Dar-Klite: Two-Hearts - 2. Chapter 2

The drip drop of the pipes above Jack was a new change of pace for Jack, Leo finding the entrance to a sewer was a surprising choice for Jack at first but he would live. They had already traveled a decent length through the labyrinth before coming to a small outcrop, where a previous settler had made his home. Jack was tending to a fire next to an old sleeping bag the steps of a jogging Leo echoing through the tunnels.

“Got away!” Leo said triumphantly holding a couple of fish in the air.

“Well get them over here on the fire I’m starving.” Leo obliged and the pair claimed their meal putting it on a metal rod to cook.

“You know,” Leo began after a few minutes of silence, “I don’t think I’ve seen someone look so happy to be living in a sewer.”

“How do you figure?”

“You seem to be carrying yourself alright is all.”

“You seem to be carrying alright as well.”

“War did it to me, constant violence and war my friend will make you ice.”

“Never seen war.”

“Be thankful you haven’t. Just a waste of time.”

“Did you ever fight?”

“I didn’t, no, my brother enlisted though when he could pick up a sword….at fifthteen.” he chuckled, giving Jack a grin, “Nah he um died his first battle, Clements Watch, or something like that. I hadn’t heard from him in months prior, we found out when the war was over.”

“Damn, I'm sorry...I knew a soldier too, but...I don’t think he’s alive anymore.”

“May I ask what happened?” Peter checked his fish before turning it on the otherside.

“Well, It’s hard to explain, not a very good story either.” Jack gulped, Peter narrowed his eyes.

“Thought you said you didn’t have the crown on your back.”

“I don’t.”

“Your face is oozing with guilt,” His fish started to crisp as he removed it from the flame, citing Jack to check his own, “I mean, you know I stole these? You’re in good company I assure you.” He took a big bite of his fish, Jack held his over the fire a little longer.

“We….Well-”

“Go on.”

“Can I finish?” Leo nodded, resting against the stone wall, and enjoying his dinner listening attentively.

“We met years ago, When I was like fifthteen or sixteen my father he had wanted me to pick a house guard-”

“You were a royal?” Leo nearly choked on his fish.

“Were. I promise I’m not worth anything now, anyway there were like thirty something militiamen who kneeled, asking for my blessing and…”

“And?..”

“Well there was Peter Honeyhall, he was the least experienced, at the time he had barely picked up a sword, his father had forced him to cast his name in to move up the family name. But when I first saw him, It wasn’t political or even skill, it was….him...his stark black hair, his eyes had these deep pools of green...He was beautiful.” Leo was more intently listening now, leaning in slightly.

“I chose him because of his beauty, and of course he was my guard so we talked daily, practically glued to one another until one day we were just getting done, drinking ourselves under at the tavern, and he’s helping me back to my home so we crossed through an alley. The snow kept coming down, it was already knee high so we fell and he landed on top of me and that's when it happened…”

“...That's when he?”

“Kissed me?”

“What?”

“He kissed me and I didn’t stop him, I actually pushed into him..”

“You’re both…”

“Yeah I know it’s not a common occurrence. Common enough to be an executable offense.”

“Wait so let me get this straight, you’re on the run for kissing a man?”

“More than kissing but yes.” Jack took his blackened fish off the fire and took a bite, the warmth of both the food and memories giving him a slight grin.

“Well, Didn’t even know people could...be capable. Tells you how much I care about law customs and shit.” He took the last morsel of his fish and put the rod back over the fire. Leo got up and moved over to some old wooden crates, most of which had broken into pieces already for previous fires.

“You’re not going to claim my head are you?” Leo turned a bewildered look on his face.

“Of course not, your past sins are not mine, as mine are not yours. We survive by being together, that's how it is.” he fed a few more pieces of wood to the flame.

“That’s how it is.” Jack mouthed to himself.

“Now that little revealing story and dinner was just my call to sleep, you should get some rest yourself when you're done. I heard down by the docks a rum shipment was coming in the morning, figure that they won’t miss a couple of bottles.” he winked curling up in his sleeping bag.

“Hell, grab a few more extra so we don’t have to wait for the next shipment.” Jack grinned, Leo nodded.

“Like the way you think my lord.” he sarcastically said, rolling over.

Jack finished his fish and gazed into the warm fire, the smoke wafting past him through the dark tunnels. He leaned against the wall, taking in the mixed stench of sewage and smoke. The new life Jack had become a part of was vastly different. No more servants, probably no more silk beds, no more Peter…

“Jack..”

Jack shot his eyes open, searching for the origin of the whisper.

“Jack…” He stood up, looking into the dark void of either direction of the tunnel. Nothing. Jack moved back to the fire, and sat, his wits now about him.

“The flames…” Jack slowly turned his gaze to the flames, a coriolus of smoke enveloping all around him. The sewer began to wisp away much like the smoke, Leo rippling into oblivion as the warm glow of the fire became a blackened, charred pile of wood, frost overgrowing the wood. Jack kicked himself away from the pile as the frost grew across the cavernous floor. Jack jumped to his feet and ran into the void, the tunnel, their camp, was gone replaced by darkness, darkness Jack sprinted blindly into, hardly able to see past his hands. He stopped at a gargantuan wall that seemed to ascend endlessly into the shadowy sky.

“Jack…” a pool of oozing black began to bubble from cracks in the floor and surround the space around him, the ground vocally sizzling upon the stone.

“Jack...Why do you run?” Jack covered his ears, the voice scratching against his brain, The ooze bubbling higher, and higher in front of him until it towered above him, the stone around him, cracking more and more, seemingly melting from the ooze.

“You can’t run from what you are…” The black tower began to take humanoid shape, the head morphing into the silhouette of a goat's head, a frantic Jack feeling his heart drop as he tried to climb the cavernous wall, his left hand slipping and scratching the wall, warmth enveloping his hand.

“What you are!” Jack gazed and the bubbling black from his mangled seemingly shattered hand, and a scream erupted from him, amongst the sinister cackling of the demon.

“Jack!”

Jack snapped to reality, balancing off an edge, a panicked Leo reaching for his hand as he fell off the edge, plunging into the dank, dark water below.

“Shit! Jack!” Leo screamed from the edge, a Drowning Jack caught in the current and moving down the dark stream. Jack struggled and broke the current grabbing on to a pipe along the wall, his body practically gliding with the current, the reeking stench almost too much for Jack to bear. Across the stream, amidst the dark, an outcrop signaled a welcome respite, and with all his might he kicked against the wall to catch the edge of the outcrop and pulled himself up, the sewage stench shooting straight up his nose, forcing him to cough and gag. A draft of cool air chilled Jack as he moved as far from the stream as he could, he bundled himself up, as tears began to fill his eyes. He felt disgusting as did his mouth, and even his soul. He began to wipe his tears before stopping inches from his face recalling his nightmare that had yet to end. Pushing his forehead into his knees he tried to get his brain together, figure out what to do next, how to get back to Leo.

Meanwhile, in Tallisk amongst the bustling commerce, two travellers sat at a bar outside a man and a woman, taking a pint for themselves.

“This was a mistake Malcolm, We’re going against the Magistrates wishes.” She took a gulp from her tankard.

“What was a mistake, dear Azuel was not searching earlier, when He. First. Died.”

“That much has been established, but the council has to know where we are, has to know what we’re looking for.”

“They know I’m in the Blue Isle attending to Magistrate business, specifically the crime wave. That's what they ‘know’.” Malcolm finished his tankard.

“You're not even the least bit afraid you’ll stand out with that white hair? A dead giveaway who you are.”

“I assure you dear Azuel,” he got up from his stool, “There are much stranger things in this world that will gather twice the attention. He took a few steps into the road.

“Besides,” he started, “I think I have an idea where he is.”

“Hmm?”

“I can feel it, he’s below us…”

“How? The sewers?”

“That or dead and buried under cobblestone rock at a busy crossroad.”

“Never lost your wit, cockhead,” she tapped the bar, the barkeep nodding in compliance, “Assuming he’s down there how you want to go about it?” The barkeep brought back two more tankards of ale, and Malcolm returned to the bar.

“I’ll fetch him after my drink, and after yours you can get the ship ready.”

“Oh, all the rush to get to the Blue Isle and now you’re in no rush to leave.” Malcolm shook his head whilst taking a sip of his ale.

“No, I’m changing out of my silk clothes before going into a sewer. Just because he’s probably covered in shit doesn’t mean I have to be.” Azuel nodded in agreement and the pair returned to their drinks.

It was a cold morning, The feeling of home lingered in the air of Peter's childhood room, yet, as the minutes passed and the sun began to show its beams above the treeline. He could hardly sleep the night before, even with his mother's locally famous beef stew still setting in his stomach the future continued to bore into his psyche. He wasn’t really sure what judgement from the old gods even amounted to, but in past town trials over, in Peters opinion, more serious crimes such as murder, he had seen accused claim the right themselves. He would be one of the townspeople who would watch as a caravan of guards and an entourage of both the victim and accused families begin their ascent into the mountains. Known of the accused ever came back, but more important, It would keep Peter from the flaming stake, and at the very least, give him the opportunity to run.

There was a banging sound in his home, followed by a knock at the wooden door, before the door burst open, several guards coming in, Peter's mother nagging behind them.

“You can’t do this, it's barely the break of dawn!”

“Break of dawn, dawn has broken, stay out of our way ma’am.”

“Can you give him time to pack he holds the-”

“Change of tradition, Lord Leeris commands he only has what's given to him at the beginning of the trial.”

“This is outrageous! Peter-”

“Mom please...remember..” His mother looked at her boy, then back at the guards, and walked from the doorway.

“Right this way Peter.” Peter recognized the guard, the same one from the trial, he seemed less intent on hurting him then he was the day prior.

Walking out of the house, sure enough the town too was already wide awake before the torches were snuffed even. A convoy of three wagons sat waiting, He could see the Count and Paramount in the front wagon, speaking until the Count's eyes fell on him. That same anger from the great hall had merely gotten riper with time it seemed. He got into the wagon, the guards closing the doors and sealing deadbolts on the outside. His mother and father stood outside, his mother near the guard line his father still by the front door watching from afar. He held the wagon to himself at least, Time to think how he was going to make it through this, seeing he couldn’t just run anymore, they’d only let him out when they got where they needed to go. Peter couldn’t allow that, he took one final look at his mother before the caravan began to move forward. His mother put two fingers in the air, nearly knocking over the guards as she thrust forward past them, running near the side of the wagon she slammed her hand against the glass, Peter doing the same.

“Be brave son-” another soldier grabbed her and threw her into the snow beginning to beat her with clubs, anger surging through Peter as he banged the glass.

“Get your hands off her! Get off of her!” The last thing he could see as the caravan picked up speed and began to pass through the portcullis was his father intervening and the couple standing, as twice the amount of guards dispatched to handle them. The wooden gate closed sealing the new chapter of his life. Peter's face was glued to the glass, tears cascading down his face, anger boiling inside of him, all he could think of was his parents and if they were alright. Escape seemed pointless now to him, let alone surviving whatever trial lied ahead.

Peter awoke from sleep, it seemed as if hours had passed, when he truly wasn’t sure. It was daylight, yet the treeline obscured the sun's origin.

“What's the meaning of this?” He leaned as close to the window as he could, all he could see was a wrecked wagon, a Summers mark on the side.

“We have important business to attend to dear summs,” The paramount stepped out of his wagon, “We will be right back through if you could just move the wagon-”

“Well milord that's just the thing,” a meek yellow robed girl moved to the front of the summs party, “Two of our four wheels snapped on the ice, we don’t have the strength we’re but summs.” she bowed respectively, her party following suit.

“Well,” he gestured for the several guards to move forward to the wreckage, “Perhaps we can gather your things and load them on our third wagon, you would have to travel on foot however.”

“Yes! Yes thank you kind sir!” the party cheerfully sprinted towards the third wagon, passing Peter who watched behind the glass. The summs all seemed adorned in gold silk, one of the men carrying a thick book. The meek girl who represented them turned her head at Peter as she walked past, giving him a wink. Peter grinned at the irony, if only she knew. The guards began to unload the wagon bit by bit, chest by chest.

“These are heavy books,” one said, carrying it to the leading wagon, “Where are these summs even headed?”

“Probably some cliff camp to write songs and shit, you know how their order is.” a loud click as one of the men pulled a chest from the cart, silenced the conversation. Tick, tick, tick.

“Everyone get the hell!-” the wagon exploded into an inferno, the flames engulfing the first wagon and it’s horses, and shattering the glass on Peter's wagon, sending a surprised Peter cowering to the floor. The door burst open, the same girl pulling a sheathed short sword from her dress and throwing it at the boys feet.

“Be free!” she yelled as she drew her own blade, charging towards one of the remaining guards. Peter watched her comrades rush past his wagon, blades of their own, as they cut down each surviving man. Peter grabbed the blade and rushed out of the wagon, moving to one of the panicking horses hitched to his wagon, he cut the ties, and patted the horse.

“Down girl, down, we’re getting out of here!” he threw his leg over the saddle, blade still drawn, “Yah!” The horse interweaved between the fighting of the guards and attackers, galloping past the fire, he broke a hard left into the wilderness, and kept riding.

“Faster! Come on!” he turned his head back, the image of the count and paramount being dragged out of their burning wagon gave him the first real smile he had held in a long time.

He rode until the sun cast down at him, above the trees, the combat far behind him. He slowed, patting the horse on the side, as he looked around him, he breathed deeply, finally knowing he was alone, and he started to chuckle. He sheathed the blade, still chuckling, harder this time, attaching the sword to the saddle, he got off the horse and simply sat in the snow, still cackling, before slowly morphing into sobbing and tears.

“Now what the fuck!” he yelled at himself, standing up he kicked the snow as hard as he could. He was lost, confused, he couldn’t go home not after gods know what happened to the count and paramount. He began pacing, the horse, feeding on a chunk of grass poking out of the snow.

“That's a fine horse.” Peter drew the blade without hesitation pointing it at a man who stood sparkling before him. He stood at the edge of the clearing, merely a black silk tunic and pants, his feet steaming and melting the snow around where he stood.

“What do you want? Who sent you!” Peter moved closer, blade ready, tears still leaking from his eyes.

“I want,” the man moved closer, gushes of steam melting the snow as he moved forward, “a lot.” He moved close enough for the blade to touch his pale young face, his seemingly glowing crimson eyes merely bringing Peter in with their mystery.

“Who I am on the other hand,” he caressed the blade with his hands, manipulating the steel like liquid as it melted into the snow at their feet, leaving only the hilt, “I’m the one that can give you your freedom.”

“What-” he held a finger to Peter's lips, vibrating against his lips, as the eyes seemed to dig further into Peter's eyes, and heart. The strangers lips suddenly seemed so kissable, so perfect, as Peter bit his own lip, the finger still vibrating against his lips.

“You don’t need to speak, merely, listen.” Peter nodded, his eyes locked into the man's crimson pools in his eyes, as they seemed to churn and rise like the waves of the sea.

“You will go to the trial of the old gods, you will take the left path, you will find me again, and when you do you will be in a place that will love you, hold you to your own standard. Paradise.” The man removed his finger, and his gaze, moving through the parting snow back to the edge of the clearing, Peter’s trance broke. Peter shook his head shaking off the numbness of his brain.

“Can’t you take me there yourself?” He looked to where the man had been, there was nothing. The snow where he had stood was but a puddle still, as was where else he had walked, but no trail leading away from the clearing.

The trial of the old gods….follow the left path. Peter thought upon these words, thought it could be a trap...but nothing about that encounter could shake the feeling he held, a strange feeling he hadn’t held since the night Count Leeris had burst in on him and Jack: faith.

He mounted his horse, and looked towards the mountain peaks towering over the forest. The path of the caravan had led straight there. He turned his horse and began to gallop through the woodlands. A new intention was pulling his heart, to pass the trial, to achieve access to this paradise, a future began to build for him in his mind's eye, the vision of a place Jack and him could go, could live. Paradise first, then you Jack. Then. You.