Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The Sea in I ❯ I ( Chapter 1 )

 

Thirty years later…

 

Blue as far as the eye could see. It was an unending mass of constant movement. It could change form, bringing life with it as well as death. The mass roiled onto itself creating a stream of bubbles that swirled and dispersed once it reached the surface. More bubbles rushed past him, some bumping each other while others joined to make larger ones to out race the others to the top. He reached for one, cradling it in the curl of his fingertips with no real effort to hold his arm up. It sparkled like jewels he'd seen on the ladies in the manors closest to the temple and in his most faded dreams that blurred between a happier time and one of loss. It tingled coolly against his skin. It wobbled and glinted with refracted light like it contain it within itself and he watched it slip away through the crack of his fingers and race up with all the rest. His arm stayed up as if by another will.

 

He leaned forward, pausing at the mute swoosh against his eardrums and a chilled press against his eyes. He realized from the chilled touch pressure was all around him. His stomach churned as he floated and he knew then that he was inside it. He looked up at the murky light too broad to be more than one source and pushed up.

 

He blinked. Nothing happened. He tried again, his heart a mad rhythm loud in his ears.

 

Nothing.

 

He couldn't move.

 

He couldn't breathe.

 

He struggled to draw breath though there was none. It buoyed him, pressing in on him from all sides, and left him feeling light through its pressure. He stopped struggling and just lay there, twitching at the chilly fingers brushing over his skin.

 

It was almost a second nature to him when he relaxed into it, his eyelids heavy. He was connected to it just as it dwelled in him.

 

“Ama...” he began to whisper.

 

“Amada-” it didn't fit.

 

“Retwa...” said the whisper.

 

Retwa was what it was called.

 

Retwa was all he knew. Then he knew more. Retwa was old and had many names. Older than he was, existing long before there was the limitless stretches of swirling dusts and sands blanketing his world from the great Disaster. In him, though, an answer to its longing niggled, but it had no words. Retwa questioned of it being and he had no answer. It shared with him its ache and its need. It urged something from him. From -- them.

 

Alone. It was lonely, but couldn't seek, searching and couldn't reach. It stripped, wore and marked everything but couldn't restore anything. It was one but two, missing the other part... calling him and the other. It wanted to be set free but it needed the wielder, the vessel. He felt the sorrow it felt for them.

 

Even though it scared him, the fear became less as he got older and the dreams got longer. He had never known its name before now but he'd always found acceptance when he embraced Retwa with himself like now. It comforted him, letting him know he was not alone. It would surround him, this undulating blue mass - Retwa- and then he knew nothing.

 

“For as long as I remember,” came the quiet whisper. “I've always had this dream. For as long as there had been you, there'd been-” me. He felt his lips move, mumbling faintly in a voice that sounded far older than he was. His eyes shot open and he gasped, his head falling back to crack painfully against hard tar-sand wall and jolt him out of his half-doze. He covered the throbbing spot at the back of his head with both his hands and rocked in place. He bit his lip at a corner and peered through teary eyes outside through a hole in one of the loose pieces of flaxen terry cloth that hung over his hiding spot with several animal skins that the Tailor often left out to dry.

 

Seeing nothing, he reached out to move the Tailor's wares but stopped, catching a glimpse of fine leather boot clad feet with three blue squiggly lines bracketed by the royal crest - a golden halo. To him it had always looked like thorny vines ensnaring the wielder's mark but she was still among them. She was life giving, second mother to every place she visited because it was rumored that every place her bare feet touched life sprung up in abundance.

 

She, and what was left of her people, remained with the cruel soldiers and their idiot Monarch instead of giving freely what was never meant to be owned or controlled. Somehow that had always left him feeling bitter with disappointment and the dreams, he felt, were something she needed to know about. He was certain. Perhaps he was the only one that felt this way that things return to the way they were before all the sand. In stories of the past and sometimes in strange dreams, he saw how everything had been - lush with life and a few sandy places.

 

The mark of a soldier adorned all of the Monarch's men in the middle calf area at the back of the boot. Unfortunately for him, it seemed half the army decided to go to market that day and on top of that, some of them were wondering around in his alley. His hand snapped back to his body when a soldier's boots walked quickly toward his spot.

 

They didn't see me, he thought to himself even as he scooted back in the narrow space and attempted to melt into the wall. He sat there stiffly on the small wedge in the scooped out shop wall that he often used as a seat. Though that hadn't given him much reassurance seeing as how he only had to lean forward a little more than usual to look through the hole-ridden cloth. He knew what they were doing. The Monarch's men were doing their rounds again, recruiting street orphans or any urchin that was able of body to join their ranks. The number of men out this time around was surprising. But maybe, just maybe, this time around some of the Tailor's fine cloths and furs were of the soldiers' intent.

 

He held his breath regardless of his attempts at reassuring himself. He wasn't fooled by the lure of a working wage and a roof over his head in the barracks, it was the Monarch's answer to helping the poor, and then he'd only be able to reap the benefits if he survived the tour. He shivered more from the chill that clung to his skin than from what was rumored to happen to people who took the tour. He pulled his rough legging covered knees closer to his thin chest, his threadbare shirt doing nothing to snuff it out. Sometimes he welcomed the chill that stole over his body from the dream, especially on melt days when the Maheran sun seemed relentless in its intensity. He never quite understood it but he'd dreamt of Retwa more frequently in the past month than he had a year ago. He shook himself all over and peered through the hole in the cloth again.

 

They were gone.

 

He slipped down from his perch, pulling a musty cloak from the pile of castoffs the Tailor and his family often left out before throwing them away. He pulled it on quickly, stuffing his thick braid into his hood before stepping away from the safety of the hidden niche behind the Tailor's wares. He changed his gait to a sluggish amble on his way out of the alley, leaning heavily on the wall.

 

He pushed his feet deep into the warm sand, wishing he could just cover himself in it. Anything to shake the chill in his skin, it was more distracting then anything else. He looped around the back to the side entrance of the Tailor's shop that the poorer townsfolk often used to not cause the man any trouble no matter how Gault insisted they come through the front. He owed the man his thanks and he wouldn't leave without him having it even if he knew that habits such as his were going to get him caught one day. He hobbled to door, glancing at the open market as people continued with their daily routine barely taking notice of a street rat the soldiers were currently dragging by the back of her shirt.

 

He slipped into the shop and up to the silent counter. “Mista Gault?” He glanced around the shop and saw the shelves and tables full of goods. Nothing was out of sorts, just none of the usual laughter and filling warmth the Tailor, his wife and two youngest children often gave to anyone who entered their store. Those children had long since grown and it felt empty. It felt wrong. The chill still nipped at his skin and he rubbed his arms, swallowing down the sudden longing he felt.

 

“Mista Gault?” He tried again, rubbing at his arms and rose up on his tiptoes to see a pair of stitched, hide-soled shoes half wrapped in paper with his name on it. The oddness of the quiet shop was over ridden by his joy at having shoes. He smiled hugely and grabbed them, quickly slipping them on and stood again. He smiled down at them and wiggled his toes in his comfortable new shoes. His head shot up when he heard noise behind the counter. His wide eyes met the tailor's wife and he smiled beatifically.

 

“Thank you Mum. I... Th-they...” He half stuttered, embarrassed and watching her gesture to him in an odd manner. He looked on in confusion and then dread filled him... perhaps calling her Mum had been a mistake, he really hadn't meant anything by it. She must think I'm pitiful... needy. He tried again, forcing the words passed the tightness in his throat, “M-Misses Gault, I just wanted to say thank you to you and Mista Gault. Cuz-” Duo squeezed his eyes shut and began again, “Because--”

 

The bells of the shop's front door jangled, followed by the heavy thud of booted feet. Duo stiffened, hunching down into his clothes, his mouth snapping shut. He nodded jerkily to the Tailor's wife, saw the regret in her eyes, and knew it was too late. The sudden hand on his shoulder caused him to act; he slipped down out of the soldier's hold before he could grip him. Duo rolled on the floor and swung his feet, kicking one man at the back of his knees, and nailing the other one in the kneecap. He scrambled up to his feet as they fell and cursed, sticking out his tongue at them as he ran for the back door.

 

Duo's brows furrowed as the men made no attempt to get up and the tailor's wife aborted attempt to reach him caught his attention. He saw her stand awkwardly at the side of the front counter where the swing door stood open against her leg, staring after him with the same sad look on her face as she stumbled down one of the two steps to the counter's platform. He stopped his back straightening as a hand settled on his head.

 

“Please.” The tailor's wife spoke softly coming from behind the counter completely and Duo blinked owlishly at his bound hands, mystified at how they got that way and looked back at the dark haired man. The man was a head taller than him with hard eyes that grabbed at him, made him feel like the ground had disappeared and he was again in the place of his dreams and drowning.

 

“Please, he's just a boy.” Duo glanced away from the man to the woman with tears in her eyes and down at his hands. He jerked at his bound hands as if finally realizing that they were indeed bound and felt his eyes water when he blinked, relieving an ache in them from staring too long. He jerked away from the man; he didn't want to go with them. The man looked on, impassive and tugged at the tether his captor held in tight fist, unconsciously leaning his body in her direction.

 

“Angie.” Duo looked up in time to see the stern shake from Gault's weathered gray hair as he stepped from behind his captor and went to his wife's side.

 

“Gault, he's but a child. We could take him. Tien, we've been <i>wanting</i> to take him in.” She pleaded, her fading red hair escaping in wisps from the bun at the back of head. Duo frown as Gault grabbed her hands and held them, turning her to his chest and bodily away from him. Duo's heart sunk when she bowed her head to Gault. His mouth was dry and the chill was a distant memory as he watched Gault rub her back.

 

Angie looked back at him, their eyes locking before she turned her teary gaze on the man holding him. “Heero. I understand Her order and your position as Principal but you could release him into our care-”

 

“Angie-”

 

“No.” Duo glared up at the dark eyed man who held him and the man ignored him.

 

“Heero,” Gault stared at them, kissed Angie's brow then cleared his throat at the look he got from his wife. “Heero, I don't object to taking the boy off your hands.”

 

Duo relaxed trying to go to them but Heero pulled him back. “No, he assaulted two of the Monarch's men. There aren't many options for him because of that.” He heard his captor's voice soften. He caught the glance Heero sent his way and sneered back. “He's either recruited by me or they turn him over to be imprisoned.”

 

“He's just a boy!” Angie tried again, trapped in her husband's firm grip.

 

“Don't do me any favors.” Duo snarled, using Heero's arm to lift himself up and pull Heero into his knee but something went wrong. Heero shifted his hands, yanking them over his head and left Duo frowning at him, stunned before he was thrown across his shoulder.

 

“Duo!” Duo felt the blood rushing to his head and tried to kick out but again Heero was a step ahead of him and had an iron-like hold over the back of his calves.

 

“No! Gault! Put me down! Let me go! Angie! Mum!”

 

Duo heard a scuffle and strained his neck to look up at the resounding slap, pissed that Gault would go so far. Heero turned and headed back out the door, causing Duo to slip back down his back. Duo cursed, stopping himself from bouncing by pressing down into the curve of Heero's lower back eliciting a grunt from his captor to see Angie's tear streaked face, a red mark blooming on Gault's cheek and him crushing his wife against his chest. His tense body relaxed at the sight of them, his mind burning the image of them into his memory when he couldn't see them anymore.

 

Duo pummeled Heero's back with his hands until Heero smacked him hard across his rear. Duo flushed at the yelp he let loose when Heero swatted him harder at his silence the first time around. He pressed his lips hard together and fought back the warmth building in his eyes. Mournfully, he watched Gault's home and shop get further away as Heero strode onto the main road of the market. His strides were even and light like he was no burden for him to carry and more like a sack of grain.

 

Duo gritted his teeth, remembering the girl he'd seen earlier, his face heated further knowing that people were watching him, just like he had her, as he was carried toward the temple practically on display. He eyed his braid thumping against his captor's backside and glanced to his sides. The other soldiers were ahead of them. He couldn't tell how far but he could run and he was small enough to make it work. He had to. He arched up and winced, his stomach muscles were sore and abraded from his captor's shoulder guard but he made them tighten as he lifted himself up enough to swing his braid like a whip.

 

He gasped when it wrapped around Heero's neck pulling his head at an odd angle but it had an immediate effect- Heero's grip on his legs lessen. Acting quickly before the other soldiers took notice and pleased that Heero's choked noises of distress were drowned out by the heyday of the market place, Duo pushed downward, kneeing Heero in the stomach when Heero groped his rear in an attempt to regain his hold on him. Duo grabbed his braid the moment his feet touched the ground and gritted his teeth for the pain that was sure to follow as he twisted and kicked at the back of Heero's knees. Heero went down like a brick and Duo tried to yank his braid free but Heero held on, taking him with him.

Tbc …