Fan Fiction ❯ Burning Bridges ❯ Ancient Bonds are Breaking... ( Chapter 6 )

The next thing Hardin was aware of was light. Not the vague, magical light he expected for some reason he couldn't recall, but a natural light. It was dim, certainly, but the glow he could see through his closed eyelids was familiar in its flickering, and he felt warmed by it. As sensation began to return to his body, he found himself to be covered with something heavy and soft, lying on a surface that was firm but yielding. Again, it seemed that this was not what he'd been expecting, but he couldn't think where else he'd have fallen asleep except in bed.

Drowsily, he turned onto his side and pulled the blanket with him, and was oddly startled that he felt no pain. He seemed to remember something terrible happening to him, but it must have been a nightmare, he decided with a yawn. At least it had not been the prison again - he was growing quite weary of those dreams.

He felt strangely disoriented though, and couldn't quite recall where he must have spent the night, and so he opened his eyes - only to have all the memories rushing back as he recognized the man sitting at his bedside. The celebration, the silk scarf, the strange vision and the child - that demonic child who had taken the form of his dear brother! Sydney looked up at the sudden pause in Hardin's breathing, his eyes as distant as ever. "Good morning, Hardin."

With a start, he realized that beneath the blankets, he wasn't wearing the clothes Sydney had purchased on his behalf, but only his undergarments and an ill-fitting shirt which was too loose in the shoulders. He had been drunk, yes, but not that drunk, he told himself firmly. Not even if he'd almost... Gods, Sydney hadn't done it again, had he?

"Don't be ridiculous," Sydney told him. "Your wounds were severe when they found you, and your shirt was drenched in your blood. We had to change you into something, once I'd healed you. Not that it was an easy task, considering how you allowed yourself to be so thoroughly tricked by the Quicksilver." He shook his head distastefully. "Cursed dolls possessed by the spirits of children long-dead, vanquished by the plague which ravaged the city a century ago... so named for their habit of projecting the form of those they see in their victims' minds. They usually do not trouble those who have been touched by the Dark in such a way, however, for we can see them for what they are with little effort." His shrewd gaze made Hardin uncomfortable, as he looked up to him again. "Hardin, you have been obsessing. It is time that you let him go."

Hardin's eyes narrowed dangerously. "That is none of your business, Losstarot. Especially not after what you did last night. Even if you did heal my wounds, I have no intention of speaking to you about Philip - nor anything else."

Leaning forward, Sydney transfixed him where he lay with a mere look. "A pity," he said in a low, dangerous voice. "For there is much we must talk about - and I do not speak of your brother."

Unable to break away from that cold stare, Hardin was as helpless as he'd been the night before when Sydney had tried to seduce him. This time, however, he felt nothing but outrage. "You may be able to compel me, to put thoughts in my head and force my body to your whims, but do not fool yourself into thinking I am yours. I am my own, Losstarot - my soul belongs to none but myself, as much as you may twist it!"

Hardin had expected Sydney to become angry, but to his surprise, the mage bowed his head slightly, breaking off the eye contact. Something in the way his shoulders sagged gave Hardin the impression of something he wouldn't have expected at all from Sydney: contrition.

"I suppose that would be as good a place as any to start, would it not?" the mage said softly. "Hardin, I know my behavior last night was... reprehensible. I would explain myself by admitting I'd had a few glasses of wine, that I was not entirely sober, but that does not excuse what I did. I knew that you also had had a bit too much, and I took advantage of that..." His metal hands folded in his lap, Sydney stared down at them dismally. "Hardin, I offer you my sincerest apologies. I had no right to do such a thing."

Caught up as he was in his outrage, even these soft words were not enough to assuage Hardin's anger, though they caused him to smile with bitter satisfaction. "Then we agree that I had every right to strike you."

Sydney's eyes shot up to look at him in surprise, as one hand rose absently to finger his chin, where Hardin's fist had struck. Suddenly a smile crossed his lips, and Sydney began to laugh. "Does you find this amusing?" Hardin demanded.

Sydney shook his head slightly, still chuckling to himself. "Only you, John Hardin. Only you would have the nerve to strike me."

"Hmmph." For some odd reason, Sydney's words pleased him, and he couldn't suppress a chuckle either. "I suppose I can forgive you for this one episode, but.... gods!" The gravity of what had transpired suddenly returned to Hardin, and his smile vanished. "Thanks to you and your blasted compulsion, I could have died out there, Sydney! If you ever so much as look at me with the merest idea of seduction in your head again-"

Sydney's smile vanished at the accusation. "I may have taken advantage of your addled mind, but not to the degree you seem to think,"he interrupted, his face suddenly cold. "I swear to you by the gods - and seeing as I believe, unlike you, it is not an oath I will take lightly - I swear that I did not compel you! I tempted and teased, yes, but your reaction was wholly your own."

"You expect me to believe that?" Hardin shot back. "I nearly kissed you - and as absurd as it is, for a moment I even believed that I wanted to! If not your compulsion, what other explanation is there?"

"The most obvious," Sydney replied coolly. "Deep down, so buried beneath excuses and denial that even you do not recognize it... you are attracted to me, Hardin. Many emotions go unnoticed within a man's heart."

"Ridiculous!"

"When inhibitions are lowered, due to an excess of drink, perhaps," Sydney continued, ignoring Hardin's outburst, "sometimes they make themselves known. But it is not as if these feelings of yours have never surfaced before, is it? The night before our arrival, when you held me; during the dance last night..."

"Due to your manipulation," Hardin said firmly.

Sydney shook his head. "If you will not believe my words," he said softly, "then find the answer within yourself. Look at me, Hardin. Look at me, and search your heart for the truth instead of running from it, as you have been."

Hardin hesitated. If it would put this business to rest once and for all, then... "And how am I to know you won't try another of your tricks?"

"I swear that I will do nothing." Settling himself back in the chair, Sydney closed his eyes. "If it will put your mind at ease, I will not so much as look at you."

"As if I can trust you to keep your word," Hardin muttered. He knew firsthand how people could lie without the blink of an eye to betray them, no matter what they swore by. Sydney frowned slightly, but said nothing, and Hardin took a deep breath. If Sydney spoke truly, then everything would be fine. If he lied... then Hardin would know. Another thing about people's lies - they always revealed themselves eventually.

It was absurd, of course, Hardin thought as he let his eyes wander over Sydney's face. He didn't even know what he was looking for, much less how to find it. Search your heart, Sydney had said, and Hardin tried to relax as he turned his thoughts inward.

Sydney's closed eyes gave him a look of distant serenity, and Hardin was reminded again of the weeping angel statue he had likened the mage to as he lay sleeping. But this time, the flickering firelight gave a warm glow to his cheek, and Hardin's eyes followed the perfect curve down to Sydney's small mouth. Pale and delicate as they were, his lips gave him a deceptively gentle look, though Hardin knew very well just how dangerous he was. His eyes traced the lines and contours of Sydney's cheek down to the stubborn chin, the slight arrogance to be found in the way the mage held his head - that matter-of-fact arrogance that made him so irritating and yet so fascinating. His pale hair obscured the side of his face, and Hardin found himself wanting to brush it aside as his eyes traversed the graceful line of Sydney's jaw. He caught himself about to lift a hand, to reach out to do just that, and started when he realized just how much he wanted to do so.

He could vividly remember the feel of Sydney's hair against his cheek, the night he'd held him, and other recollections surfaced as well. The slight weight of the mage's body, the way his arms had encompassed Sydney's smaller frame so completely, the soft warmth of his skin... Suddenly it was nearly a tangible struggle for Hardin not to reach out to push the mage's hair away from his face; the mere idea that his fingers might brush against that skin nearly overwhelmed him with longing. He should not have thought of that, he realized, for it led to thoughts of other things - running his hand along Sydney's cheek, Sydney's head turning ever so slightly to take a wandering finger between his lips...

The mental image was so vivid that Hardin caught his breath, though he couldn't determine whether it was from the picture's sensuality or the shock of discovering that he did in fact want it terribly. "Lies!" Hardin exclaimed, shaken by the realization. "You must have planted these thoughts in my mind yourself! I've no doubt you could and would do such a thing."

Sydney's eyes fluttered open again, and he gave a weary sigh. "Honestly, Hardin... if I was going to do such a thing, why would I have not simply forced your will to suit my purposes already? And we would not be having this conversation if I had."

In frustration, Hardin gave the only answer he could think of. "I don't know!"

"Exactly," Sydney said gently. "There is no reason for me to do so."

Hardin let his head drop, taking it between his hands in dismay. Gods... it wasn't just his imagination. He really did want Sydney.

"You fight against it so hard," he heard Sydney saying, almost sympathetically. "As if it was something to be feared or despised... Is it because, perhaps, you are more religious than you think? Or is it just that it was the last thing about your former life that you believed was still true? Yes... Everything you once had, everything you once could hold fast to in your life has turned to dust, has it not? Your family, your allegiances, your reputation... everything except yourself. And if even you have changed-"

"Sydney..." His head still in his hands, Hardin took some comfort in the fact that Sydney couldn't not see the tears his words brought to his eyes. "Please... no more. I've admitted it already - what more do you want from me?"

"Acceptance," came Sydney's gentle reply. "Not for my sake, but for your own. A man cannot be anything but what he is, not without a great deal of suffering - a fire to reforge him. The easiest path to peace lies in simply accepting these feelings, and moving ahead with your life." There was a pause, and from the sound of Sydney shifting in his seat, Hardin got the impression Sydney had started to reach out and lay a hand on his shoulder as he had in the past, then thought better of it and refrained, for which Hardin was grateful. "Granted, it will take some time. That was my transgression last night - I thought to bring you to acceptance before you were ready. But..." There was a soft sigh. "You do not wish to speak of this anymore. I understand, and I promise you this: I will not bring the matter up again, through words or actions. After what came of it last night... I owe you as much."

Of all the things Hardin would have expected of Sydney, this was not among them. "...Thank you," he managed to say.

"Then this discussion is finished." Sydney hesitated. "Besides, there is another more urgent matter we must discuss, though I fear it will sit no better with you."

Sydney's serious tone made Hardin uneasy, though the uneasiness at least took his mind off his confused emotions, and he could be somewhat grateful for that. He looked up again to see that Sydney's face had gone distant and resolute again.

"By this time, you already know much of the powers possessed by myself and the brethren," Sydney began, folding his hands in his lap. "Though some of the things we do are taught, spells and incantations, each man is born with certain innate talents. We may say that these gifts are bestowed upon us by the Dark, but that is not entirely the case; the Dark simply allows a man to access these gifts, and amplifies them. It is a force of nature, though even the Dark itself denies its own existence - you could say that it is more an absence of existence. When touched by its emptiness, certain barriers within a man's mind are worn away, releasing the abilities he was given from birth. When your friend Padric was touched, he found that he was able to read hearts. Duncan could reform a man's perceptions for a few moments at a time. Kermiak has the ability to levitate small objects. As unnatural as these things may sound, they are not alien to a normal man in the least."

Sydney paused then, his expression still impassive, and Hardin watched him curiously, wondering why Sydney was lecturing him on the brethren's mysteries at such a time.

"The Dark runs strong here within Leá Monde," Sydney said finally, "and last night, it found you. You have been baptized into the Dark just as the brethren and I, Hardin."

Chills ran down Hardin's spine, and he stared at Sydney for a moment before reacting. Soon enough, he found that he didn't know how to react. He certainly didn't feel any different than he had before, or as if he were lacking something. On the contrary, he felt much more whole and healthy than he had for as long as he could remember; no doubt it was the magic that had healed him, leaving no trace of his injuries. "Are you certain?" he asked cautiously.

Sydney nodded, very slowly. "Look around you."

Hardin did so, and his eyes widened. Beside Sydney's chair was a small round table, holding a book, a candle, and a metal goblet, slightly dented as if by some great impact. His eyes went to the fireplace across the room, before which was a thin rug. He would have leapt up to investigate the wall beside it if not for his state of undress, but even from his place in the bed he could see the faint dark residue where the wine had not been completely washed away, and the shallow marks in the stone where Sydney's fist had struck.

"Slowly, Hardin!"

Sydney's harsh words had a similar effect to having a bucket of cold water thrown on him, and Hardin snapped upright in alarm, feeling strangely dizzy and numb all of a sudden. It only lasted a moment before it passed, and then he discovered he couldn't make out the marks upon the wall any longer. "What madness is this?"

"It appears as though you have a very rare and useful gift," Sydney replied. "You are able to view distant people or places - or scrye, as we often refer to the sight of the spirit rather than the sight of the eyes - without your body being present. Just a moment ago, you wanted to examine the wall, and so you unconsciously reached out with an extension of your spirit to approach it. Last night, your mind must have been preoccupied with what I had done, to send that extension of yourself to this very room in search of me."

"Gods," Hardin breathed, astonished. "Then it wasn't a dream, or a hallucination. I really saw..." The implications of this - that he was a sorcerer just as the brethren were, and not by his choosing - suddenly struck him, and he swallowed hard against the sudden tightness in his throat. "How did this come to pass, Sydney?"

The mage gave him a slightly reproving look. "I told you long ago to heed my warnings, no matter the situation, lest it bring trouble down upon your own head. This is such an instance - the reason I forbade you to venture beyond the areas held by Müllenkamp was to guard against this. Within Leá Monde, the Dark is far stronger than usual, and with none living to sustain it here for the last twenty years, it will feed upon whatever it finds. And the Dark is drawn to the scent of blood. Mind you, it is not evil any more than the cat that feeds upon the mouse."

Drawn to blood... Hardin remembered the voices laughing in the sound of the wind, urging the demon child on as it tortured him, and could not suppress a shiver.

"I suppose you were not solely to blame," Sydney added. "It was the wounds on your face that first drew their interest, though it would have come upon you eventually whether you were injured or not. That is, if the many inhabitants of Leá Monde had not killed you first. There dwell far stronger creatures than the Quicksilver in the undercity, and when my followers could not find you within the keep, I..." He hesitated, then rose abruptly to go and kneel before the fireplace, prodding at the burning logs with a poker. "When they could not find you," he continued after a moment, "I thought you might already have perished. And then, when you called my name across the planes, I was certain it was your shade who had spoken."

Hardin could vividly recall the look on Sydney's face after Jonas and Morrison had gone, the expression of absolute horror that had overtaken him when Hardin had addressed him. Incredible - Sydney actually would have been upset if he had died. In light of Sydney's first revelation, though, that realization gave him little pleasure, but instead disturbed him.

"Let us not dwell on that sort of thought," Sydney told him, still occupying himself with the fire, though Hardin could see perfectly well that it needed no tending at the moment. "In the past few minutes, you have learned of two new aspects of yourself, but the one we speak of now is more important by far. You are but an infant in this power, and if you stay with us, I will guide you. I would not be more to you than a teacher - that I promise."

"And if I choose to leave you, as I decided last night?" A pointless question, and Hardin knew it. After what had happened the night before, he had no intention of trying to leave the city alone again, even if he hadn't decided to accept Sydney's apology. Besides, this strange new power he possessed... could he master it on his own?

"If you choose to leave, perhaps you will live a normal life, never manifesting this power again," Sydney replied, turning to face him again. "Perhaps. But on the other hand, perhaps some emotion will catch you off guard, or your curiosity will cause your gift to manifest without your will as it did a moment ago. If that happens, and you have not yet learned how to remain partially in your normal state of consciousness, it could cause you a great deal of difficulty. And if the wrong person is to witness such an episode, you could end up burned at the stake by the cardinal's ignorant followers."

"For this?" The thought apalled Hardin. "For an ability I never asked for, that I stumbled upon by accident?"

"As I said, they are ignorant. You cannot fault them for it, though; you were as ignorant as they only weeks ago, were you not?" Not waiting for an answer, he gestured towards the end of the bed. "There is a chest containing clothes you can wear until yours are cleaned and mended. I will leave you now so that you may dress. Once you have eaten, seek me out, and I will begin teaching you what you should know. Please do try to refrain from scrying until then - it is not dangerous, exactly, but it might cause you some... confusion."

Of course Sydney would know that he'd already made up his mind. "I suppose I must thank you yet again," Hardin said as Sydney went to the door. "Ironic... but you did apologize, and I suppose that's as much as you can do."

Sydney paused, then turned back to him for a moment. "One last thing you should know, Hardin," told him. "I did use my compulsion last night, but not upon you. Many among the brethren would have gladly watched you die at the hands of the Quicksilver, and perhaps joined in, after seeing you strike me."

So that was why Jonas and Morrison had changed their minds so abruptly. Still... "It seems ruthless, that you should use such a power to lie to so many people."

"It was for your safety," Sydney said firmly. "Would you rather have had a large number of the brethren shun and perhaps even attempt to harm you? Would you rather have had them muddy their souls with anger when they looked upon you?"

Hardin frowned, frustrated. It still didn't seem right to him, to force lies upon the innocent, even if it caused more good in the long run than harm.

"Not all of the followers witnessed our... exchange," Sydney continued. "And though Padric did, he bore no anger towards you; as all heartseers, he possesses a great deal of insight, and he understood your actions. After he had brought you back with Jonas and Morrison, and you were safely healed, the two of us formulated an acceptable alternative for them to believe - that you and he had engaged in a drunken quarrel over some trivial matter, and that was why you had left. After we had agreed upon the story, I planted it in the minds of those who had witnessed the actual events. Padric insisted that I compel him to believe the lie as well, lest he accidentally expose the truth."

Hardin was impressed - placing the blame on one's own self was one thing, but he couldn't imagine willingly consenting to having his memories malformed in such a way. "I'll be certain to thank him. And apologize for our argument," he added.

Sydney smirked slightly. "You catch on quickly, Hardin. I hope you will be as quick when it comes to mastering the Dark."

The clothes in the chest fit much better than the shirt he was wearing, Hardin discovered after Sydney had gone - probably Aryn's again. While putting on the fresh shirt, he glanced down and noted with surprise that there was not so much as a scar left of the wound the Quicksilver had given him. His wounded leg seemed to function perfectly normally as well; no trace remained of his injuries, aside from memories of the pain, and even those had faded fast with no physical remnant. In fact, he felt not even the slightest ill effects from the night's drinking. If the Dark could do such things, perhaps it was not so bad that he'd been exposed to it, he thought ruefully.

But to be a sorcerer... Hardin found that he had to sit down again for a moment when the thought actually sank in. He may have been with the brethren for weeks already, and accepted those powers among their number, but superstition had been bred into him for over two decades. He didn't care so much what others might have done, but when it had manifested in his own life...

It was not unlike the other matter. Hardin had thought no less of Sydney for his male consorts, for that had no effect on his own person. He'd long ago ceased to care what St. Iocus' followers said about such things, for he didn't believe in their blessed saint anyway, and Sydney and his choice of lovers hurt no one. But he'd never had cause to consider it as an issue in his life until now, and he found that it frightened him. Certainly he could put those feelings behind him, and simply be an ordinary man, with ordinary desires...

An ordinary man who could magically see what was happening far away, even through walls? Hardin shook his head with a grim smile. It was better to think about that, he decided - far less disturbing.

There was an element of obvious bias to his fear of the Dark besides, and where there was bias, it could be dissuaded with logic. He had not worshipped any demons, had he? He'd never tried to use such a power before, for personal gain or otherwise, and he had no intention of using it to harm anyone, even if he could somehow. The reports of Iocus' followers were certainly false, if he'd done none of these things and was still capable of using the power the Dark had given him.

That argument made him feel a great deal better, at least for the time being, and he repeated it to himself a few more times, trying to make certain that he truly believed it, before he stood to go to breakfast.

On the way to the dining hall, Hardin found Padric waiting for him, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. The tall man looked up at the sound of his footsteps. "Well met, Hardin. Sydney passed by a short time ago, so I knew you must have awakened. I... wanted to talk to you, about last night."

Hardin nodded. "About that, Padric... I owe you much." More than the man even knew, he thought to himself.

Padric shook his head. "If we had not argued, you never would have thought to leave, and found yourself in such a terrible situation."

It was just like Padric, to take the blame for something he hadn't even done. "No apologies are necessary," Hardin assured the man. "Surely you are not the only one who argued - nor are you the one who foolishly left the safety of the Keep, despite Sydney's warnings. Besides, I'm told that you were one of those who brought me back to safety."

The tension left Padric's face at Hardin's words, and he smiled. "It was the least I could do. Why, I do not even remember what we quarreled over, but certainly it could not have been enough to be worth your life."

"I can't recall what it was about myself," Hardin chuckled. Of course, that was because their argument had never taken place at all, he thought with vague amusement, careful to cloak his thoughts as Padric had taught him weeks before. "It's just as well - if neither of us can recall what happened, it will be that much easier to forget it happened at all. No lasting damage has come to either of us, so let us leave it in the past."

"Yes, let's," Padric agreed, accepting Hardin's offered hand. "You're a gracious man, Hardin."

Not nearly as gracious as you, Hardin thought as they shook.