Card Captor Sakura Fan Fiction ❯ Invoking ❯ Image 04: Quandary ( Chapter 4 )

Disclaimer:

I don't own CCS.

Invoking

by: carpetfibers

Image 04: Quandary

___________________

Didactic.

So little sense for such a child.

Pedantic.

Like pebbles given to swans.

Abstruse.

No wonder we seldom cry.

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More than a few curious looks were thrown his way as he pushed through the crowd, Sakura's body huddled against his chest. Already her breathing was growing ragged, brief spurts of panting and then a racking gasp for air. Eriol searched each edge of the packed alley ways for some area of privacy. A door presented itself without call, and he slammed through it. A wave of dust rose up at his entrance and the dim lighting took a second to adjust to. A bare room but for stone and the usual heating mechanics, but in the far corner sat the wrecked remains of a table. It would do; he balanced the pale girl in one arm and swept the dust and ripped tatters of an once flowered cloth from its surface.

Gently, he laid her out, placing her hands at her sides and brushing her hair from her face. She'd get angry again, and most likely act it out on him, but in his analytical mind, this was the only way.

The only way, Sakura. Forgive me; I know you don't like this, but it's the only way.

Taking her hand into his own, he placed it to his forehead and uttered the ancient words, weaving a forgotten spell and drawing on powers dormant in all but his blood. It was the rite of the Annym, the rite of joining. He repeated the words until, as it had happened just days earlier along the damp moors of Madir, his consciousness faded and all that remained was an intense awareness. Her skin was his own, her blood his own, her heart his own- even if it was a forced arrangement, his own being rejoiced in the intimacy.

He focused in on the source of her troubles: the tempered beast reacting in her mind. Drawing close to the rampant energy, he swarmed forth with his own, surrounding the fear, the anxiety, and the terror that surged with excess. Different from the fever which had gripped her, this new ailment was purely psychological. And with his strength, with his gentleness, he forced the released demons back within their proverbial shell. Immediately, her heart slowed and the breathing steadied. Despite the warmth that called to his blood, he drew back from her and returned to his state of normalcy.

Once again, she woke seconds before he did. And it was to her palm that he opened his blue eyes. The pain was little compared to the expression in her eyes.

"I had no choice, Sakura; it was getting the better of you and-"

And again she struck him. Eriol tried anew, pulling himself from the dirt strewn floor and taking her hand.

"I'm tired of this, Eriol. I've told you time and again to leave me be. When you enter me like that- it's violation! It's worse than any physical rape; you're raping my mind, my consciousness... it's betrayal." Sakura's voice trembled and despite her weakness, she managed to pull from his grip and away from the table.

"It was getting the better of you, and whether you like hearing this or not, I won't lie. Your control is slipping, and without me to help you, you would fall under again. Do you remember what that felt like?" He kept his voice low, but forceful. They were hard things to say, but he had to open her eyes to her mortality. To have such power did not guarantee infallibility.

She stood rooted to the floor, her eyes widening with the stark horror of the memory. To have lost so much control and so quickly... and it had been this man here who had saved her from herself that time as well. Slowly, she swallowed down her angry pride and faced him. "You're right..."

Her hand rose to his red cheek, lightly tracing the line of his jaw. "I'm sorry... you're completely right, and I'm sorry."

She allowed him to pull her against his chest, the rough texture of his tunic warm and dry on her cheek. His coarse hands traveled down her arms, soothing the trembling skin she was barely aware of. She pressed her face into his warmth, weak with the terror of merely the memory of the night more than three lunacycles ago. And bless the cracked demon of the sky, but what she might have done!

The comfort was short lived and once more she wrenched from his arms, the imprint of his lips still warm on her neck. "Eriol ...why must you do this to me?"

"I love you." Simply said, and simply meant.

"You don't! Believe me, you don't!" she cried out in such a whisper that it held all the violence of a scream. He stared, his flawless features held impassively, and with conviction shook his head.

"Are you through?" Both jerked toward the doorway, the cloaked figure from the past days' journey leaning against the dusty jam.

Sakura shook off the surprise and quickly walked up past him and into the alley way. "Yes; we're through."

"Sakura, wait-" Eriol called out to her, trying to catch her before she ran away yet again. A strong hand landed on his shoulder. He looked down questioningly at the interrupter.

Slowly, the Li Clan Airidh shook his head. "The Fakider does not need you like this."

The blue eyed guardian narrowed said physicality, his defenses rising in immediacy. Who was this scrap of a backwood beggar who dared speak of the Marrey daughter in such a way? He was the one who knew her, through and throughout, from her nightmares and opening dreams, from her visions and energy, even from the moon haunted eyes and painful touch- he was the one who knew of these things. Not this sludge she called Airidh.

"You should keep your thoughts to that of yourself. She is of no concern to you. She is my charge," he bit out, careful to keep his voice neutral.

The mop of coarse dregs swung violently and the hidden eyes bore into his own. Eriol fought back his shock. Those were the eyes of the Fillui, the lost ones, the forgotten ones- the tainted ones. Carrying the blood of the ancients, the Fillui traded their souls for the power. And this boy was one of those damned. He stepped back, inwardly horrified at the thought that the half demon might touch him again.

"The Fakider has no need of you like this," the amber eyed man hissed and tore away before the terror captured in the guardian's face proved too much for his temper. Syaoran dodged into the street, his mind easily capturing on the angry and much too active powers of his object. The Fakider was stirring, far more than was safe. He had felt the twinge of her ability before it surged from her mind and took hold of her body. The runes from Oirthir glowed beneath his memory's eye, and he stored away the antediluvian pattern for review.

The swarm of foreign names and words scored across his ears, the drums sounding painfully against his thoughts as the Croae markets pulled into the shadows of midday.

Once again, he longed for the still quiet of his Clan's land. People were rare there, and speech even more. Words, conversation, and all else that is verbal and obtuse found little of a haven among the crags and stalagmites of the inner depths. And the one soothing sonance, the lullaby of his youth and memories, came but at night, when the wild hounds of the granite hallows took to the moon and their howls of joy and energy echoed through the caverns. It was to those bestial songs that he proved his hand before the Clan, and it was between the joyously deafening canticles that he learned of the girl with the moon destined eyes, the Fakider.

Hands brushed at his sleeves and arms crossed his chest as he pulled through the din of flesh and sweat. More than one eye fell to his face and the mirrored terror flashed repeatedly as those with the faintest of ability unconsciously touched upon the taint carried in his blood. He tempered his eyes, careful to allow only the anger, the coldness show. Let these fools think what they will, he cared not for their wandering thoughts and ill controlled emotions. He steadied on the powerful call drawing him to the focused steps of the Fakider.

His telltale eyes touched on her hooded form, a flash the color of the lush Braile Vale's grasses rising to his clouded features. He felt those bewitched eyes, her own telltale tools, study him, and she waited in the middle of the line of bodies. Did she too feel that call? Did she too feel that heat of blood to blood? Was this Fakider part of the lost like himself? The Airidh darkened his frown, drawing tight lines down his cheeks and jaw and pulled himself into the farther shadows of his lineage as the rune scarred girl lifted her lips toward the reddening sun.

"How far behind is he?" she asked, moving once again as he fell in next to her. He judged his words, the few that he ever let past his lips.

"A touch."

And more silence. Sakura did not pull this descendant of the mixed bloods into conversation, or question him of his naming her the Fakider. She had been dreaming again, and the visions were showing the crest of his tunic and wave of his bloodied sword. A blackened land, the broken visage of a sobbing moon, her damning eyes, and his voice risen in a howl- she saw these things, and so she walked in silence. The dying winds of the dreams and the energy that had driven her to unconsciousness left an all too acute awareness within her senses. She could count the measures of his heart and repeated freezing of his lips. His own ability tangled into the air surrounding him, a twisting half alive thing that clawed and flowed. Part of the waters of the land, the source of all life, and part of the creatures that roamed the land, the cycle of life- his magic was a wild thing. She reveled in its coloring and slowly allowed her wash of energy to match his.

It calmed her; this man's savagely tempered ability calmed her.

"I've long wanted to hear the call of the Fillui wolves," the Marrey daughter said and tucked down her hood. "I'm glad to find that I will yet."

He said nothing but nodded. The Fakider felt the call as he did, and on the lower cliffs of the northern lands, deep within the lines of cratered rock and shale wailed the first of the nightly harmonies. His blood soared and the carnality of Croae was forgotten.

___________________________

A biting of incisors, lips contorted,

And a bloodless war between wills-

Squalid and obsessive.

I quiver at your touch,

Hating it,

Needing it.

Your hand is coarse,

But touch me all the same.

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As one, the three travelers tightened the scarves drawn across their mouths. The thick elementally protected walls of Caitnys kept much of the sands of the surrounding desert from the city. It was only from the wandering curiosity of the Braile river that the city survived at all in its harsh environment. Between the incessant sand storms and the near year long droughts- the Caitnys desert was no place for life, and undoubtably not for the lives of human kind. But just as the city had folded itself into pockets and thrived, other forms of life had followed the mass of roaming blood in the shape of hands and mouths. The Cree Feayr followed the scent anywhere.

Even in the desert, even behind the walls of magic and science, even when those same flesh filled hands and mouths pulled and screamed against them.

It was the way of things. Just as it was the way of things to bow into the wind and not stand firm. For the tenth time since they had left shelter of the shields, the shifter of the Aisle woods tightened the flaps protecting the precious cargo. The inhabitants of Fardach had long grown accustomed to their tree laden home, but the forests could not supply everything. Some of the hidden haven's habitants had certain needs, certain requirements.

Yukito's silver eyes rested briefly on the half hidden black hair of his younger companion. She was one of the few whose needs could not be bought or traded. Her well being, for the moment, rested solely on that of her caretaker and his best friend, Touya. His eyes flew to the four smudges advancing from the southwest. The construct was of the majority. Every few lunacycles he needed a part adjusted or checked over. But the dark haired young leader chose his times of need to be ones of solitude. Where he went and what he did on the fortnight long excursions, even Yukito did not know.

The winds weakened and then curved around their small blockade. The sand storm was moving steadily toward Caitnys whose walls would prevent any real damage. By evening, the three smudges would have caught up. It was up to him to make sure that this front group reached the desert dome before midday. He concentrated his eyes on the horizon, adjusting their advancement to the right degrees. The desert dome's creators had never been found. The first of the settlers to find the original city of Caitnys's walls had found the dome as well. The smooth surfaces were made of a metal no one could name. The sheen of invisibility it held was an energy no one could name. And the interior of near perfect daylight was an illusion no one could name. The desert dome was a mystery along with the Caitnys walls.

And as with all mysteries of Tesar, all questions were left alone except for one: could the mystery still be used?

Both the walls and dome answered affirmatively. So it was to the slight rise of sloping winds and shifting sands that Yukito searched for across the horizon. The trick was to leave the eyes unfocused on the center and focused on the edges. Then slowly, ever so slowly, draw together the two foci until the center was reached. It was in that disunited conjunction that the dome's hidden shape would be found. He expected it to only take three more sweeps before his eyes found it. But for once, eyes belonging not to him spotted the unnatural oasis.

"Yukito- we're all but on it!" Tomoyo's clear voice rang out in both surprise and joy. The shifter stopped mid stride.

"Where?" he asked, not disbelieving but unsure.

She smiled behind the scarf. Yukito had missed the nearness of the dome simply because of his height. Being shorter had its advantages, on occasion.

"Stoop to my height and you'll see it."

He obeyed and leaned forward. His eyes widened in appreciation and with a muffled laugh patted her cloaked head in thanks. He straightened, waved the directional rod toward the northeast, and laughed again.

"Sonomi, you'll be able to rid your beautiful face of all this sand in less than an uair."

__________________

It's hidden,

This thing I seek.

Virtue

Moral

Both deemed evil-

and yet-

And yet, I find the mirror

Reflecting my object.

It's coming.

__________________

Even behind closed lids, the disfigured emblem of the Marrey clan hailed with clarity. It was under her brother that the emblem had been changed to mirror the moon's change. Once whole and perfect, the clan's forefathers had seen to making it a symbol of their pride and lineage. Thousands or hundreds of annums ago- those men had seen a moon with a solid circle and a luminosity that held no scars or rough edges. But now; now it was not so. And her brother, her brother with the moon cursed eyes burned the old crests and stamped upon this new one, imperfections and all.

It was because the moon of their family was a false one. Now it was true.

Kaho opened her brown eyes and stared into the daylight. The full tapestries that depicted the ageless Marry clan's many victories and achievements coated each wall. The rich colors of their family- red for the true blood of their clan, gold for the prosperity of their minds, and black for the power of their hands- filled in the lines and figures of past men and their glories. In the eastern corner, nearest to the floor to ceiling windows, glowed the unnatural source of the room's heat. She shuddered without fully understanding why. To have the cold stone of the Marrey castle walls and then to have this thing made from a time deserted- the emotion of it froze her to a point where no amount of the furnace's heat could warm her.

Her brother's changes- Kaho's full lips quirked into a wry smile- Hayoko's changes frightened her because they marked the drawing of the end.

She stood up abruptly, but with a grace given her from the generations of Mizuki women before her. An innate sense of confidence, of knowledge, of self assurance: all were found in her every step. A single turn of her jaw, an upward curve of her lips, a twist in her waist: each spoke of her lineage. But it was her eyes that truly drew in the wonder and awe of all who saw her. By normal descriptions they were brown. But by the one who glanced a second time, the color grew in tone and hue. Not brown, not red, it was the dusky mahogany of smoothly sanded teak stretched into the contours of cherry. Those were the Marrey eyes.

But then there were her brother's eyes as well. He too carried Marrey eyes; he saw and envisioned with two green orbs the same shade as the grasses that surrounded the castle. And just as he had been born with those eyes, so had that girl.

Kaho crossed the room to the windows, pulling the first toward her and throwing her face full force into the chilled air. Below the landing protracted the main courtyard. The red and white blossoms of the indigenous trees snowed across the short grasses and danced back into the air with the careless steps of the castle's children. The energetic laughter sounded discordant to her ears. The hilarity crescendoed with all the proper notes minus the key stone of the piece. She knew what was missing. What was missing was the merriment of the girl who shared the same eyes as her brother.

For not the first time, nor for the last, Kaho wished that the moon was whole again. Her ability, as all of the Marrey clan's ability, was tied to that celestial body, and with its brokenness came a crippling to her full strength. She could only see so much and dream so far. And it was never enough.

One of the winds that chased along the hollows of the Fidean Heights trailed into the courtyard and rose to meet her face. Its brittle fingers pushed off the long strands of auburn hair and pressed the long robes against her slender frame. If any of the children had chosen that moment to glance upward they would have seen the embodiment of their clan in her stance. There was power in it. There was glory. And there was tragedy.

The faintest of steps behind her made the wind cease its war, and without turning she greeted her brother.

"Hayako, you must be lost."

The loosely held white hair flipped over his tanned forehead as Hayako leaned against one of the tapestry covered walls.

"I was just sitting downstairs and realized that I hadn't seen you in nearly a week."

Kaho turned around, a hand pressed firmly against her hip. "Perhaps if you tried stepping outside of your rooms?"

His laugh came easily as did his mocking smile. "Sister, sister, you sound like a child complaining about not having enough attention."

The other hand clasped her hip as well and she leaned forward in the pose of a chiding mother. "You know exactly what it is I want you to pay attention to. Hayako, you must listen to me."

The mocking smile dropped and he straightened. The other side of the Marrey blood was revealed as clearly in his posture as it was in his sister's. He took no step, but she seemed to draw near nevertheless.

"Kaho, it is not that I won't listen, but that it doesn't matter. All that must be done is to return the girl to these walls. With her power-"

"You'll bring destruction if you try to use her in that way!"

His green eyes narrowed in an emotionless stare. His voice matched it. "The family line will end if I don't. If the only help you can give me are these prophecies of doom, then keep your mouth shut."

She bowed her head, hoping her hair would hide the desperation in her eyes. How could her brother not see? How could he be so blind as to not see! But she knew it was better to stay close to his side and try to stem the flood of ruin that he would eventually unleash than to hide away in these rooms of hers.

"I'll help you, brother. I'll help you find her."

The steel left him and it was to the innocent almost guiltless smile of a child that Kaho found her brother's lips. Her heart surged with the sadness of what lay ahead and what it would do this little brother of hers.

"Thank you, Kaho." The smile widened and Hayako took his older sister's hand as he had in his youth and squeezed it gently. He had faith now. With his sister's help they would find Sakura and return her to Glass ny Marrey.

____________________

Consider this:

Nothing is true,

Nothing is false.

Where's the value?

Ah, but that's the catch.

If there is no absolute then nothing

Matter.

So what's the point?

You figure it out.

____________________

Sakura dove beneath the dusky waters. The brisk liquid flowed like smooth silk over her bare skin and while the coldness of it drove away her breath, she went under again. She had read of the dome in an old journal of a traveler. The traveler had called the Caitnys desert dome one of the old age's great wonders. He had only briefly mentioned the existence of pools within the dome, so she was nicely surprised by the many ponds and chasms that spotted the interior. Never had she gone so long without bathing.

She leaned back into the water, letting its denser weight push her upward and above the surface. The ceiling falsely showed an image of twilight falling and manmade lighting sent rays of blue and green shadows across the unnatural oasis. But it was the steadily rising moon illusioned against the ceiling that belied the age of the dome's creation. This moon had no scar. It rose without blemish, and the beauty of it made her heart cry.

With a thin finger, she traced over her own scar. The jagged star shaped figure blossomed in an angry red flower on her shoulder and traced down across her chest. The thick line cut her torso into some macabre painting. Some might have called it ugly, but she found it as beautiful as the fallacious moon overhead. The scar served as a reminder of her duty and of the dangers it could bring. But it also served as an apologue for the hope that she held within her grasp. Her dreams and the prophecy- the two agreed, except that there was still yet a conclusion to her dream's vision. There was only a gray haziness of unsurety. That unsurety was mirrored in the red lines across her body.

She closed her green eyes and straightened, hugging her arms around her chest. A sudden ripple in the waters made her eyes flash open and with her arms still crossed she turned around. Two fiercely hued amber eyes fixed themselves on her face and remained there even as he plunged beneath the water. He emerged and shook his head free of the thick wet locks. Streams of dirtied water scored down his face, the rivulets twisting his features almost as obtusely as her scar did.

"Where's your guardian?" Syaoran asked, his voice purposeful in its concentration.

Sakura released her arms and shrunk beneath the protection of the pool's dank colors. Only the pale white of her shoulders and the first edges of the scar showed above the surface.

"I sent him away."

He nodded and drew near enough to touch. One of his muscled arms stretched to lightly trace a finger over the red blossom on her shoulder. "What is this from?"

She didn't pull away, but her eyes fell to the water's rippling facade. "It's from the night when my ability first awoke."

"When?"

"Three lunacycles ago."

His hand fell but not to the water. He gripped the scarred shoulder with a careful gentleness. With the other hand, his fingers tapped across her throat and curved toward her cheeks. Her breath increased with his touch and with one quick motion, she withdrew from his hands.

He stared at her wide eyes, confusion marred across his lips. "Why?"

Sakura turned around, leaving only her back to his eyes. "You shouldn't."

"But I wish it. Fakider- you feel the call as well."

"Do you understand it? Do you understand this call we have to each other, Airidh?"

Syaoran tightened his lips in anger. This was why he didn't like words. They added unneeded confusion and opened the doors for misunderstanding. Did he understand it? What was there to understand? His body wanted hers. It was simple. Just as the wolves who roamed his home of crags and rock cried their longings to each other and then released the want in the tide of their bodies- it was the same for him.

"There's nothing to understand," he snapped.

She faced him and the smile on her lips struck him and killed all his anger. "When you speak my name with understanding; when you learn what it is you say each time you call me Fakider- then, then all will be as it should."

Her soft voice matched the sweetness and age of her smile. He shuddered, not understanding why, and then bowed his head in acceptance. Sakura released the sigh that she dared not show elsewhere. So little time to have seen so much and learn so much; it hardly seemed fair. She shook her head clear of the thoughts and stepped out of the water. She could still feel his eyes on her bare skin and it was much the same as the softness of his coarse hand as it had touched her shoulder and traced across her lips.

The false moon continued its rise as the unnatural lights recreated the colors of night. And more than anything, it was the sight of the full moon free of any callous that almost caused her to forget her own words to wait. With a near fury she focused her eyes on the pale vision.

Damn the illusion. And damn my weakness. Damn it all...

__________________

I vaguely remember

the candle of my birth.

The tallow scored on my skin.

The wax fixed on my vision.

And with a clarity akin to epiphany

I-

I may have laughed.

But now it falls as tears.

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Author's notes:

Thanks for you patience. Hope you enjoyed this last bit. And more comes soon!