Fushigi Yuugi Fan Fiction ❯ Ateratraatrum Noxnoctis ❯ Chapter 7 ( Chapter 7 )

Ateratraatrum Noxnoctis

Chapter 7

In the quietude of a church, a lone monk moved about the monastery. His hair was very scarce, as he kept it very short. The only things that off set the brush cut of his hair was the trailing pony tail in the back and his long, gravity defying bangs that hung in his face. His bangs hid a scar on the monk's face. It was faded but still notable.

Stopping at the dais of the altar, staring up at the Gothic altarpiece, the monk brushed his fingers through his hair. He then clasped his hands in prayer form. His lips moved, no sound filtered out as he mouthed the words to a Latin prayer.

He paused, looking up. 'There's danger no da. Something's going to happen, no da, I sense it. What it is, I cannot say. But it will happen, so no da. Sadly, I have no way of reporting it to any of the others no da.'

Sighing morosely, the monk wandered out to his small office where he found his cage with the carrier pigeons cooing. He nodded at them and took out his quill and wrote down a message. It was short and brief. He feared it wouldn't land in the hands of one of the fourteen Seishi. He didn't care if it came into the possession of the Seiryuu Seishi. Actually, he would rather it go to the Suzaku or one of the five human Seiryuu warriors.

Removing a carrier pigeon from the cage, he attached the note to the bird's ankle. Once it was securely fastened, he walked to the double paned windows and thrust them open. Holding up his hands that held the bird, he released it.

As he watched his fly away, he whispered, "bring it to one who I can trust, no da."

His hand touched his age-old scar. He had no notion as how he had got it. All he had were vague illusions of a tainted past where he had killed those that had meant something to him and watched his true love abandon him because of something as simple as a kiss. He sighed plaintively.

He had an awareness of the presence of memories that plagued him. But, the monk chose to ignore them. He thought them to be the temptation of the devil trying to lure him into sin.

~~~~

1942

It was the dawning of a New Year. It was the next year in the nasty prolonged war that spanned over the globe as a whole. In Europe, the struggle between the Axis and the Allies persisted, with no lift-up in the intensity of the battle. On the other side of the world, in the Pacific Ocean, the Empire of Japan battled against the awakened giant: America.

Jeremiah had spend the last day of the fateful year trying to convince his regiment captain, Captain Andreas to transfer him to home front duty. The captain had blatantly laughed in his face when the prospect had been proposed, but backed down realising that the boy now had backbone.

He had gave the boy a twisted smirk, dismissing him from duty. As the second class private turned to leave after saluting his superior, his wrist was seized and the captain pulled the boy in. The stood, just face to face. The cold, piercing blue eyes of the captain stared down knowingly into the fearful deep blue ones of Jeremiah.

"Just as weak as before, Amiboshi. This is just like before. You tried to weasel out of the mission to go to Konan-koku. It was because of that miserable little brother of yours. He thought he was being protective of you. If you can recall; think back. Remember how you foiled the summoning of Suzaku? The feeling of victory. You escaped from the others and helped bring Kutou victory.

"This is also the same. You're fighting for America; you're not fighting for yourself, you're fighting for the freedom of all Americans and people everywhere. Once more, that bratty brother of yours sticks his nose where he doesn't belong. Now you try to get out of this.

"Very nice, I'm amazed." Sarcasm dripped from his voice. "You can prove just how much of a yellow-backed, spineless jellyfish you are by doing this."

He smiled, his lips twisted into a nasty smirk. "You can skip duty. Why resign, I'll personally be happy to write up your discharge private."

Jeremiah shivered at the words of his captain. He had only a vague recollection of what Nakago had been like. The conduct of this captain chilled him to the bone. The man was a mould of the shogun.

His eyes narrowed, but he didn't pull his wrist from the captain's grip for it was much of a vice. Instead, he scathingly countered, "do you really think I give a flying damn what you think? I didn't care before and I don't care now. Write up the bloody discharge and see if I give a flying damn, Captain!"

"You will when the dishonourable discharge tarnishes your reputation. You're gutless, you have no backbone to fight for your country. Just like before. I'll dismiss you, but don't count on acquiring home duties because consider this your dishonourable discharge for your lack of willingness to defend the weak." Captain Andreas hissed softly in reply. His lips were gnarled into a nasty smirk as he spoke.

"I have done nothing of sorts to deserve a dishonourable discharge, captain." Jeremiah seethed in reply through tightly clenched teeth.

"A pass at your commanding officer is what you've done, Second Class Private Dallas." The captain replied without missing a beat. At that, he brought the young man's mouth to his, pressing his mouth down. Releasing the youth, he walked away, back to his desk. "Such misconduct on the part of the private."

"Misconduct?!" Misconduct?!" Jeremiah stared hatefully at the captain, as he couldn't believe the man could get away with tarnishing his reputation just because he didn't wish to sacrifice his life on the battle field of Europe. He was aghast with shock from the whole thing. It was revolting.

"Such behaviour would destroy faith in the American armed forces, the navy and the air force. We cannot allow it." Captain Andreas sneered in reply, the same quirked smirk on his face as he plucked his pen from his desk, touching the inked tip to a piece of paper he had extracted from his files in order to do the write-up.

"I demand to be court martial based on your wild allegations, sir. I want justice done." Jeremiah replied, keeping himself composed. This couldn't be happening. He didn't need the notice of a discharge to taint the rest of his life.

"You demand? It doesn't work like that son. However, I will forgo writing up this report if you," glancing up with just his piercing, chillingly indifferent blue eyes, the captain offered, "if you demonstrate backbone, pick up the damned Carbine Calibre Rifle and go fight on the western front like a man! But if you persist in this childish behaviour, then I have no choice but to discharge you. The army is for men, not wimpy pansies, Dallas."

"That's blackmail, sir. I'm still not leaning in. It won't work this time, guilt isn't a vice for me any more. I know my twin is fine, so I won't be manipulated by you." Jeremiah saluted his superior officer, before turning on his heel to leave the office. In hand he had held a letter. It was his letter of resignation from the United States Army.

He dropped it on the receptionist's desk. She had left for a break. So, he left it there for her to pass on when she returned. He then left the building without a further word, not giving a damn if he did indeed get a negative write-up and a dishonourable discharge. It wouldn't affect him. He could find work here and not have a tarnished reputation because of allegations that he made a pass at his commanding officer.

Departing from the building, Jeremiah felt a boast of self-confidence. He hadn't felt it before. Maybe he had been a spineless jellyfish before his encounter with the captain, but it all changed. He had learnt he wasn't really an orphan; he was just missing his family due to a huge mistake.

He could survive, he had what mattered to him, his twin. The one person in the world that understood him without having to ask or wonder. That was relishing; it was reassuring. It gave him a place in this forsaken world where the weak were tossed out into the cold to wither and die, or vainly struggle to endure.

Brushing his loose hanging bangs from his face, Jeremiah sighed thoughtfully. He now had way too much time on his hands. He wouldn't be involved in any military activity, so what did people do for fun here? Drinking, brawling and courting all seemed big. Menial labour if you were Catholic was also big. Granted, his view was somewhat narrowed given that he had only been in Ireland for a month.

He paused at the gates. He didn't want to return to the flats because then he would have nothing to do all day. He also didn't want to join his brother. Fighting was what he wanted to avoid and he got out of battling in the war for that reason, so it would do him no good to take up arms in a civil battle. He could roam down, but then there was the chance of being arrested on the charge of itinerancy.

How he loathed his lack of choices. There were so few for him to choose from. He then decided he could always seek out work. No matter what he did in terms of work, it would still constitute as not being military involvement, even if he was to try and find work in an ammunition factory as a labourer. There were the docks; men were always looking for young, strong men to help with the haul.

With his hands jammed deeply into the pockets of his jacket that was open, he trudged along, his shoed foot scraping the ground. The soles were somewhat worn, but he didn't care. He had worse problem to contend with. Finding work was his main goal for the time being. He didn't want to burden his twin with being the one t acquire all the income, he felt a certain responsibility to pull his load.

'Well, this is my life. Some life. I'm not piddling around the streets of downtown Dublin in search of work. I am such a loser; I'm like so not cat's pyjamas!' Jeremiah groused, walking along. He ignored the gaggle of idiots that milled around him.

He stopped shortly at a small music shop at the end of a street. It appeared to sell vinyl albums and instruments. It had a small sign asking for a clerk with some musical background. He studied the sign for a minute, saddened that he hadn't had the chance in this life to pursue the flute.

He quickly moved from the shop front. He would try tomorrow when he would break up over something he regretted not having been able to have done. He pushed the threatening tears back. He wouldn't let them come forth and betray his emotions. He kept them in his protective shell as he had for many years.

His brother was the only one he showed his emotions to. He couldn't hide anything from his twin' his brother saw past his mask. It was a vain, futile effort to deceived his twin.

He stopped. Leaning against a tree, Jeremiah hugged himself, feeling empty for a moment as he thought about the night he and his brother had gone out. His twin had literally swept a young woman off her feet and now she was all for him. He felt notably jealous, fearing that what happened between him and his brother was fleeting.

A silent sob escaped him. Maybe he had been too much of a dreamer to hope that he could live with his twin in deception. He wanted to be the way they were. Behind closed doors they hurt no one. But he feared the repercussions of Chelsea's infatuation with his twin. He feared the chance that his brother would come to love her as she did with him. It was only a petty crush on her part and courtesy on the part of his twin.

'But what if it becomes more?' Jeremiah didn't heed the randomly falling tears that rolled down his cheeks. He only felt his internal conflict. He knew what he felt for his brother and clung to the shanty hope that his twin felt the same. He had been under the illusion that Séamus did feel the same as he did. That's what he believed, especially given that his brother acted in the way that he had hoped for.

He gazed up at the setting sun and colourful sky. He had to find a way to make sure he didn't lose his twin. He desperately needed his brother, more than he could ever imagine.

~~~~

Sighing, Aimée gazed out the window at the horizon. It was another year she had been here and another she had been unable to contact her family. It saddened her greatly. She didn't know how her mother and father fared. She wondered about the possible disposition of her younger sister. She feared what the Germans would have done to her home. Would it have been plundered? Was her family killed, or were they alive and well, trying to contact her? She wished to know if her mail was being screened…

How she wanted so many questions answered that went unanswered as she looked out the window. She paused in her observation, her eyes catching sight of a carrier pigeon that had landed on her windowsill. Thrusting the windows open, she scooped up the bird in question, taking the creature in hand.

Its feathers felt so soft against her skin. She nuzzled her cheek against it, listening to the creature coo. Pulling back, she noticed the note tied to the bird's ankle. Gingerly untying the string that held it in place, she removed it, placing the bird down on her bed.

She gazed at the note. It hadn't been written in an unfamiliar vernacular. It was scripted in the universal language of Latin. She could read it, but her written wasn't so great. She bit her lip as she read.

'Something's going to happen? I doubt if this note indicates anything relating to the war. I should try and find out more.'

Aimée sat at her desk, taking out her quill. She then dipped the tip in the inkwell on her desk. Daintily she touched the nib to the parchment she had in front of her. Her cursive was tidy and tiny. Carefully she wrote down her reply, hoping parts would dry as she wrote.

She was unable to script properly in Latin, so she prayed that the person who had sent her this, or rather, the person who was trying to find someone to warn, could read French. She wrote it down quickly, but not fast as to make an error.

"Cher monsieur,

J'ai reçu votre avertissement. Qu'est-ce vous crainte? Je sais que ce ne peut pas être la guerre, pour cela seul est le plus effrayant. A-t-il quelque chose à faire avec les dieux des cieux, ou les étoiles du destin? S'il vous plaît expliquez. Pour maintenant, je puis seulement correspondre à vous par l'intermédiaire du pigeon voyageur.

Sincèrement,

Aimée"

* I received your warning. What is it you fear? I know it cannot be the war, for that alone is most fearsome. Does it have anything to do with the gods of the heavens, or the stars of destiny? Please do explain. For now, I can only correspond with you via carrier pigeon.

Once she signed off the response with a flourish to her script, she gingerly picked up the letter, softly blowing on it, hoping to dry the ink so it would dry quickly. Dabbing a finger on the ink, she sighed, for some had come off on her pale digit. She tried to air dry it more before she attached it to the pigeon's ankle, sending it out the window.

No words crossed her lips as she leaned on the windowsill, watching the departing carrier pigeon return her note to the mysterious person. All she knew was that the writer was a monk. That was it. She wished she knew more.