Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Eternal Series ❯ Eternal Are The Summons ( Chapter 6 )

Warnings: Mild language, graphic depiction of injuries, pedophilia implications

Disclaimer: All myths/legends, rituals, places, vampire characteristics, etc. are true in that they have existed in small bits here and there through life. None of the things are "historically" or anything else accurate beyond that.

Eternal Are The Summons

I'd forgotten how the moon could really look in a clear and starry night sky, no pollution hovering in the air to make it dull and lifeless, no lights to blind the eyes and dim the stars. I shouldn't be so awed, I've seen the moon up close, seen how it truly is, and yet despite that or perhaps for that fact I can't help but look up at the glowing orb in the sky with an infantile wonder.

You're settled nearby, assembling a complete mission outline from the bits and pieces of the others' stuff. It was surprising to find the appropriate access links for the laptop, in such an out of the way, old life kind of place, but I'm quite suspect of the entire situation to begin with so this makes me no more uneasy. Not like a trap per se, but it does have this feel that I don't like, a general overall wrongness that has my instincts screaming for me to get as far away from here as I can. Necessity, honor, obligation, something keeps me here, some part of me that is still distinctly human. And you.

I can see you in the reflection of the glass, hunched diligently over that laptop, working away with the occasional glance my way. I stay here because you're here, because in all the time I've known you you've never been one to abandon a mission unless it absolutely necessary to do so. Silly of me, to want to hover and protect. You've been doing these things since before I met you, and had fate played itself differently you'd be doing them long after we parted ways. You certainly haven't changed. But I have, I've changed, become something better, stronger, quicker, smarter, something I can't help but feel you envy, that you want to be, something that you draw ever closer and something you may feel the need to push away for those same reasons.

Ah, a melancholy train of thought there. The atmosphere I'd say, and not just the heat and startling humidity pressing in on all sides, barely beaten back by the noisy air conditioner in the corner of the room. There's something about this place, as steeped in magic and power as it is. I can't help but feel by even being here we're stirring up things better left in the dust, buried beneath decades, perhaps even centuries of dirt.

Somewhere in the distance a dim light flickers and goes out. I sigh and fold my arms over the top of the chair, looking out into the dark night. There's an almost purple haze hanging over things. You noticed it earlier, happening to glance out the window. Odd, I hadn't seen it until you pointed it out, and then it was there when I looked as if it always had been. I think I'll ask Wufei about it tomorrow, if we have a moment to speak privately. I daresay he would know.

Inevitably my thoughts drift from the train they were moving in, scattering and regrouping in new formations. Curious I extend my senses outward, feeling more than anything else my surroundings I have not yet come to know. Quatre, the kind-hearted empath, is sharing a room with his silent companion Trowa. They seem to get along well, from what I gather, though admittedly I've seen very little of them.

Beyond that I sense Wufei, and his pulsing energy force is not as strong as I imagine it should be, not nearly as vibrant and rich as the others. A barrier comes crashing down between my curious questing and his activities and I pull myself back into the present, deciding I'm better off not knowing what ancient magicks he's practicing in his room tonight. He's a big boy; if he calls up some demon beast he should be able to handle it.

That thought makes me smile.

Finally I slide my senses through the room we're staying in, picking up the faint impression of a not too long ago talisman of some kind, most likely the kind they're so fond of putting over doors, and other normal things. The thought of the talisman directs my musing in more productive directions.

This place unsettles me. It's not a good unsettling, not quite a bad unsettling, but it's there nonetheless. I feel ties to this land, things in the very air, picking at my senses, calling something hidden inside up to the surface, beckoning the blood memories. In these days it's very rare to find a culture that still embraces the supernatural in the old forms, and even when they do the power behind it is weak, made less by belief and by simple natural biological and environmental changes. Here the power is still strong, strong enough to stir up my blood, draw out old memories, and stir up instincts long ago buried in favor of other things.

And why the wards over the doors? What could they possibly be trying to keep out? Visitors, like myself, or others? Travelers coming to this energy rich land? Something lurking in still unspoiled jungle and wild? This does not look like a town stalked, only a town wary.

Do they seek to keep out Asoc? What power is this creature, that sends the old man trembling, that appears in my visions and blood dreams, whose name slid so easily and with such familiarity from my lips? What is his tie to this land?

Or… -I almost tremble at the thought- are they seeking to keep something in with those wards? Seeking to hide something?

Warm arms, warm lips. I blink in surprise and my eyes refocus. I can see you in the reflection of the glass, your arms around me, lips pressing lightly, lingering, over the shoulder bared by my shirt.

"Am I interrupting something?" you whisper, hot breath stirring the loose hairs near the nape of my neck.

I strain to recapture my thoughts but they have drifted away somewhere in the inky purple sky, perhaps not to be reclaimed any time soon. Shaking my head I tilt my head back to look at you, just a little, and you give me that half smile that stirs my blood for entirely different reasons.

You drop another feather light kiss to my shoulder, move your lips to the nape of my neck, and I tilt my head forward, giving you access. It won't go much farther tonight, not here, not now. You're as uneasy with the surroundings as I am, just on a less conscious level. But we do have this; these small affections, these kisses and touches and tastes, and I do so love the way you look at me.

_____________

"Damn." I push the sunglasses up and rub my eyes, wondering if the sun is just that intense or if there's something here wearing me down more than usual. Wufei glances over, I can feel his eyes on my skin like cold fire, and then his attention has been fixed elsewhere.

"I second that." He chews lightly on his bottom lip, looking out over the gently sloping lands visible to him, then his eyes move to stare past me toward the great expanse of jungle we'll have to brave sooner or later. "I had some very weird dreams last night."

"Dream walking?"

He shakes his head. "No. I mean, I did do some dream walking, but these were just dreams. Odd though, not the usual sort, lots of blood and chanting and fires, screaming and yelling, reminded me of something but I can't recall what that might be at the moment. I know it was a ritual of some kind."

I push my sunglasses back into place and lean against the cool stone wall behind me, surveying the small town, more like a village, in the near distance. "Odd," I murmur, lifting the camera secured with a strap around my neck to my face. I snap a couple more pictures, wondering idly if the other three are doing any better nosing about for information. Certainly they'd have better luck than either Wufei or I would have, the freaks that we are.

"You fancy a walk through town?"

I let the camera drop, a solid weight against my chest, and spare a glance upward toward the cloudless sky before nodding. I can feel the energy of the place against my skin just like I can feel the heat, feel the humidity and dryness that seem to somehow coexist. A wry smile touches my lips at that thought. It has to be the energy, muddling my thoughts and dulling my senses, and yet, that's not right either, for my thoughts are sharper than ever and my senses farther reaching than I've ever known them to be.

"A conundrum, isn't it, this entire place?" Wufei shakes his head as if to dislodge a thought. "I can't decide if I'm coming or going. I put up wards last night around my room, to neutralize the energy, and it did wonders. This place…" he waves a hand around ineffectually, moving carefully along the path, eyes moving from me to the town ahead to me again continuously.

"It's almost like it's designed to keep gifted persons out."

"Or in," I add after a moment. I say it again, puzzling over the words, wondering where I'd heard them before.

"Or in?" Wufei actually stops to look at me, brow furrowed in thought.

"I don't know. It just… the thought occurred to me, but I can't hold onto it."

"Hmm…" He keeps his thoughts to himself, moving again along the path, and I follow.

It is unbearably hot here though, more so that I had figured it would be. How anyone could chant, dance, around a fire in this climate is beyond me. Ah, but in the dead of night, with the moon full above, darkness brings relief, the air takes on a chill.

I pause at that thought, certainly not my own, something buried in the blood, surfacing now because prompted in some way.

"Duo?"

"Huh?"

"You spaced out for a couple minutes. Are you okay?"

A couple minutes? I rub my forehead; irritably pushing damp bangs from my face. "Yeah, just a brief… bit of information, in response to a thought… What were you saying?"

"We're heading down the street, more a path if you ask me, toward Peridan's residence. It'll just be a couple minutes now. You notice anything odd about the houses?"

I look around, realizing we've been walking the streets, or paths as Wufei says, long enough to be a good deal into the place. The houses aren't exactly magazine material, of course, but like the rest of the place there's something oddly quaint and charming about their design, and something comforting about the sturdy quality they obviously posses.

And then I see it. Above a front door, rather innocent really, just perched in the corner like it had been at the little inn, the twigs and herbs tied with ribbon. Only here the ribbon is tied to another that slides along the top of the doorway, almost decoratively, and tied about another bundle at the other corner. A quick look reveals the windows are warded the same way, and at random intervals around the house there are these odd charms fixed in unobtrusive places.

I look to the next house, to the one before it, turn to look across the way. They're all like that.

"You would think someone would have mentioned this to you, at the very least," Wufei remarks dryly.

"You'd think."

Peridan's house is on the right, and Wufei gets a good look at it before I do. His response does nothing to comfort.

"Shit."

I echo the sentiment as I study the house. Not only are the doors and windows protected by the same bundles tied with ribbons just like the other places, but the wood of the doorframe, the window frames, have had symbols carved into them. They're ancient; I know that just from looking at them, very ancient, and symbols of great power. These have been treated in the same manner as they would have hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of years ago, the hollows of the carvings painted red, with blood I'd imagine, herbs thrown into the still fresh blood so they'd dry there. There are sticks crossed and bound with ribbon over each window, and I'd imagine over every possible opening.

Wufei touches my arm lightly. "Duo?"

"What do you make of this?" I manage, voice unsteady, perhaps even shocked, and maybe even a little frightened.

"I'm not sure. It's not… it's nothing I've ever practiced."

"No, it's not."

"You recognize it?"

Images dance before me, imposed over the house, the yard, the inviting background, moving so fast I barely can grasp anything from them. I move toward the house, only vaguely aware that Wufei is calling my name.

He touches my arm again, this time gripping lightly, not to hold me back, he's not foolish, not stupid, but to catch my attention.

"Is that a good idea?"

"Can't you feel it, Wufei?"

"Feel what?"

"It's there, it's calling me… They're not trying to keep something out, not at this house."

"But…" he trails off, recognizing it's useless to try and convince me otherwise. I hesitate at the front step up onto the porch, not so much from the talismans as from something internal.

I push ahead anyway, stepping up, laying a hand lightly on the rail along the side, and go no farther than that.

For a moment the world flashes into a startling clarity, so intense I feel each separate grain of the wood beneath my fingers, feel where it has been worn down, where it's smooth, where it's rough, the odd flakiness of dried blood.

Yes, dried blood, because I can smell it now too, old and unappealing, nothing of the tangy copper of vital, living, life giving blood. This has been shed, has lost its potency, yet continues to linger, the smell of it just hovering in the air, so deeply ingrained in wood and ground.

I can see the grains of the wood on the door; see the imperfections of the twigs and ribbon lacing the twigs, and again I'm struck with scent, this time vital and living and repugnant in it's existence and it's content, it being what it is, me being what I am, it serving it's purpose, and yet…

Thoughts are driven from my mind at the sounds crashing in on me, the soft chirp of insects I'd only noticed in passing before, the hum of some creature settled nearby, the wind rustling through leaves and blades of grass, the quiet murmur from within the house, the creak of a floorboard, a sigh somewhere not too distant.

And Wufei. I can smell him, that earthy scent that is so distinctly him, the sweetness and bitterness of his teas, the tang of his sweat, the copper of his blood, the musk of his body. And the feel, the heat and warmth and very mortality rising from him, the energy pulsing through his entire being, the ebb and flow and constant shift of simply him, all crashing into me. His taste, faint at the back of my mouth, a mix of everything that is him, from power to sweat to blood to skin. He's lucky I'm lost in the sensation, frozen in the moment, I'm so tempted to turn and take that wiry frame of his into my arms, to bury my teeth into his throat, feel the hot blood bubbling up from torn skin past my lips, into my mouth…

Images then, I'm lost again, an observer to another time, another night, another person.

He comes from the darkness, stumbling, whimpering softly, and falls against the steps. His clothes are torn and bloody, his body the same, flesh ripped right from bone, leaving the gleaming white of it to show through in the moonlight. Somehow he pushes that broken body up, leaving bloody handprints on the porch, clutches the railing, splinters sliding into already raw flesh.

He stumbles again, coughing up blood, grips the support beam to the porch, leans against it, so far in shock from the pain of his wounds he hardly notices the nails that dig into his flesh, the splinters and rough wood, the dirt and muck in his open wounds.

The door seems to be his goal, and he reaches for it, gripping the knob with hands that leave more blood prints. He can't get a grip on it and he wonders somewhere in his mind what's on the knob that's so hot and red that won't let him grip it as he should be able to.

He falls again, heavily onto the porch, and this time can't seem to haul himself back up, uselessly pawing unseeing at the door, leaving streaks of blood and other things better left unthought of. He's not really breathing, his lungs have all but collapsed, but that doesn't seem to matter anymore, he's running on something else that requires nothing of his weakened body but the will to continue.

His wife finds him there the next morning, lets out a scream, and he tries to raise a hand to show her he's okay, but it lays lifeless beside him. He watches through glassy dead eyes, until the sun has fully slipped over horizon and shines down cruelly on his mangled not quite corpse. The sun burns, hurts terribly, and he's tired, so he lets himself drift to sleep. He'll tell her he's okay when he wakes up, he decides.

I blink, trying to force my eyes to focus in the present, to see what's there and not once was. It's so hard, and the memory is still vivid, as if I relived it, while at the same time I was simply an observer, on the outside, feeling all he felt, but not quite connected to it.

It's the bond. The bond between maker and child.

Another image, a young man standing on this porch in the early morning, as the sun's fighting to rise in the sky. He turns to survey it, auburn hair fiery even in the weak sunlight, and then turns back to the old man standing uncertainly on the porch. Behind the man there are blood streaks on wood, blood prints on wood, and the aroma of not too long ago shed blood lingers almost sweetly on the dry air.

The young man, closer a boy of seventeen, maybe younger, throws his head back and laughs, the sound the sweet chiming of a thousand bells, and in the light flash the dangerous tips of fangs. The old man looks away, unable to stare directly at the person before him.

Murmured words, another laugh, and he reaches out to lightly touch the old man's face, drawing his eyes up, a twisted tenderness reflected there enough to make one want to melt to his touch, submit flesh to his desires, while at the same time escape the obvious embodiment of pure evil.

A woman cries hysterically in the background, clutching something in white, trembling hands, while two children, a boy no older than 12 and a girl of perhaps about 8, hovering fearfully and uncertainly near her.

Another man enters the picture, his eyes falling on the golden angel that is the boy, and his thoughts are hungry and wanting, pure carnal desire. Images of other such children, beautiful to him in so many ways, flash through his mind, and the other boy, just barely a young man, stops laughing and looks sharply at him, barks something quick and rough.

The man gives a start, looks away, to the rising sun, then back to the darkness that is the half open door into the house. Blue eyes watch from that darkness, gleaming with hunger and shining with insanity. There is an odd devotion, a submission, written in those eyes. The man looks away, to the boy, with the golden hair, and lets himself dream of things that even nightmares are not made of.

_____________

"Duo… Come on Duo, open your eyes, you're starting to worry me… Duo…"

The soft murmur drags me from an incredibly comforting darkness that I don't want to leave, and as I come back to a more firm reality the images, blood memories, are there waiting. I groan as they flood me.

"There you are. You had me worried."

I struggle a moment to identify the voice; finally decide that it's Wufei. There's a softness beneath me, a bed, and a warmth settled beside me, a body, and then Wufei's soft murmuring, not speaking, a chant, a spell of some sort.

I open my eyes slowly and focus on his face that's hovering above mine, not bothered at all by the weak light coming from somewhere in the room. It's not my room. I frown slightly. Wufei seems to have read my mind.

"We're in my room. What do you remember?"

My voice comes out hoarse and unintelligible. Wufei actually smiles a bit as he settles me into a half sitting up position and brings an uncapped bottle of water to my lips. It's warm but I am grateful for that as I sip it.

"Not much," I manage after a moment, letting my eyes close again. "Just… stepping on the porch, and… then memories…"

"Ah, I had figured as much. I've never seen someone gripped so violently by memories though."

"I…" There's little I can say.

"You grabbed the railing, swayed a bit on your feet. You may have groaned a few times, I know you gasped, almost crushed the railing as your face twisted as if you were in pain, then you went deathly still, deathly pale too. I barely caught you when you passed out.

"Understandably I'm a bit freaked out."

If this were anyone else but Wufei I'd say he is pouting with that last comment. I smile weakly and reach up lightly to touch his warm, almost hot, face, trying to find something real to come back to.

He takes it as comfort, it probably is.

I can feel the wards he's put up in his room; I'm comforted by the neutral energy, lulled by the hum of his power, by other things that can't be identified with words or thoughts, but instead are feelings, sensations, instinct.

"So, what happened?"

I see the eyes again; so vivid and real in my mind I might as well be staring into them. There's such longing there, such need and hope and mindless desire, and I can feel the pull, the bond. The creature behind those eyes knows I'm here, it can taste my existence in the very air, I know this just as surely as I know it's there, as I can feel it, and it wants me.

"I'd rather not talk about it right now," I tell Wufei softly, and he just knows, as he always knows, that now is not the time to push.

He stretches out beside me on the bed effortlessly, pets the end of my braid in a way that tells me it's quite absentminded, this action, like the petting of a cat just because it's settled on your lap. There's a half smile on his face, one that I've come to recognize can mean trouble for me.

"Tell me about your boyfriend?"

I groan. In hindsight I should have seen that coming.

"Yes you should have."

It's tempting to hit him with a pillow, but I settle for smacking him. Lightly of course.