Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ The Magic Beyond the Mirror ❯ 1. Meet the Players ( Chapter 1 )

Ren Kieton. The name had bounced around in Tara Robertson's brain for the past five months now. Tara sighed, the sound swallowed up by the music pounding from her computer's speakers. Any time her computer was on she had his music blasting. She had been a fan her whole life, but some months ago her interest had escalated. She loved his music, loved his band, and knew if not controlled she would love him too. And that was just unacceptable, because Tara Robertson was no crazy stalker-fan.
She knew about him precisely what one would know after reading one single page about him. She had gone to one of her favorite websites, a database of every person who had ever appeared on a screen, be it for movies and television or music videos. She typed his name into a little search box and up popped a page with a ridiculous amount of information on it. Full birth name, place of birth, name of father, name of mother, a tiny trivia section which included things like his childhood nickname, a brief biography including how he met each of the members of the band, and then a full list of all songs, soundtracks and albums he was in any way, shape, or form associated with.
Tara purposely skipped a lot of the stuff, it was nice to have so much information at her fingertips, but she didn't need a billion and one useless tidbits of knowledge floating about inside her head, ever a font of fuel for her slow burning obsession.
So now all she knew was that he was almost exactly twenty years her senior, was born and raised in the city she now called home. She knew he was born Wren Kieton and had gotten tired of illiterate D.J.'s calling him Warren and had dropped the W for his stage name around age eighteen. And she knew he had met his best friend and fellow band member as a child, the rest of the band falling together as they grew up, that like many music stars under the spotlight he had fallen under the influence of illegal drugs, and that he had been free of their influence for over a decade now.
Over the course of his life, almost double her own, even that tiny wealth of knowledge would be such a small piece of the puzzle that made up the whole of him. And she had bookmarked in her web browser one of those video sites, and almost every video she had marked as a favorite on her profile was a music video from his band.
It was odd, she purposely remained ignorant of the details of his life, thinking that distance would ease her obsession. In reality all it did was force her attention onto the bits of him she did allow herself, the videos. She refused to acknowledge how well she understood the tones and inflections in his voice, that the nuances and mannerisms he had adopted over the course of his life were familiar to her. A few interview videos from that same site had taught her the difference between his speaking tones and his liquid fire singing voice.
All of that she could live with. It was when it interfered with her studies that the frustration ground her natural calm down to desperation on the brink of tears. Listening to music while studying wasn't anything big, but when you got so caught up by the video that your studies lay forgotten as your gaze unfocused and your mind wandered off to a blissful paradise where nothing existed but you and the object of your desire and his electrifying voice, that was another matter all together. Especially when it happened all the damn time!
She angrily pressed the power button on her speakers. He couldn't take her over if she couldn't hear that voice like scarlet velvet rubbed the right way that slid along her spine like cold silk.
Damn it all she was thinking about him again!
She forcefully wrenched her thoughts away from Ren Kieton and back onto the rather wordy textbook on child psychology in front of her.

~o0o~

Michaela came home to find her roommate sound asleep at her computer desk, nose in her book. It was becoming a common sight. Something was on Tara's mind and it was eating away at her. But it was a happy kind of distraction, her lips would quirk in a half smile when she thought of whatever it was, the faraway look made her eyes sparkle. Michaela snorted, whatever it was wasn't affecting her appetite or her grades. She turned off the lights as she prodded Tara to her bed, knowing without a doubt whatever was affecting her friend had to be attached to a penis. A girl didn't go that gaga over just anything. Unless it was a really killer pair of shoes. Maybe she and Adam had finally...

~o0o~

The figure asleep on the bed tossed and turned restlessly. Dreams burrowed into the distressed slumber of the figure who was twisting further and further into their covers. A pain filled moan drifted up from underneath fluffy layers of bedding as the nightmare pains produced real world reactions.
The door to the adjoining hotel room opened as a male approximately six feet tall opened the door and leaned inside the room.
“Ren. You okay?”
Ren Kieton shot up in bed, sweat slicked skin gleaming in the neon lights shining in the hotel room window. He grunted in his disorientation before remembering what city he was in, and why.
“Thanks for asking, Paul, but I'm fine. Just a bad dream.” Ren ran a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the after effects of his nightmare. He felt tensed and achy and stressed as hell and there was no reason for it. Crimson Star Rising popular band. The band was about twenty years old by now, and had been world famous for over half that, and was quite possibly the most popular band in the world.
He'd come a long way, they all had, they carved out their existence doing something they loved to do. It was unbelievable that they got paid to follow their dreams. It was something Ren was thankful for every day, and he knew Paul and the others felt the same way.
He felt he had more to be thankful for than the others though. His life hadn't been easy, drugs had almost claimed him, had devoured relationships he had treasured. He had lost so much, but such deep loss had forced him to grow, and he couldn't help but be thankful for everything that had brought him to where he was. He didn't have everything that he wanted in the world, he was almost forty and still single, still had no children. But he knew he had never been prepared for responsibilities like those before. He ran his fingers through his long hair. He wasn't perfect, his life wasn't perfect, but he treasured everything he had. He wasn't a person to sit and wallow, unless deep in the thrall of some drug induced haze, and he had steered clear of all that junk since the last time they had almost devoured his life whole.
He wondered, not for the first time, if the twinges of sadness that panged at him in the dark of the night were loneliness. For the one type of affection he didn't get from his band-mates. Not that it would be easy on any girlfriend he could find. Touring schedules, video shoots and recording sessions, not to mention dreaming up and writing out the new material, pulled him in different directions as it was. He didn't want a woman to feel like she had to compete with all of that, but unless she decided to forsake her life for his and travel with him that's what it would be, a competition. A one-sided competition she had perhaps a twenty percent chance to win. Not to mention there was no way he could do that to any child.
Or perhaps was it something else causing him to be ill at ease? Was there another reason for the nightmares? He honestly couldn't tell.
Mentally he ticked off where everyone was. Charlie was at home with his wife and kids, Hank was sick at home, Paul and himself were doing interviews, killing time and making a bit of money and whatnot between actual “work.”
Ren once again assumed a sleeping position, hoping to reclaim his lost sleep, but found his mind restless. After a few minutes tossing and turning he fell back onto his surefire method for going to sleep-- playing old songs of CSRin his mind until sleep swept over him.

~o0o~

“We have no choice, Emeira! The vile serpents have broken the seals on their prison. If we do not heed the prophets of old and send the Calling we have sealed our own deaths. This world will become our pyre, and we will all of us burn!”
The woman shook her head sadly, “I fear not for us Chezain. What of our heroes? Nothing in the scriptures hints one way or another whether our saviors will even survive the final battles. And even if they do, how are we to send them home? More than likely any who survive will be stranded here for the remainder of their lives. Can you expect them to wish to help us once we summon them and explain the situation?”
Chezain's eyes hardened as he followed Emeira's logic. He had to admit he could not imagine being very cooperative if he was wrenched from his life to save a people not his own and not even be able to get home in the end.
“Then we don't tell them.”
Emeira's dark brown eyes echoed a deep sadness, her lips compressing into a disapproving line. “You would lie to our intended saviors?”
“Think about how you would feel were the situations reversed. Knowing it was in your power to save an entire planet. Could you let an entire people die because they were desperate? Would you hold your own life at higher value than that of a whole world?” Chezain began pacing. He knew it was a bit of a gamble, laying their fate at the feet of people they were about to wrong, but it wasn't as though there was a way to send a message asking permission first.
“You are unfair, Chezain. A queen is taught to place her people above herself. There is nothing to suggest beings from another realm will be so inclined.”
Chezain stopped pacing and kneeled in front of his queen, his eyes shining with desperation.
“They were named our saviors for a reason, Majesty! I must believe in the old texts or my entire faith is shaken to rubble. I believe. It is as simple as that. They will help us because it is written. They will work past our transgression against them and save us. They can do no less.”
Her Majesty, Queen of Human Lands under the Lady of the Moon, High Keeper of the Forgotten, Exalted Guardian of the Mirror, Emeira Lionsoul, closed her eyes tiredly. Faith. It was so important to herself and her people, but the Headmaster of the Wizard's Academy had faith in abundance. So much so that it seemed foolish to believe so blindly. She envied him his unshakable faith.
“No, Chezain. The Calling is an equivalent of a death sentence. Whether it is the enemy who kills them or old age, they will die upon these lands, away from their lives and loves. It is our last resort and I will not use it prematurely. Not until all our options have been exhausted.”
Her eyes hardened as Chezain opened his mouth again, as if to argue. But at the last moment he thought better of it and closed his mouth again, letting the issue drop, for now.
But the matter was far from over, and they both knew that. All human life on Jûra was in danger now that the beasts were free. And if they couldn't find a way to stop the serpents from hunting humans they would be revisiting their options.

~o0o~

Tara groaned as her father passed gas extremely loudly in the restaurant and then blamed the man a table over in a very loud and condescending voice. Her father thought he was hilarious, she wished she could crawl into a hole and hide. Her mother was trying valiantly to stifle her laughter and reprimand her husband at the same time.
Tara's mother, Maude, looked like an older version of her daughter. Both had startling green eyes and reddish-gold hair. But the mother's was a darker shade, and looked almost dusty, the gray filtering into her hair having to fight to find a place in the fiery locks. Anyone seeing the two together would know they were related. And most had to look twice to realize Tara was the younger, for her mother was almost a full six inches shorter than her daughter.
Tara's father, William, was a bear of a man. He was five feet and nine inches tall, or so he said. On a good day when Tara's hair was fluffy she hit five and a half feet tall and she had trouble believing her father was that much taller than she was. But height had nothing to do with the man's presence. His mousy brown, curly hair was thick and his frame was broad. His blue eyes usually glittered merrily, as he usually had enough alcohol flowing in his system to keep him in a perpetually good mood.
And yet the embarrassment of the moment seemed like a far away thing to Tara. Her parents had broken the news that they were going home. 'Home' for her parents meant Kilmarnik, Scotland. They had migrated while Tara was a baby, coming across the sea to be closer to William's brother, Tara's uncle. But the recent death of her uncle, his wife and their only child in a senseless car accident had left his parents feeling adrift in the foreign country. So they resolved to return to the bosom of their families.
The only question was whether or not Tara Robertson would be returning with them. Can I really leave everything behind? My life, my school, my friends...
The list went on, but on the other hand, how could she stay behind, all alone? Suddenly the restaurant felt entirely too small. Tara needed fresh air and a canopy of stars overhead. She needed to get away. But she couldn't find her voice.

~o0o~

One o'clock found Tara staggering into her apartment. She was glad she had had her parents pick her up before dinner. It made it so much easier to excuse herself after her little emotional fiasco and walk two streets down to a bar she knew, and lucky her she hadn't driven there, so there was no problem taking a cab home after getting thoroughly plastered.
And for a brief few moments, after shedding her suddenly too confining clothing and before succumbing to the darkness of sleep, Tara lay still on her bed. Thoughts of Ren Kieton flashing through her mind. She could feel his voice wrapping around her spine, his frenetic dancing forcing her own blood to pound, though she wasn't sure if it was arousal or just the need to get up and dance. Just thinking of him gave her energy.
But the alcohol was stronger.

~o0o~

Tara dreamed of flying birds made entirely of golden light, of swimming up from underneath a waterfall, and of Kieton. Perfect specimen of the human male that he was, in black pants and no shirt. His shoulder length brown hair was tossed gently by the breeze that blew around them. In the background she could hear the guitar, bass and drums of one of his band's songs. Her favorite song, in fact. She took a step toward him and he toward her, and then they stood in front of one another.
There was no sweet romantic kiss, no whispered words of eternal love. There was too much adrenaline between them, too much raw passion. His arm wrapped around her waist and--
--They danced. A dance with no pattern in the steps, a wild dance that could never be repeated. It was wild and sensual and raw and made her blood pound in her ears until she could barely hear the music. Her fiery hair flew out as she spun, the tattered blue dress she didn't even realize she was wearing flaring out in harmony. Her bare feet crushed bright yellow flowers that she didn't see. Her hands reached for his just as his reached for her. All Tara Robertson could see were two beautiful hazel eyes, eyes such a perfect combination of greens and browns she felt like she was gazing into a forest as she lost herself in his eyes.
And when the last notes drifted away upon the breeze he lowered them to the soft violet grass and pulled her back to his chest, both panting and gulping air down.
Peace.
Peace such as she had never known enveloped her, draining her energy as it released her. She heard a contented male sigh and turned over.
He had beautiful brown eyes that bled green as his moods swirled in his eyes, a long face and straight nose. In more than one video, indeed any time he was tan and clean shaven with his hair long, she thought he looked Egyptian. Or if he had pulled his hair back in a ponytail she thought he looked American Indian. Either way she thought him exotic and gorgeous. She had seen his hair every color under the sun, from bleached blond to fire red to black, but naturally it was a few shades darker than his eyes. Of course time in the sun made it seem lighter; sun bleached brown with glints of gold. And minus a small handful of videos his straight hair was always shoulder length or longer. She shook her head ruefully, she was obsessing again.
He looked like every woman's dream. Or what Tara Robertson thought every woman should dream of.
Her mouth quirked in a half smile as she recalled a discussion she had had with her roommate. Most women were drawn to men with the masculine square jaws. Where the angles of their chins were overshadowed by the angles at the edges of theirs jaws. Micky called it the 'manly look.'
And women, on the other hand, were supposed to have faces where there were no extreme angles between the cheek bones and the chin, pronouncing the chin, drawing eyes towards the lips.
Ren Kieton did not have a masculine face by those definitions. His face was softer, the long lines of it ended only at his chin. In fact Tara had seen a video or two of CSRwhere RenKieton was obviously and flamboyantly in drag. He made a sexy woman.
Tara laughed. She didn't think there was any form, any side of him, she couldn't love.
He leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss across her lips and the world bled away like water colors in the rain.

~o0o~

Alright, I must know. What do you guys think? And I know, before I even post this, I'm going to get reviews and email asking/guessing as to “Ren Kieton”'s identity. Please do not leave reviews asking who he is. This man doesn't exist. He's a combination of two actors, one musician, and one or two different men in my life. If you think you can identify a celebrity feel free to email me, but the last thing I want is to get in trouble with MM.org, so with that said...................lemme know if y'all likey :D