she implored. “A man like that…vicious…what happens to people like that?”
He licked his lips, frowned intensely, and finally gave in. “I…was at the battle against Duke Freid at the Fortuna Temple,” he began slowly. She nodded in comprehension. He stumbled a bit over the words, caught up in all the pain, anger, and sorrow of those past days. “I was injured badly.” He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled down the collar enough for her to see a long, white scar running from his left shoulder to his navel. He quickly hid it once more. “I was unconscious for several days, and when I woke up…they were gone.”
Celena flinched just barely, her lips pressing. Jovey wasn’t sure how to interpret that, so he went on. “They told me--my superiors--that the Dragonslayers had been killed by Van, and that Lord Dilandau had fallen ill and was in Zaibach. I left our ship and went to the capitol to search for him.
“I never found him. By the time I had reached Zaibach and begun my search, I learned he’d already returned to duty. I wanted to follow him.” He ground his teeth and clenched his fists. “I would have fought and died at his side, like the others, had I the chance. But…my wound became infected, and I fell ill.” Gradually, he released his tension through a dejected sigh. “I learned afterwards that he had died in the last battle of the war. The Oreades he piloted had been dismantled by Asturia--not even his body was left.
“And then I came here. I had intended to kill Van, but...he defeated me.” In Jovey’s mind, the clashing of their blades and wills still echoed. He scowled. “He said he wouldn’t take my life, because now we were even. We had already destroyed each other’s most precious possessions.”
--
Celena stared at Jovey, her eyes wide and mystified. “You…loved Dilandau that much?” she asked, repeating his story over in her head. “To die with him, even though he was a murderer and a villain? Why?”
“I can’t explain why.” He looked as distraught as she felt. “We were terrified of him, and yet…we cared more for his safety than our own. More than the families we left behind. I never realized how important he was to me until after….”
Jovey trailed off and fell silent. Celena bit her lip painfully. They loved him that much, even though they feared him. He was willing to give his life to Van to avenge him. She stared at the youth’s downcast eyes; he had been ready to die, and perhaps still was. Is that why he’s still training out here? To fight Van someday?
Jovey still hadn’t spoken, and she fidgeted, unsure of whether she should disturb him. Tell him what’s happening to you, her brain whispered. If he can forgive Dilandau, he can forgive you for simply thinking, can’t he? If anything, maybe he knows what causes a person to…to think the way you have been.
“Jovey….” Celena licked her lips, gaining a bit of courage back as he turned his attention on her. He looked oddly hopeful. “I had a dream that I was burning Fanelia.”
Jovey started visibly, and she looked away to avoid meeting any reaction that followed. “I was in a guymelef,” she rushed on. “An Alseides. We were invisible, and we charged through the gates and destroyed everything. Everything was burning….” She heard him inhale, preparing to speak, and cut him off. “And today, when I saw Lord Van, I…I got so angry for no reason. It was more than hatred--I felt like a mad dog.”
His hand snapped around her wrist, and she jerked back, startled. She was, however, unable to free herself.
“You said ‘we,’” said Jovey in a low, harsh whisper. His hand was trembling as he held her. “Who else? How many?”
“Other guymelefs.” She kept her head turned away. “Invisible Alseideses, I think. Five--maybe six of us.” Tentatively, she glanced at him.
Jovey’s face had become an almost deathly pale--his eyes were gaping, lips parted without taking air. The expression of shock caused her stomach to twist and cramp. “Stop looking at me like that,” she pleaded, trying to draw away.
But he took her other hand and held her still. “Celena, those are Lord Dilandau’s memories.” She stared at him, utterly bewildered. “He burned Fanelia in a red Alseides--him, and fiver other Dragonslayers. Gatti, Chesta, Dallet--“
“Stop it!” Celena fought against him, trying to escape. She felt as if she were falling a great distance, with wind-shrieks tearing at her ears and hair. Something wet touched her cheeks and slid down her chin. His words, his hands burrowed inside her like maggots, gnawing on the lining of her organs; it was as if her heart were bleeding through chewed-out holes, washing her bones in hot blood.
“Celena, listen to me,” Jovey continued, his voice rising like the fury inside her. He, too, had reached some bizarre precipice, showing through his wild eyes. He dragged her closer, even as she struggled and cried. “They’ve done something to you, and you’re not the same person anymore. You have to wake up! Remember who you are!”
Celena choked on a sob, still pulling against him futilely. Her face had begun to sting, then burn along the tracks of her tears. Suddenly an image entered her brain, and she wailed, “Jajuka, help me!” She lost her strength as the pain in her abdomen flared and expanded. “Jajuka! Jajuka….”
--
He hadn’t meant to go this far. He could see that he was hurting her, but he couldn’t stop. His breath came in short gasps, and his pulse was racing. I was right. It is him--I know it is. “Lord Dilandau--“
“Get away!” Celena twisted suddenly, and the point of her heel caught Jovey’s unprotected stomach. He instant released her; she retreated like a wounded animal. Coughing and sputtering, he rubbed his bruised torso and cursed softly. But when he looked up, he stopped, in every sense.
Celena huddled childlike among the roots of a nearby oak tree. Her hands gripped her shoulders, quaking, and her forehead pressed the heavy trunk. Sounds of pain--sobs mixed with coughing and groaning--dribbled from her raw throat. Jovey watched expectantly, waiting. His teeth bit through his lip.
At long last Celena’s shaking lessened, as did her voice. Jovey was confused to see that her vest was stretched tightly across her back, as if it had suddenly become too small for her. The fact that the muscles in her arms and shoulders had changed somewhat was also slow to register in his mind. Her breath had deepened.
Jovey crawled slowly forward, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Celena…?”
Her head turned, tainting his sight with red.
