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Note to Readers: Thanks again for your support, everybody! Feedback's quite delicious. ^_~ Also, I'm establishing Valgaav's age at the time of the massacre based off two things: His apparent age in the desert when Gaav first appeared to him, and his apparent age in TRY. Mazoku do not age, so to my way of seeing it, Val Agares was 'frozen' at his current age when Gaav changed him into Valgaav, much in the way a human is 'frozen' at their current age, appearance-wise, when they are embraced into Vampirism. Both, in a manner of speaking, are forms of unlife, as to achieve them, you need to die in your current life first. ~ Zanne Chapter Four "Val, for the last time, you're going to be late!" As his mother's voice drifted up the stairs, Val Agares made a face at the door. "I said I'd down in a few minutes!" he hollered back. Looking back to the reflective piece of metal on the wall, studying his reflection. He'd finally decided on his dark blue cloak after several long minutes of debating back and forth between that and the green. Frowning into the mirror, he studied his hair, reaching up and experimenting several times between pulling his long red-auburn locks back, or leaving them loose. The door creaked open and he glanced over his shoulder, seeing a younger boy poke his head in. "I don't know why you bother trying to figure out that part," the child said, smirking at him. "You're just gonna get it all messed up later." To emphasize his point, the boy stepped in and closed his eyes, pretending to wrap his arms around something and puckering up his lips. Smirking in a mixture of annoyance and amusement, Val picked up a pillow off his bed and threw it at his younger brother, hitting him lightly in the face. "Get outta here, you brat." His brother pretended to fall over backwards into the hall, howling in mock-pain. "You hit me! Abuse! Abuse! I'm dying!" "Knock it off, Jatlini!" their mother yelled up the stairs. Deciding to leave his hair alone, Val stepped out into the hall and scooped up his younger brother, grabbing and holding his legs to his chest, carrying him downstairs upside down. Jatlini squealed, his arms flailing uselessly. "Val! You jerk! Put me down!" "Certainly," Val replied, and cautiously pretended to drop him on his head on one of the steps, causing him to yelp again. "Not like that!" Their mother leaned in the kitchen doorway, looking at them in dismay as she shook her head. "What am I going to do with you two?" she asked, exasperated. "Lock up Val, throw away the key, and buy me that bow and arrow set I want?" Jatlini asked hopefully. Val responded to that by spinning in a quick circle, still holding his brother upside down, causing him to scream. "Val, put him down, now," his mother said. "If he gets sick, you're staying home to take care of him. And Jat, we told you, not until you're two hundred fifty." "But, Mother!" Jatlini whined as Val righted him, setting him on his feet. "No buts. Your father and I said when you're two-fifty, and not a day sooner. That's final." She looked to Val. "Are you going to see Caitarina today?" He nodded. "She'll be getting off work soon. I'm going to go by the hatchery and meet her outside." "All right. If you see Jyoti, tell her I'll coming by later tonight to sit with the egg. I've still got some errands I need to run for your father's birthday tomorrow." "Will you please tell me what we're getting him?" Jatlini begged. "No way, whelp," Val said, ruffling his hair. "You hold secrets about as well as a sieve holds water." Looking back to his mother, he nodded. "I'll pass on the message. It's about--" A sudden, loud roar overhead, closely followed by an intense rushing sound ending in an explosion cut him off. They all froze, and Val and his mother stared at each other before they ran to the windows, looking out. "Mother?" Jatlini said quietly, coming up behind them and clinging to her. Val stared out the window, unable to process what he was seeing. "What are they doing?" he demanded, his eyes widening as a group of Goldens flying in formation swooped low, a trail of fire from their mouths cutting through the city which surrounded the temple. She didn't answer, and he looked over to her quickly. She was shaking her head slowly, and starting to back away from the window. Then, the dwelling across the street exploded into searing flames, sending all of them flying back. Jatlini was screaming now, clutching to his mother in terror. A high-pitch whistle shrieked through the air as another Golden made a pass overhead. Somewhere nearby, they could hear the liquid-sounding whoosh as it spit a torrent of fire energy. His mother got to her feet, still holding her youngest hatchling, and growled dangerously. "Take Jat, get down below, both of you!" "Mother, what are you going to do?" Val asked as she lifted Jat, shoving the younger dragonchild into his arms. "There's no time to argue, now get below now!" she shouted, running for the doorway and looking out. "Let me go with you!" Val called after her. "No! Stay here and protect Jatlini! I'm going to try to find your father!" "MOMMA!" Jatlini struggled and kicked at Val, trying to squirm free as he obeyed their mother's orders, moving down into the cellar. "Let me go! She can't leave us!" "Jat, shut up!" Val struggled to hold onto him with one arm as he lowered the heavy cellar door over them, climbing down the staircase. His younger brother went into a frenzy then, screaming and pummeling at him, calling him all the worst names his one hundred seventeen year old mind could think up. Ignoring him, Val just held onto him tightly, closing his eyes and listening in disbelief to the sounds overhead. He felt numb and detached, trying to comprehend what was happening. He had to be dreaming. That was the only explanation. It was just a nightmare. A thundering roar echoed overhead, causing the very air around them to tremble. Jatlini quit struggling, clinging to Val tightly as objects rattled off the shelves around them, crashing to the floor. The air became unbearable in the rapidly increasing heat, and he could see the orange glow of cinders explode between the cracks of the cellar trapdoor. When burning wood started to rain around them, Val knew they couldn't stay there any longer. He gave his younger brother a shake. "C'mon, let go. Transform," he told him, shouting over the crackling of fire and the screaming and roars above. Jatlini didn't budge, clinging to him tightly and whimpering, then screamed when a support beam from the ceiling crashed by them ablaze. Val growled, prying Jatlini's arms loose and held the terrified dragonling at an arms' length, quickly transforming into his dragon body, ducking his head and folding his wings tightly around himself. Pulling Jatlini close, he shielded his younger brother with his own body as he crashed upward through the burning ceiling, ignoring the pain of the searing heat as it hit his wings, burning at some of the feathers, beating them harder to take flight. What he saw chilled his blood. The streets below were lined with flaming debris, and the bodies of other Ancient dragons; males, females, and children alike. Some were in dragon form, countless others were still in their humanoid bodies, quite possibly dead before they knew what hit them. The air all around him was thick with smoke and battle roars as the Ancients began to respond, falling into some semblance of formation to battle the attacking Goldens. One of them came diving at him, and Val froze for a heartbeat before diving sharply, his forelimbs raked by the rubble of a house as he held Jatlini to him. With a powerful downward thrust of his wings, he shot upward, trying to evade the much larger Golden that was following in close pursuit. Glancing back, he saw a brilliant glow begin to form in the Golden's mouth, and he tucked his right wing to his body tightly, making a sharp turn to evade the energy blast that vaporized everything in its path where he had been only a moment before. An enraged roar thundered down from above, and he looked up to see his father diving at the Golden, the older Ancient dragon being more equal in size to the attacker. Hesitating, beating his wings frantically in midair to remain aloft, he twisted his neck to watch the fight. "Get out of here, Val! Go!" his father roared, striking out at the Golden's face with his claws as he clamped his jaws around the attacking dragon's wing, tearing it. Val looked around, at a loss for where to fall back, then through the dense clouds of smoke, he spotted the temple. Caitarina. She would probably still be at the hatchery where she worked, warming and guarding the eggs while their mothers took care of the rest of their families. Males weren't allowed in the inner recesses of the hatchery, but Val didn't care about rules. The hatchery was well-fortified, Jatlini would be safe there, and he could help defend the unhatched dragonlings, as well as protect the object of his affection. A scream caused him to look back as he wheeled about, setting course for the temple, and he froze. Another Golden had flown up behind his father, impaling him on a massive halberd, and pulled the blade loose by swinging the staff, throwing him off it and into one of the infernos on the ground. The sound of someone thrashing, accompanied by a groan of pain and an incoherent shout jerked Filia out from under the layers of sleep, her hand automatically going to her mace on reflex. The angle of the light outside the window showed it to be late afternoon, and on the floor beside her, Valgaav was asleep, moving fitfully. He murmured in his sleep but she couldn't make out the words. His hands spasmodically tightening on the blankets, then flailing a bit, his arms stiff. A sheen of sweat covered his face, and he was breathing unsteadily, panting, as though he had run a long distance. Cautiously, she knelt beside him. "Valgaav?" she said, raising her voice a bit. "Valgaav, wake up!" He twitched, snarling softly, but didn't emerge from sleep. Hesitating a bit, Filia reached out and touched his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. "You're dreaming, wake--" She shrieked in surprise as his hand shot up, gripping the side of her neck where it met the base of her skull so tightly, stars flashed in her vision. Before Filia could react, a sharp pain shot through her body as he threw her over him, and as soon as she collided with the wall, her vision went black. His heart thudded painfully against his sternum, and the first thought that sifted through the bloodied haze of nightmares left him realizing in a very detached sort of way that he was alive again, not a Mazoku. He couldn't feel any of his limbs, but he could feel the blood rushing through his veins as his heart pounded, and his throat was dry from breathing as though he'd run a thousand miles. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, Valgaav tried to banish the lingering images in his mind. They were so fresh, so close, real enough to touch. He almost thought he could smell the smoke, laced with the hideous odor of charring flesh. Distant screams and roars echoed in his ears over his own pulse, and he swallowed hard, trying to bring the emotions flooding him under control before they made their way to his eyes to escape in the form of tears. He could feel their hot pressure building under his closed lids, and squeezed his eyes shut tighter, trying to prevent their escape. Once Valgaav was certain they were under control, he cautiously opened his eyes again, and much more recent memories began to settle into place. His own breathing felt raw against his throat, and he craved a glass of water, as much for the liquid as for something to do to keep himself from slipping back into that nightmarish dreamland. Turning his head, wincing a bit at the motion, he looked over to the bed, contemplating how to wake up his nursemaid. It was empty, however, and he spat out a few choice words, sotto voce, as he closed his eyes. Great time for her to be off running about. What did he need her for, anyway? He wasn't a completely helpless invalid. So it hurt to move. So what? It wasn't like he and pain were strangers anyway. Opening his eyes again, he wondered where she hid that pitcher of water. That was when he noticed her shoes still by the bed. Maybe she was off walking around barefooted, but it seemed to be an odd thing for her to do, from what little he did know. Turning his head again, looking for the water pitcher, he found her. Valgaav scowled at the sight of her laying down by the wall, her feet a few inches from his side. What the hell was she doing over there? From the angle, it looked as though she perhaps tripped. Damned Golden. Or maybe she'd lied about resting, and had gotten up after he'd drifted off, and finally collapsed from exhaustion. That sounded much more likely. The way she protested against sleeping when she clearly needed it... well, she was still the smartest Golden he'd ever met, which wasn't saying much. "Hey!" he called, his voice a hoarse croak. "Get up. I need water." When she didn't move, he reached out and roughly shook her foot. "Hey, you, Golden! You're so eager to help me out here, the least you could do is get me some water!" She stirred a bit, but didn't acknowledge him otherwise. Stupid dragon. She must have fallen asleep. Trying to fight down a groan of pain, he reached out and grabbed the skirt of her dress, giving it a sharp tug to try and rouse her. She was so deeply asleep even that didn't do the trick, and he relaxed onto his makeshift bed with an irritated sigh. That was when he noticed the red smudge on the wall trailing downward above her head. Valgaav frowned, looking back to Filia again. Great. She'd gone and knocked herself out. He pushed himself up to rest on his elbows, then hissed sharply at the pain so intense it made him nauseous. After it abated enough to allow him to breathe again, he carefully shifted position so he could reach out and grab her arm, dragging her across the floor closer to him. Her eyes fluttered open slightly, unfocused and dazed, and her head lolled to the side, causing her to gasp in pain. Blood trickled down the side of her head where she had struck it against the wall, and when she blinked at him slowly in a disoriented way, Valgaav reached up to pat her cheek to rouse her. That was when he noticed the faint bruises starting to form on the upper part of her neck, disappearing into her hair, in a pattern vaguely reminiscent of fingerprints. Eyes widening, he temporarily forgot his own injuries, leaning a bit closer to study them. As his fingers touched the area, she whimpered softly, her eyes closing. A sick, sinking feeling formed in the pit of his stomach, and Valgaav turned his head slowly, hoping what he'd see would deny the horrid suspicions starting to form. He glanced to the bed, and then to where her head had struck the wall. His eyes traced the line between the two points, and the likelihood grew, he inwardly shrunk in proportion until he was about two inches tall. "Filia, oh, gods, I'm sorry," he said quietly, looking back to her. Guilt tore at him as he looked to the bruises again. Grabbing one of the blankets covering him, Valgaav tugged the corner up to wipe the blood away from where the skin on her forehead had split upon impact. Remorse was not an emotion with which he was accustomed, but while he had no qualms about causing deliberate injury upon someone, it was different, somehow, when it was wholly unintentional. He had been dreaming about, wishing to, bringing harm to Goldens. But... not this one. It was easier, and safer for him, to be rude to her, but to actually injure her? That wasn't really something she deserved, especially not after all she'd done for him. Filia stirred some more, frowning as she closed her eyes with a soft groan, bringing a shaky hand up to touch her head. The lump of guilt in his throat made it difficult to speak. "Filia, open your eyes. Are you okay? Answer me." Her eyes fluttered open, and she had to blink them several times before they began to focus on his. "What happened?" she mumbled. He bit his lip. "I'm sorry. I...I was dreaming, and I must have reacted through that. You must have tried to wake me. I hurt you." It only grew worse when she closed her eyes, patting his hand. "S'okay," she murmured. Filia opened them again, looking at him, and he saw a light come on in the blue depths. "Valgaav, you shouldn't be sitting up. You might hurt your back more." He winced at that. "You're doing that on purpose," he snapped, his tone harsher than he intended as she forced herself into a sitting position, causing her to blink. "Doing what?" "You're hurt! It's my fault you're hurt, and you're still trying to take care of me! Knock it off." Filia frowned, reaching out to touch his face. He tried to jerk away, but the twinge of pain that went through his back at the first attempt to do so left him breathless, so he just remained still. "You didn't mean to," she told him, "so why should I be upset? It was an accident. You're hurting yourself more." She carefully shifted to her knees, swaying a bit, then gripped his shoulders, helping him ease back down onto the bed. Valgaav closed his eyes, laying down without further protest. It felt like his entire body was throbbing in pain. A knock at the door drew his attention. "Onnesan?" It was Jillas. Valgaav's heart sunk even further. He wondered if Jillas' loyalty would extend far enough to cover what he did to the dragon at his side, whom Jillas had apparently adopted as family, if the affectionate term of ‘big sis' was any indication. Filia sighed. "It's open, Jillas, and please, my name is not oneesan." "It is to me," he retorted cheerfully as he opened the door. "It's been a good..." The fox-man trailed off, his eyes widening. "Oneesan! What happened?" He quickly shut the door behind him as he rushed over. "Just an acute case of miscommunication," Filia replied, giving him a wry smile. Valgaav wanted to throttle her then. Why wasn't she screaming at him, throwing him out in the street to fend for himself after what he did? After all, he couldn't see himself not doing that if he were in her shoes. "Oneesan, don't tell me I have two patients now." She gave his arm a light swat. "I'll be fine, given a few hours and some hot cloths." "Do you want me to get that for you now?" Jillas asked. She gave him a pleading look, making her blue eyes appear even bigger, and Jillas just melted. "Some towels, some boiling-hot water, and a pitcher of fresh water?" she asked. "Right away, oneesan. Do you want me to get supper too?" "Unless either of you are hungry, I can wait for a bit," Filia said, and glanced to Valgaav. He closed his eyes and shook his head, his stomach still feeling a bit unsettled from pain. "Then I'll be right back with the water, oneesan." "All right. And Jillas?" "Yes, oneesan?" "Stop calling me oneesan!" "But that's who you are to me, oneesan," Jillas replied, undaunted, and Valgaav thought he gave her a wink as he slipped out the door, but it was hard to tell what with Jillas only having the one eye. Filia sighed, then gave Valgaav a weary smile. "He's actually been very helpful. I don't know what I would have done without all his assistance." "Yes. Jillas has always been quite loyal." He paused. "No word from Gravos?" "Grav...? Oh." She frowned, thinking. "No, not since..." She trailed off as if unsure of how to continue. "He was a good servant too," Valgaav said quietly. They were silent for several minutes. "So, what's our plan, or do we even have one yet?" "Well, I'm going to see about purchasing a dwelling here, if Jillas' reports on the city prove satisfactory. After that, I'm not sure. I thought about opening a pottery shop. I learned how to make things as a child, and I'm quite good at that. It would provide a source of income, at least." Filia looked at him. "Of course, both of you are welcome to stay with me, if you wish." Her eyes dropped to her lap as her voice softened. "I rather hope you do. It will be lonely otherwise." "I'll think about it," Valgaav replied, while wondering where else he'd go. It wasn't as if there was any real home to go to. He considered his cave, and while it was suitable when he was Mazoku, his body would require more than the cave could provide, especially if his ability to teleport was also gone. He wanted to return to it though, if only to recover what few things he possessed. "What were you dreaming about?" she asked suddenly, looking at him. Valgaav closed his eyes. "The massacre." "I'm sorry." Her voice was soft, tiny. He looked up at her then. "Don't, Filia. Your people did it, but not you. You've done your penance, far as I'm concerned. It's over." She gave him a small, soft smile. He closed his eyes, unable to smile back, unable to forget about the mark on her head, or the bruises on her neck, and instead chose to reply by giving her hand a light squeeze. |
to be continued...
Chapter Five