Fan Fiction ❯ Burning Bridges ❯ Merging With the Shadows ( Chapter 1 )

Few small notes before we begin: this story (like almost all VS fanfics, apparently) contains shounen-ai content (technically "otoko-ai", a friend tells me, but "shounen-ai" is more recognizable), albeit a bit... odd... at the start.
The title and chapter headings are taken from a lovely song by Pink Floyd, on their album Obscured by Clouds. Frighteningly enough, I only stumbled across the lyrics after much of the fic had already been written, while I was trying to think up a title, and they just fit the story so well that I couldn't resist. (Actually, the entire album fits this story really well, and if I didn't know better, I'd have sworn that Childhood's End was written specifically for a couple chapters late in this story...)
And if you haven't guessed yet from my previous VS fanfics - yes, I am rather fixated on Hardin. Sydney may be my love, but Hardin's way up there too, and there's a severe lack of lovin' going on for my dear John in the VS fan works department, both art and fics; I mean to make up for that. ;)

Lightning flashed through the night sky, and Hardin watched anxiously as the light cast two shadows on the stone wall in front of him. Thunder and the sound of the pouring rain nearly drowned out the footsteps echoing through the dark cavern he'd taken shelter in, but he could still tell they were nearly to the fork where he was hidden; one held a lantern, which cast a soft reddish glow about the cave, reflecting off the rivulets of rainwater that drained down into the depths of the cavern as they drew closer. Not knights, for there was no sound of armor clanking - but then, the knights would have been at a disadvantage in such a storm as the one that brewed outside. Likely the local constable had been ordered to send out a few of his men instead.

Hardin silently cursed them all. Was he so important that they could not wait until the storm had ended? All this for a lone man, when they'd already taken everything away from him but his very life itself!

"Hold," came a whispered voice, and the footsteps paused, the dim lantern light only a few paces in front of him. Hardin tensed, his hand gripping the hilt of the broadsword he'd managed to steal during his escape. They must have sensed his presence somehow; and if so, they might have been able to puzzle out where he was.

Before they could act, Hardin lunged into the open with the next flash of lightning, aiming a blow at the head of the short man who held the lantern. The man let out a cry of surprise as he threw his hand up, and the sword shattered the glass of the lantern. The flame sputtered, but didn't die, and the other man, taller and moving more as a trained fighter would, jumped forward with a dagger in his hand, ready to act.

A dagger against a broadsword? Hardin could have laughed as he raised his hand to strike again - then gasped at what the flickering light revealed.

Instead of a broadsword, his hand held the writhing tail of a snake. Before his eyes, the narrow head raised, peering at him with glittering eyes for a moment before lunging at his wrist with a wide, sharp-fanged mouth. Hardin gave a shout as he flung it as far away from him as he could.

There was a metallic clank as the broadsword hit the stone wall on the other side of the cavern, then fell harmlessly into the dirt. The man with the dagger tackled him as he stood gaping, and pinned his arms behind his back. The fight was over before it had even started, and Hardin was stunned with disbelief.

"Quite an excitable one ye be," the lantern-bearer muttered, watching the other twist Hardin's shoulder, forcing him to his feet. "Filthy rogue. Or at least that's what ye'd like us to think, hmm?"

Hardin, still wondering what had just happened, did not reply. Had he gone mad, he wondered? Too much grief, too much time in solitude, too much hunger and weariness, too much of being hunted like a rabbit across the land... these things could drive a man to see things, perhaps. But so suddenly?

No matter, he decided with a sigh as the two men dragged him roughly back out of the cave and into the storm, each of them twisting one arm behind his back. He'd probably hang soon enough now... unless he could break free and find another place to hide. That was a possibility, what with the wild storm raging outside, he thought, but his heart wasn't in it. With the events of the past weeks - not to mention the many months of agonizing solitude before that - there was not much left in life to make it worth such an effort.

He would have to wait until they were out of the cave to make any such attempt, of course, and so he hung his head and feigned acceptance. As they passed the fallen broadsword, he peered at it as closely as he could manage, but it appeared to be perfectly normal iron. Yes, he must have gone mad.

Once outside, Hardin gave up any thought of imminent escape; there were a few dozen others standing in the rain. But a closer look revealed men of varying ages, some too young or too frail-looking to be of the Guard - peasants, from the looks of them. Hoods shielded some of them from the rain, but he thought a few of the hooded figures were slender enough that they might be women. A handful of pack-horses, all dark in color, were tethered beneath a tree, and a wooden cart stood a short distance away. He glanced back at his two captors, and noticed for the first time that they too wore peasant garb rather than the leather armor of the footmen he'd expected. "You're not the King's men?" he murmured in surprise.

"Not quite," the lantern-bearer replied. "We don't slaughter a brigand on sight, true, but don't ye think for a minute we be safer. We'll see what Sydney has to say about ye."

"Sydney?"

By way of reply, the other man twisted his arm further, and Hardin groaned in pain. Better to keep silent, he decided, until he knew who they were.

Lightning flashed three more times, in rapid succession, and Hardin shook the rainwater from his eyes as he tried to take advantage of the illumination to get a good look around. Most of the people on the hillside were entering the cave now, and the few remaining were gathered around a dark-cowled figure a short distance away. The lantern-bearer left Hardin in the hands of the other man, and went to speak to them.

Hardin strained his ears to hear what was being said, but the storm drowned out the words. The cowled figure, obviously the superior, nodded and gestured strangely with one hand, clutching its cloak closely around itself with the other, and then the lantern-bearer started back towards Hardin and his guard. The people clustered around the cowled figure headed for the cave's entrance with the others, while the cowled figure broke away from the group, following the lantern-bearer.

Suddenly Hardin stood perfectly still, transfixed. The cowled figure moved through the stormy night with an uncanny grace, avoiding the fallen tree limbs and rocks scattered around the uneven ground with ease even in the darkness. A gust of wind caused the cloak to flutter open for a moment, and Hardin caught a glimpse of a slim waist before it fell back into place. A woman...? So deep was the cowl that even when the lightning flashed, he could see no more of the face than the delicate lips and chin.

In spite of himself, Hardin swallowed hard. How long had it been now since he'd even lain eyes on a woman at all, let alone the bare, slender waist of one? His mouth was dry despite the droplets running down his face as the cowled figure stopped before him. His eyes narrowed as he searched the darkness inside the cowl for the rest of the face, and the lips parted in a smirk as one hand reached up to draw back the hood.

Hardin's blood ran suddenly cold at the sight of the hand. It was artificial, crafted of metal plates, and resembled a gauntlet more than the flesh it replaced. Fingers shaped like knives took hold of the fabric, pushing it back to reveal pale hair and strikingly intense dark eyes - set in a young man's face.

Hardin blinked. Yes, it was certainly a man after all, he saw as the wind blew the cloak open once more, revealing a completely bare - and completely flat - chest. Hardin was grateful for the darkness; he could feel his face turning red. While still in the PeaceGuard, he'd heard the jokes about how desperate prison could make a man, but he'd never truly believed them until that moment. The young man's smirk grew bigger as his piercing eyes studied Hardin, and he had the disturbing impression that the man knew what he had been thinking, and was laughing at his discomfort.

But after a moment, the smirk slipped from the young man's lips. "Take him inside," he instructed his two men, his eyes still examining Hardin coldly. "He'll dine with us tonight, if he wishes."

The lantern-bearer's eyes widened, appearing almost as surprised as Hardin was, but the other man nodded and released his grip on Hardin's arms. "As you wish, Sydney."

"He's around the same size as Aryn," the young man continued. "See if he has a spare shirt and trousers to lend him - he can't go on wearing those rags he's in now, soaked through or no."

The two men nodded, though now the man with the dagger looked slightly startled as well. "Not one of the Cardinal's, then?" the lantern-bearer asked warily.

"Certainly not." The young man flashed them a sly, charming smile. "Even if I could not tell if it were so, I would think they've learned their lesson by now."

The lantern-bearer chuckled, relaxing. "Aye, they should've at that."

"So we are safe?" the other man asked.

"Yes, for the time being. Take him to join the others now, and I will set a ward."

The two men nodded again, and turned to go inside. At the beckoning of the taller man, Hardin began to follow, but glanced back over his shoulder once inside. The man they called Sydney was crouching at the mouth of the cavern, etching something into the dirt with one of his strange metal claws. A sorcerer, Hardin realized with a shiver.

"Our apologies for being rough," the man who had held the dagger said gruffly, drawing Hardin's attention away from Sydney. He was a little older and a mite taller than Hardin was, and well-muscled, sporting short-cropped dark hair. "We've had troubles in the past, so we could not afford to take any chances."

"It's all right," Hardin muttered. "Just doing your job, I imagine." Who were these people?

"Aye." The lantern-bearer, a short, soft-looking man with a red beard, picked up Hardin's discarded broadsword as they passed it, and tossed it to him. "Ye be fortunate Sydney has a fondness for strays. E'en if you're not the Cardinal's, I'd have figured ye for a bloody bandit and sent ye out into the storm... but what Sydney says goes. By the by, my name's Duncan, and this is Padric. What d'they call you?"

"Hardin's the name." He caught the sword easily, and examined it warily once more. It seemed normal enough...

"Don't fret over it, Hardin," Padric told him. "You're not going mad. A snake, was it?"

Hardin hesitated before answering. "...Yes. How did you know?"

"Tis one of Duncan's favorite tricks. He's used it many a time, and never has it failed."

"That's why Padric carries the weapon, and not I," Duncan said with a grin. "I've no need."

Hardin glanced over his shoulder, remembering what Sydney had been doing, but the mouth of the cave was out of his sight now. "So you're a sorcerer also?"

Duncan looked at him, vaguely surprised. "He's no fool, Duncan," Padric admonished his friend. "Safe as well, I believe. Sydney trusts him, and I trust Sydney."

"Aye, I trust him too," Duncan agreed. "When ye've hidden yerself away for so long, tho..."

Hardin felt a chill go down his spine. So there were at least two sorcerers among this party. Hardin had not been particularly religious since his childhood, but the thought still made him wary. He'd heard all the rumors of what could be done with sorcery, and even if only half were true, it was still disturbing enough to make him glad that the PeaceGuard were not the ones who had to deal with the matter.

"Peace, Hardin," Padric reassured him. "If we wished you harm, you'd have been harmed some time ago. If you do not bring any trouble upon us, we shall not offer you any. Not even if you did have quarrels with the King's men, as you said."

"Aye, what was that about?" Duncan asked. "If ye care to explain, I be curious why they'd be chasin' ye on a night like this. E'en if Sydney does trust ye, just how dangerous are ye?"

Hardin didn't exactly feel like talking about it at the moment. "Not very. I stole nothing, and I harmed no man." Not until after they'd imprisoned him, anyway, but he hadn't had much choice in the matter then. "A matter of fraud, and I have neither reason or desire to do such a thing again. The King's men are thick-headed and stubborn, that is why they continue to pursue me."

"Ah, so I hear," Duncan said with a nod. "So I hear."

"The King's men have no love for us either," Padric commented, "so as you are neither murderer or robber, you're welcome among our company."

"And who are you, exactly?"

"We're the brethren of the Müllenkamp sect, under Sydney Losstarot."

The meal that night was not fancy, consisting only of some hard journeyman's bread and cheese plus a stew of dried vegetables cooked over the firepits which were hidden deep within the cave, but it was more than Hardin had to eat for as long as he could remember. He didn't ask for a second helping once he'd finished his first, not wanting to take advantage of their hospitality any more than he already had, but Padric filled his bowl again regardless. Hardin did not argue, but savored it as he had the first bowl. Between the loaned clothing and the stew, he thought it must have been the first time in weeks that he had not been cold and hungry, and he wanted to enjoy it while it lasted.

The man named Aryn had offered a change of clothes without hesitation, even to a complete stranger, and a razor besides, for which Hardin was incredibly grateful. In prison, there had been no means of shaving, and the few times he'd gotten a glimpse of his reflection in a pool of water since his escape, he'd seen a ragged beard and hair much longer than he would have preferred. It was a relief to once again see his own face as it he remembered it from years past, after he'd bathed in the warm water that another of the brethren had brought for him. Even such basic things seemed luxurious after so long without.

But even that was not quite enough to put his mind at ease. His eyes kept straying to the short man with his rough speech who sat across from him as he ate, seemingly unremarkable in every way. And yet, Duncan was a sorcerer. He could cause people to see things that weren't there, apparently, and the gods knew what else he was capable of. Reading thoughts, conjuring flames, summoning demons...

And then there was Sydney. When Sydney had entered, Hardin could almost physically feel the man's magnetism. He was not tall, nor did he seem to have anything important to say or do for the time being, but he drew everyone's attentions regardless. Power fairly radiated from him, and with his unnatural grace and those disturbing mechanical claws, Hardin supposed he looked the part of a sorcerer. It was difficult to look away from him, though all he was doing was sitting and eating like the rest of them.

And they were only two among the dozens who sat around the firepits, talking amongst themselves as they ate. Possibly every single one of them was a sorcerer as well - even quiet Padric, with his soldier's bearing.

Beside him, Padric excused himself to take their dishes to be washed, leaving Hardin alone with Duncan. "Ye needn't be so wary, now," he told Hardin. "Ye've got Padric bothered now too."

Hardin sighed. "Is it so apparent?"

"Not to most. Not to me. But Padric's talent be heartseein', and he can't help but hear yer mutterin'."

Hardin suddenly felt slightly ill. Padric had been reading his thoughts?

"It's not like he wants to, mind ye. He tries to avoid it when he can, but he says ye're castin' yer thoughts every which way. Not yer fault, though - it's what happens when a person feels somethin' strongly. Ye must be mighty afraid of us."

"Not afraid," Hardin said quickly. "You've given me a change of clothes and a hot meal, so I know you wish me no ill."

"A skeptic then, are ye? Or religious, perhaps?"

"Nay, not for many years,"Hardin muttered. "I've no care if you're god-fearing men or heretics. To be honest, it's just that I've heard all the whispers of what can be done - and discounted most of them. But then," he confessed, "I've never actually spoken to a sorcerer before."

"Ah, I see," Duncan said with a chuckle. "From the stories, we all be fifty spans tall and breathin' fire, no?"

"Something like that, aye." Hardin smiled a bit himself, feeling a little more at ease. "I fear I know little of what your kin are capable of."

"We all have our talents," said Duncan with a shrug. "Mine be illusions - I can twist a man's perception so he may see what don't be there. Padric can see a man's heart, as I did mention, and sometimes speak within it. Frightenin' the first time, it is," he admitted, "but ye get used to it. Some can make things float in the air, some can spark a fire without fuel. Have to concentrate to keep it goin', though," he added, seeing Hardin glance curiously at the cookfires. "E'en we mighty sorcerers have to chop firewood."

Hardin chuckled a little. "So you all have a talent or two, and that's it?"

"Aye, most of us," Duncan confirmed. "Some of us can learn a few more spells here and there, but we be not omnipotent as the rumors would have ye believe - and not out to do the devil's work, neither. We've taken in any number of men like yerself, needin' a meal and a night's rest. More'n the church does, these days."

That was something of a relief, and Hardin sat back on the rock that served as his seat, looking around the room again with less wariness. Ordinary men and women, who could do a few extraordinary things, that was all. But then his attention inevitably was drawn to a pale figure seated against the wall across the room, his eyes seeming to scour the room despite his casual posture.

"And Sydney?" Hardin found himself asking. "What is his talent?"

"Sydney?" Padric paused for a moment. "Well, Sydney be the exception to everything I just told you, I wager. If he wanted t'be fifty spans tall and breathin' fire, I imagine he could be. He's given himself completely to the higher powers, body and soul, and I doubt any living could guess at what he's capable of."

Hardin could believe it, looking upon the man. He commanded respect and awe even just sitting and silently watching. "So that's why he's your leader."

"Close enough," Duncan agreed. "Though power or no, I believe I'd still follow him to the bowels of hell. He just be that kind of a man."

"Hmm." The brethren were beginning to disappear from around the cookfires now, going to ready their bedrolls and blankets for a night's sleep, but Sydney remained where he was. Two men on their way elsewhere stopped in front of him for a moment, talking to each other and then laughing before they moved on - and when they did, Sydney was no longer there, though Hardin hadn't seen him leave. He frowned slightly. How odd it was...

"Speaking of Sydney, he wishes to speak with you." Padric had returned, and sat down by Hardin once again.

Hardin couldn't suppress a shiver in spite of himself, knowing that Padric had picked up on his thoughts, but then he realized what the other man had said. "With me? Why?"

"I did not ask, seeing as it was none of my concern," Padric replied. "All he told me was that he wishes to speak to you, no more. Don't be afraid, Hardin. Remember, he is the one who offered you a meal and a change of clothes."

"True enough." Hardin stood and stretched his aching muscles; being at rest for even such a short time had reminded them of how long he'd been running from the King's men. It was only then that he realized for the first time that despite his uneasiness, he felt safe enough with the brethren that he'd actually been able to relax. The thought of Sydney and those metal claws of his gave him chills regardless, though he knew Padric was right. "Where is he?"

"Outside, I believe. The storm has blown itself out, and he wished for privacy."

"All right, then."

"We may be asleep by the time ye're done," Duncan told him, "so good night and good luck to ye, Hardin. And don't ye worry - for all his odd appearance and power and the like, he's a good man."

"Then why did you wish me luck?" Hardin muttered, unsure of whether he was joking or not.

The rain may have stopped, but the wind still gusted strongly enough to make the night air crisp when Hardin stepped out of the cave. Aryn's borrowed clothing was warmer than what he'd been wearing, but it was still late winter, just barely beginning to warm with the approach of spring.

Though Sydney was still wearing his dark cloak, Hardin found him immediately in the darkness. Even if not for the hood being pulled back to reveal his pale hair, that aura of power he possessed drew Hardin's attention immediately, and he found him standing a short distance off, leaning on one elbow against the mountainside beside the cave's mouth. His head rested against one of the metal hands as he watched Hardin approach, and Hardin tried not to stare at the steel claws which jutted out from amidst his locks. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Sydney nodded slightly, no expression visible on his face. "John Hardin. Twenty-four years of age. You prefer to be called Hardin, correct?" He didn't even give Hardin long enough to nod before he continued. "No one has called you by your first name for such a long time, you would not even recognize it as your own. No one except one person, and those memories are not ones you wish to be reminded of."

A stab of pain shot through Hardin's heart even at the mention, and he stared at Sydney, startled.

"Your parents died many years ago, when the plague came, and you were left to care for Philip on your own." Sydney leaned away from the wall, and stepped closer to Hardin, fixing him with piercing dark eyes. "He was all you had left, and you raised him as well as you could with the assistance of the servants and fortune your parents had left behind. But money runs out, and eventually the servants left, seeking better employ. When you grew to manhood, you became a member of the PeaceGuard. It didn't pay so much, but it was enough to keep a roof over Philip's head, and food on his plate. But then, when he was only eleven years old-"

"Stop it," Hardin growled, taking an involuntary step back, though Sydney was shorter than him by at least half a head. Regardless of size, the man had such an intensity that Hardin imagined Sydney could knock him down just by looking at him.

"You didn't have much of a choice, did you, Hardin? You could watch him die, or you could do a little selling on the side."

"It's nothing I want to talk about," Hardin said through teeth clenched in anger. It was bad enough to have someone reading his surface thoughts, but for Sydney to draw out the most painful memories that he'd hidden away...

Sydney's eyes held him transfixed, unable to look away. "And when they found out about it, you had the same kind of choice - none whatsoever."

"Stop it, damn you!" Hardin realized suddenly that he had his hand on the hilt of his sword, and it was an effort to pull it away. "Stop your unholy scrying! You don't need to know any of this, and you certainly don't need to repeat it to me!"

Sydney raised an eyebrow at the outburst, and lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. With the eye contact broken, Hardin took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "No, likely I do not need to know it," Sydney acquiesed. "But yet, I do know it, Hardin. Everything you have seen and done was laid out before me the instant I saw you. Thus is the power that the Dark has granted me."

"So that makes it acceptable to prick the old wounds and watch me bleed again, does it?"

Frowning slightly, Sydney tilted his head a bit to one side, regarding Hardin with an almost childish expression. "You've suffered much; I could tell from the first moment. It is not my intent that you suffer more."

"Then... then..."

Hardin was too rattled to know what to say, and became even more disturbed when Sydney's right hand rose to touch his cheek. The proximity of those metal claws to his eye made him flinch, but as sharp and cold as they were, the touch upon his skin was as gentle as that of a hand made of flesh and bone.

"Peace, Hardin. I know you now. I am not your enemy."

The softly-spoken words somehow eased his mind, and Hardin found himself relaxing, even beneath the man's chill touch. Something told him that Sydney spoke the truth - Sydney would not hurt him.

"There is much pain in the world, Hardin - pain much like yours. The gods weep for us all..." Sydney withdrew his hand, regarding Hardin with some distant expression behind the cold eyes - perhaps it was sympathy.

"If indeed the gods exist," Hardin muttered bitterly, "they should do more than weep." He broke the thought off sharply, remembering to whom he spoke; a religious leader likely would not appreciate such talk.

"They will." Sydney seated himself upon one of the larger stones scattered about the hillside, and motioned for Hardin to sit as well. "The end of the age is nigh," he told Hardin, as the taller man found a fairly comfortable spot. "But it is not my way to demand a man choose salvation or condemnation in a moment's time, nor do I discard those who do not believe as I and the brethren. I would ask you, though, if you would stay with us for a few days' time. Both body and spirit have been weakened by your imprisonment, and you would be wise to give them a chance to regain their strength. We can keep you safe for a time, if you like. And at any time, if you wish to leave, it would be your choice. Perhaps, though, you will find our fellowship to be pleasant."

"So far I have," Hardin told him. As uneasy as he had been during the meal, it had been the first time in ages he could remember smiling, or feeling content. Even sitting on a cold hillside with this disturbing man who had so upset him only moments earlier, he felt somehow safer than he had since his escape. "And I owe you much gratitude for what you've done already."

Sydney dismissed it with a wave. "There is no gratitude necessary for giving a man what he needs. We shall make you comfortable tonight also - though it may be necessary to share a bedroll or blanket." A faint smile turned up his lips. "With you having been alone so long, perhaps that would be preferable to you."

It took Hardin only a moment to recognize what Sydney meant, and then he was once again grateful for the concealing darkness as he averted his face. "Thank you, but I... I think I have become so accustomed to sleeping alone that I'd prefer to keep doing so." So much for his hopes that Sydney hadn't noticed his earlier blunder. "I've gone this long with no blanket, after all."

"As you wish... but you are welcome to mine."

Hardin glanced back at Sydney, wondering if he'd misinterpreted his meaning, but Sydney still had that faint smile, and Hardin looked away again quickly, feeling his face grow hotter. ...Was Sydney a lover of men? If so, his initial confused response to him was even more of an embarrassment than he'd thought.

"The weather grows warmer as spring approaches, and I have a thicker cloak than the other brethren," Sydney continued. "My followers insisted. I have no need of a blanket tonight."

"Oh." If that was all he meant, Hardin was relieved. "Then... thank you." The words sounded so small and petty in his ears, much too small to encompass everything Sydney had done for him. "Lord Sydney..."

Sydney gave a small chuckle. "You are not even a follower of mine, much less a servant. Just Sydney, please."

"Sydney, then." Hardin hesitated, trying to think of how to phrase it. "If you can read my heart, you know that the idea frightens me, but..."

"Yes, Hardin. I know. And you are welcome."

It was strange - Hardin had only talked to Sydney for a short time, but despite the disturbing beginning of their talk, already he found himself severely impressed with him. By appearance, he'd have judged Sydney as being quite young, likely no more than twenty or twenty-one, but he possessed more than his peculiar charm and obvious power to draw people to him. Hardin wondered vaguely what his story was. How did one so young come to possess such wisdom and graciousness?

"Perhaps someday," Sydney said dryly, getting to his feet. "It is late, and you are tired. Doubtless the brethren have all retired by now, as we have come far, and we set out again tomorrow before mid-day. Again, you're welcome to join us."

"I just may agree to that." Even if it did give him chills to know that Sydney - and others - could hear his thoughts, the idea of a few more warm meals appealed to him.

Later, as he lay in the darkness wrapped in Sydney's blanket, he realized something else he'd been missing besides meals and shelter. Before he drifted off to sleep, he lay awake, simply listening to the sounds of the brethren breathing around him as they slumbered. He'd been alone for so long, he hadn't remembered that there was another way to feel.