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Chapter Seventeen It felt like it had taken him forever to wash the varied substances from him and out of his hair. But as he quickly dressed in clean clothes, Valgaav had to admit that he felt marginally less tense. His anger slowly redirected until a good portion of it was toward himself for obviously playing right into Xellos' hands, reacting in the way the Mazoku wanted. With his mind a bit clearer, Valgaav set off through the house, looking for Filia. True to her word, Gravos was in the living room with her, sitting on the sofa. Filia was at her desk, and he could hear the scratch of the quill over paper, stopping frequently as she wrote, either to think, or to dip the quill back into the inkwell. She looked up when she heard Gravos greet him, and looked away long enough to cap the well and wipe her hands free from the ink before standing. Gravos excused himself, and Valgaav began to approach her, stopping a few feet away, watching her carefully. "How are you feeling?" she asked softly, and his heart seemed to stick in his throat when she made no move to close the distance. "Better," he managed to say, and added, "calmer." Filia nodded slightly, then moved toward him, resting her hands on his chest. "I'm so sorry you had such a rough morning." "I didn't scare you, did I?" "No." She answered a little quickly, and when he looked at her, she lowered her gaze, a faint blush forming on her cheeks. "Well, a little, but mostly on your behalf," she admitted. "I'm so sorry, Filia. I just..." "Shh." Her fingertip rested against his lips briefly as she looked up, silencing him. "It's okay. What happened?" "I..." He paused, faltering a bit, and led her over to the sofa. "It's a long story." "I've got time," she assured him, sitting on his lap and draping her arms around his neck, running her fingers gently through his wet, aqua hair, detangling it. He locked his arms around her waist loosely, and began to recap the morning as he stared into the fireplace. He told her about the incidents in the square, the people, the growing paranoia. He told her about someone bumping into him, causing him to fall against the egg cart. Then he altered the events slightly, or at least some of the causes. He told her that he thought he saw Xellos, and that was why he ran. He couldn't tell her about the hatchery. Not about the atrocities her own people had committed. It would hurt her. And it would hurt him to remember it. He told her about the prostitute that was actually Xellos, and about the rag doll fashioned to resemble her, hanging by a noose from nothing in midair. He told her about the explosion when he struck it, and the scream. "All I could think was that you were in danger, Filia." He looked up at her then, finally meeting her eyes, which he noted with no small measure of relief were full of sympathy and understanding. "I'm sorry for disrupting your visit." "It's all right," Filia assured him softly. "We were making our good-byes anyway." He didn't quite believe her, but let it drop. "How far in the hole are we?" he asked, his voice low, turning his eyes back to the fire. He knew Filia fretted about finances often. She had never had to worry about that before. Anything she needed, the temple had provided. There was always the security of having shelter, clothes, food. That was gone. Valgaav knew they were well enough off, but a true financial emergency would be a very real crisis. Even if Xellos had caused the accident, they were still liable. "We're not." Valgaav looked back to her. "What?" "Amelia gave us some insurance. A signet ring with the royal seal. If we ever get in a bind, she'll help." Valgaav wasn't quite certain what to think. On one hand, he was immensely relieved to hear that the incident hadn't put them in financial hot water. On the other, he was disconcerted at the thought of relying on one of Inverse's friends and one who was party to Gaav's murder for anything. No, not Gaav's murder. He lay his head on Filia's shoulder, closing his eyes. Had it really been only that morning when he found out the truth? If that was the truth, anyway. He could hear the distant church bells chiming out the hour. Twelve. Was it really only noon? Too much had happened, and the day was already too long. Filia's head rested against his, holding him gently. As the twelfth chime faded away, she pulled back a bit to look at him. "You look exhausted," she said softly, stroking the back of her hand against his cheek, lightly brushing her knuckles over the scars. "I didn't get much rest last night," he admitted. "Then why don't you lay for a bit? I'll be with Jillas and Gravos tending the shop." Valgaav hesitated. Part of him felt still too far wound up to be able to fall asleep, but the emotional wringer of the last twelve hours topped off by the adrenaline surge had left him feeling completely drained. "I'll try," he told her. Filia nodded and gave him a light kiss, but when she tried to stand, he kept his arms securely around her, and met her questioning gaze. "I don't know how I'm going to manage this," he said, his voice low as he reached up to rest his hand against her cheek, "but I'm going to keep you safe. I cannot lose you too." Her expression grew tender. "I know," she whispered. He buried his face against her neck, holding her to him tightly as a million errant thoughts, brief and fleeting, flooded his mind. How he didn't deserve her. Treating her as he had, he was just as guilty of the same prejudices as the dragons that slaughtered his people. He had forced her to summon Darkstar, and even at the end, she has waited almost too long to agree to fight him. Valgaav wouldn't have blamed her if she left him there to die. She used her own life energy to ensure his survival, and he treated her abominably in exchange. For all the times he'd made her cry, she still found it possible to look at him with love. He couldn't let her down. Not with this. He wouldn't fail her as he'd failed everyone else. He just wished he knew how he'd manage it. It was the exhaustion talking, he knew, that made everything feel even worse than it really was. Too much had gone down that day, and sapped his strength with it. He didn't want to let go of her -- now or ever. Somehow, though, his arms finally relaxed their iron grip, allowing her to move back, to stand. She leaned over and kissed him softly as he lay down, and pulled the folded blanket on the back of the sofa over him. "I'll be in the shop," she whispered, "but if you need me, just call." "If I need you?" he echoed, reaching up to brush her cheek. "Would the rest of my life be too long for that?" Filia's cheeks took on a faint, pink tint, but she smiled softly. "It doesn't sound nearly long enough." She kissed him softly. "Rest now. I'll wake you for supper." It was still light out when he awoke, feeling as though he'd hardly rested at all. Valgaav rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, trying to pin down what had pulled him from sleep. Faintly, he could make out voices, and recognized one of them as Filia's. The other, though... It was feminine, and definitely familiar, but he couldn't pin it down. Curiosity brought him to his feet, and he stopped just shy of the kitchen door, listening. Their voices were still too indistinct for him to make out the conversation, but yet they sounded perfectly clear as far as volume went. Looking inside, he saw Filia seated at the table, chatting amicably with a dark-haired woman. Filia's lips were moving, and her voice was clear, but he still couldn't make out the words. Frowning in confusion, he approached the table, apparently unnoticed by either of them until he stopped. "Do you think one of my relatives might have killed her?" Filia looked up at him, her words falling into the same clarity as her voice. Valgaav just blinked. "What?" "We were talking. It's certainly possible." "We..?" He looked to the brunette, and staggered back in shock as amber-colored draconian eyes met his, and the lips below curled into an all-too-familiar smile. "It's funny to see you in love with a Golden, Val," Caitarina said. "Irony's always been a strong point of yours." "Really?" Filia asked her. "Oh yes," Caitarina replied, turning her attention back to Filia, and started to tell her a story about Valgaav. "Caitarina?" he gasped, moving toward her. "What is it, Val?" she asked, somewhat impatiently. "Can't you see I'm talking?" "What..? How?" He narrowed his eyes. "You're that damned Mazoku!" "What? Oh, don't be silly. Would a Mazoku know you abandoned Jatlini after you promised to watch out for him?" she asked, smirking. "He really did that?" Filia shook her head and sipped her tea. "Tsk. Well, isn't that just like him? Never there when he's needed." "I know," Caitarina replied. "He never follows through on any of his promises." "That is not true!" Valgaav shouted. "Well, I think Caitarina has a point," Filia told him, and he just stared at her in shock. "After all, you let your whole family, your whole race die. You couldn't save Gaav. You didn't purify the world, and you've never been there whenever Xellos came after me." "I won't let him hurt you!" "Of course you won't," Caitarina sneered. "Just like how you didn't let the Goldens kill me." She looked back to Filia. "Wouldn't it just be funny if it was a relative of yours who butchered me?" Filia giggled. "Yes, it would! We could say we really do have blood ties!" Caitarina laughed as if it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard. Valgaav staggered backward, shaking his head. "This is insane..." "No, dear," Filia said. "You're what's insane. I mean, that display in the market today? Shameful." "Oh! This sounds positively horrible!" Caitarina's eyes twinkled in glee. "Do tell. What did our dear Val do?" "Why, don't you know? He broke eggs." Caitarina gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, looking at Valgaav suspiciously. "Makes you wonder now why he survived. And he's with a Golden now..." He gaped at her. "You can't be serious?! You can't be implying that I was in league with--" "You know, that's a very good point," Filia agreed, talking as if he wasn't there. Shaking his head, Valgaav turned around and ran out the door to the shop, looking for Jillas or Gravos. And stopped dead in his tracks. Instead of a pottery and weapons shop, instead of a bustling village, he stood in the middle of a desert, hills of golden sand as far as the eye could see. Then, he realized they weren't hills at all, but sand sculptures, and there was a cheerful whistling from nearby. Jillas was kneeling in the sand, painstakingly sculpting the face of a dragon, the features visibly Golden, and Valgaav realized he was surrounded by them. "What...what are you doing?" he snarled at Jillas, feeling tense, nervous. "I'm making a family for Oneesan," Jillas replied. "She's safer with them." "With who?" "The Goldens." "But they're dead!" "They won't be when I get done. You can't keep her safe." "You think they will?" "Anybody can do a better job than you, Lord Valgaav. Even me. See? I found a way to keep her safe." "You think these damnable sand sculptures will do anything?" Valgaav shouted. "Well, once they can move." Jillas gave the carved neck a friendly pat and stood. The ground trembled. One by one, the sculptures stood, and the air became a sandstorm as they shook, sending the grains flying from their gleaming scales. "Jillas!" Valgaav screamed. One of the Goldens gave him a toothy, feral grin. "Well, look here. We missed one..." He turned around to run. Gravos stood in the living room, dressed in a priest's frock. A rectangular hole was in the center of the floor, and a weeping Jillas was kneeling by it. Dangling above it was Filia, suspended from a noose, her face distorted and swollen by the effects of slow strangulation from an improper hanging. The spectacle grew even more absurd as Gravos stumbled through reading an eulogy from the book, tripping over ponderous words, and whenever that would happen, Jillas would abruptly stop crying and cheerfully inform Gravos how to pronounce it before resuming heartwrenching sobs as if he never stopped. "What's going on?" Both servants looked at him, then to each other. "I told you. He can't keep her safe," Jillas said. "I know." Gravos shook his head. "Think I've said enough?" "Yeah. Let's bury Oneesan." They both reached for shovels, and began to fill the grave with dirt, Filia still hanging from the noose above the grave. "Shouldn't you put her in the grave first?" Valgaav asked, his voice thick. "Oh, oops!" Caitarina's voice was behind him. "Am I late? I forgot, that's my job." Valgaav recoiled as she patted him on the head and stepped up to Filia's body, swinging a huge halberd. Instead of hitting the rope, the blade connected with her neck. Valgaav spun around, squeezing his eyes shut tightly, not wanting to see Filia's body fall. "Oh, don't be silly. I'm not dead." Startled, he looked up, finding Filia hovering over him in her dragon form, her tail with that pink ribbon swaying lazily as she turned around, and lifted a huge egg, throwing it to the stone floor. "FILIA!" "What?" "What the hell are you doing?!" "What does it look like I'm doing?" She shot him an annoyed look. "Really. You can be so dense sometimes." She picked up another egg, breaking it. "You're killing them!" he screamed, transforming into his dragon body, lunging at her. Instead, she reared back and knocked him away, laughing hysterically as he crashed into dozens of the eggs, crushing them. "Not as many as you are!" she goaded in a cheerful, sing-song voice. "Val!" Trembling, he got to his feet, turning his head to look to the doorway of the temple. Caitarina was there, also in dragon form, her body horribly battered and bloody in death. But she stood there, her head lolling in an unnatural manner on her broken neck, her lips curled back in a hideous grin of pain. "Aren't you even going to try to stop it this time?" she asked. "Maybe you won't miss now..." Nausea ripped through him as his eyes focused on the Golden beside her, and the deafening sounds of the carnage in the hatchery flooded his ears again. The metallic dragon held up a small child, his talons gripping the top of the young boy's head. Jatlini was kicking and screaming, trying to get away, and rivulets of blood ran down his face from where the talons broke the skin. The Golden raised a machete, and Valgaav screamed. Everything slowed down. He was too far away, having worked his way through the hatchery, and several others were between him and the door. He'd never get to Jatlini in time. Desperation gripped him, and he threw the halberd he had been using to fight off the Goldens at the one who held his younger brother, praying for it to hit its target before the Golden could swing that sword at Jatlini. The Golden dropped the machete, quickly trying to dodge the flying weapon. It hit Jatlini first, ripping through him before embedding in the Golden's chest. Limbs flailing, gasping for air, struggling to sit up, Valgaav blinked, looking around the living room wildly. His heart was hammering in his chest with such force he thought it might explode, and he was chilled to the bone, drenched in sweat. As reality struggled for a foothold, he choked, fighting down the urge to retch as his stomach heaved. The light was dusky as afternoon faded into the gloaming, and somewhere in the distance, the bells began to chime. Valgaav didn't bother to count out the hour; he just kicked away the covers and scrambled to his feet, wondering what was going to happen next as he moved through the house tentatively toward the kitchen, waiting for something to change. There was the sound of someone humming cheerfully in the kitchen, and Filia stood at the table, cracking eggs into a mixing bowl. He snarled, lunging at her, smacking away the bowl with enough force to send it crashing into the window, splintering the wooden supports, shattering the panes, batter splattering everywhere. Filia screamed, jumping back away from him, her eyes wide. "Valgaav!" "You're still doing it!" She looked around in a panic, backing up frantically as he advanced closer to her. "Doing what?" Her voice was high-pitched in hysterics. "You're killing them!" he roared, grabbing her by the upper arms, throwing her away from him. Filia shrieked as she tried to catch herself with little success before she crashed into the wall. "Lord Valgaav!" He turned his glare away from Filia, locking it on Jillas. "And you. So you'd return her to the ones who'd have me dead..." "What are you talking about?" Filia shrieked, supporting herself against the wall, crying. "None of you think I can do it! You're laughing behind my back, all of you!" "Lord Valgaav, I ain't gotta clue what's goin' on here, did I miss something?" Gravos asked, carefully moving closer to him. "Are you out of your mind?" Filia cried. "I AM NOT THE INSANE ONE HERE!" Valgaav snarled, lunging at her. "You're in league with him! ALL OF YOU!" The wind was knocked from his lungs as he crashed to the floor under an enormous weight. Gravos had tackled him, and pinned him, holding him down. "Lord Valgaav! What's wrong?" Whiteness popped in his vision as he struggled to get the air back into his lungs, and red-hot pain lanced one side. Slowly, everything started to fall into place, and the line between reality and dreams began to grow more distinct with a sickening clarity. He closed his eyes as he heard muffled sobbing nearby, and Jillas' soft voice murmuring something. "Lord Valgaav?" He opened them again, looking up at Gravos. "What's going on?" Valgaav sighed, then flinched. "It's over. I'm okay. Just...I can't breathe." The troll hesitated, then moved off, watching Valgaav guardedly as he got to his feet. Valgaav remained laying there, just content to breathe. It felt like something was cracked inside, a rib most likely. Maybe two. "I was dreaming," he said finally. "I couldn't tell I wasn't still dreaming." Turning his head, he looked at Filia. "How badly are you hurt?" She shook her head, pressing her lips together in an attempt to stop crying. "I'm okay," she choked, just watching him. "What was that...?" He closed his eyes, feeling sick with guilt. "Just...the dream, everything's messed up. It was the eggs." "What about the eggs?" Jillas asked. "They..." The words stuck in his throat. "I gotta get up." Gravos offered him a hand, and Valgaav stood, unable to suppress a wince and a gasp of pain. Definitely something broken. He held his side as he moved to sit at the table. "You're hurt." Filia sniffled, getting to her feet with Jillas' help. Valgaav waved her off, resting his head against his free hand, closing his eyes. "I'm sor--" "You did what you had to do," Valgaav said, cutting off Gravos, trying to banish the images from his mind while still looking for the words to talk about it. "They attacked the hatchery." "Who?" Jillas asked, then a moment later comprehension hit. "Oh." "Caitarina worked there. She was there when they came." "Who was she?" Gravos asked. "She..." He sighed heavily. "I was betrothed to her." "Valgaav," Filia whispered. He couldn't keep from shuddering slightly as her hands touched his shoulders, jerking back as if burnt at the involuntary reaction. Valgaav turned around in the chair, wrapping his arms around her waist before she could move away, closing his eyes again as he held her close, resting his head against her abdomen. Her hands touched his head, gingerly at first, then tenderly as she started stroking his hair. "Jatlini was with me. He was my younger brother. We were told to take shelter beneath the house, but...it got too hot. The place was on fire. We escaped and it was just...it was insanity. So many dead before they even knew what hit. Our mother had left to look for our father. I never saw her after that. I saw him though. He... we were trying to get to the temple. I thought it would be safe there. It's so strong and well-guarded, surely there'd be sanctuary there. A temple. We were attacked in the air by a Golden, and then he showed up. He bought us time to get away, but...I looked back. I saw another one go after him, and..." Valgaav clenched his teeth, holding his breath, trying to keep himself under control, trying to keep back the burning sensation under his eyelids. "We got to the temple. But I was wrong. The doors, they were broken down. The hatchery was inside the temple. All the eggs of our clan, they were kept there. Some of the females worked in there, but all of the younger, unmated female dragons worked there as well as part of their duties. That's why Caitarina was there. Since a lot of the other dragons have families or other jobs, the eggs are kept there so the mothers can still take care of their lives." Filia's hands were stroking over his hair, her arms holding him close as he kept talking. "I...I thought Jatlini would be safe, hidden in some rubble. If he left, or if he was found, I don't know. I went in...that was the first time I'd ever directly killed anyone with my own hands. I made it to the hatchery, and they were trying to break down the door. They got in, and the wall broke out, Caitarina was one of the first dead, thrown through the wall by one of the Goldens that got into the inner sanctum of the hatchery." He pressed his face against her, trying to stop trembling. "They were...they were killing them. The eggs. Children. They couldn't even fight, and they were just...breaking the eggs. I tried to stop them. I heard a scream. One of them was holding Jatlini by his head at the doorway. I couldn't get there in time. I knew I couldn't. He was going to behead him. I threw the weapon I was holding, aiming at the Golden, but he moved and...it killed him...but..." Valgaav held her even tighter than before, breathing unsteadily, feeling ill. "It hit Jatlini first," he whispered. Filia's hands stopped stroking his hair, her arms going around him tightly as she held him, murmuring his name. Then a pair of furry arms went around them both, followed by the feel of a big hand resting on his shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" Filia whispered. "I didn't want you to know. I didn't want you hurt by it." He chuckled, but felt no humor. "Looks like it backfired." "Shh." Filia stroked his hair again. "Let's go see what's wrong with your side. Gravos, could you please put on water and make a pot of tea, and Jillas, clean up the batter and broken glass?" "Comin' right up, Filia." "Sure, Oneesan." He felt them move away, and reluctantly released Filia. She carefully guided him to his feet, then led him back into the living room. "Where does it hurt?" she asked softly. "Everywhere. Everything." He couldn't even tell where the emotional ache ended and the physical began. She moved her fingers to his side, and the line became suddenly distinct as she pressed against the ribcage gently, drawing a sharp hiss of pain from him. "It's broken, I think," she said softly. "Lay back. It will feel better soon." "I'm so sorry, Filia," he said quietly as she helped him recline on the couch. "Hush," she whispered, bending close as she knelt on the floor beside him, her lips brushing over his briefly. Before he could return the kiss, she backed up, gently placing her hands over his side. "Oh, blessed and humble hand of God," Filia started to chant, "life and breath of Mother Earth, come before me and show your great compassion and deliver us. Recovery!" There was a glow of soft light from her hands, and a warmth, not searing but a comfortable sort of warm that makes the bones feel soft and the eyelids heavy on a lazy summer afternoon spread through his side, and the pain gradually began to ebb. "I never meant to hurt you..." "I know." "Filia?" "Hmm?' "If you want me gone--" Her fingertips brushed over his lips, silencing him. "Forever would have to end before I would want that," she whispered. "I don't deserve you." "You didn't deserve the last thousand years. Now rest. Let the bones mend." "I can't go back to sleep..." "Then don't. Just be still." "Please don't go." "I never will. Valgaav?" "Yeah?" "I love you." He could only grip her hand tightly in response, the words trapped in his throat, choked there as burning wetness seared his closed eyes. Was he going to have to protect her from not only Xellos, but himself as well? |
to be continued...
Chapter Eighteen