Soul Reaver Fan Fiction ❯ The Last Lesson ❯ Chapter 1

Standard Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, the storyline, the universe in which it is set, nada. I'm simply trying to make sense of one of the plotpoints of the story as best I can.

 

Reformatted to correct errors.

 

The Last Lesson

Desdinova

 

Janos?

 

Vorador opened the door without knocking and entered Janos' chamber. After so many years, such formalities were no longer necessary between them.

 

Vorador. Out here.

 

Vorador heard the whisper and followed it through the retreat. As Vorador drew close, he saw the elegant winged figure of his Maker, Janos. Janos stood at the edge of a lofty balcony, watching the sun set. To the west was a vast mountain range crested in snow, the peaks highlighted in brilliant gold, the slopes shadowed in dusky blue. The sun gleamed between mountain tops, then sank below the horizon. Below was a lake, surface frozen nearly solid, reflecting the fading sunset above. On the shores stood uniformed men in scarlet and gold, carrying weapons, huddled around fires to keep themselves warm.

 

“Sarafan soldiers. Every time I look down, there are more of them,” said Janos, his voice mild. “There is a new one down there today.” He pointed to a massive boulder that protruded from the ice. On it stood a young man, stoking a bonfire.

 

Vorador studied the slight, beardless man, who seemed far too young to be called that. He looked to be in his middle teens.

 

“Have the Sarafan scum started to recruit right out of the cradle now?” Vorador spoke with contempt as he watched the young Sarafan guard finish fueling the fire. He crouched beside it, warming his hands in the heat. As the soldier turned, Vorador could see the musket on his back.

 

An unpleasant whim seized Vorador. “Can he see us up here?” He cast his gaze around, looking for loose stones.

 

“They know we are here, but…” Janos frowned. “I do not know if this one has even bothered to look.”

 

“I thought as much,” said Vorador. A grin widened gradually across his face, revealing long, razor-like canines and wicked intent.

 

Janos noticed at once. “Vorador, what are you-“

 

Vorador shrugged, hefting a chunk of basalt he found lying against the wall. “Just conveying my regards to him.”

 

Janos grabbed his arm, as he drew back to pitch. “Is it wise to provoke them this way?”

 

Vorador pulled his arm free of Janos' grip. “Every piece of level ground between here and the Pillars is dotted with the staked bodies of vampires they murdered and left to convey their regards to us. How many friends, how many loved ones have we lost to them? The very air of Nosgoth reeks of blood and decay. I don't see how my gesture can possibly make their attempted genocide any worse.” The evil grin grew wider. “Besides, your question should be, `Can you possibly hit the boy from here?'

 

Janos nodded. The question had occurred to him. “If you miss, can he hit us at this distance?” He, too, had noticed the musket.

 

“I doubt it.” Vorador frowned. “The musket is a worthy weapon with laudable points, but accuracy over a distance is not one of them.” He drew back his arm, took aim. “If it worries you that much, I will be certain not to miss. Care to make a wager?

 

“No,” answered Janos, the tone of his voice dry. His wings furled and unfurled in constant restless motions.

Vorador pitched the stone, putting his shoulder into the throw. Seconds later, a cry of pain, cut short, came up from the lake. Vorador's brows rose.

 

“Damn me. I wasn't sure I could make it.” Vorador felt pleased with himself.

 

Janos merely looked at Vorador and sighed. “But was it necessary?”

 

“I had no reason not to,” stated Vorador. He stared down through narrowed eyes. The Sarafan guard's cry had brought others running to his aid. “He was merely human.” He stared at Janos.

 

Something about Janos was different as he gazed down at the retreating soldiers, now bearing their wounded comrade to safety. His expression had not changed. But his very posture was a pointed rebuke.

 

Vorador's mouth twisted downward. Janos' disappointment brought back unhappy memories from his fledgling days.

 

“Vorador, you were once human.”

 

Vorador bristled at the perceived slight. “I was nothing like that. If I kill now, it is merely to survive. And I am no murderer, slaying imaginary foes in the name of hypocrisy.”

 

“True, you are not.” Janos' eyes met Vorador's. “But would you demean yourself to their barbarous level? I thought I had taught you better than that.”

 

Vorador shrugged and turned away. “Does it really matter that much?”

 

“For his sake? No. For my sake? Again, no.” Janos placed his hand on Vorador's shoulder. “For your sake? Yes.”

 

Vorador glanced at the hand. He lowered his head, his glance dropped away.

 

Janos reached forth to stroke Vorador's cold cheek. “Vorador, my child. Do you not understand?”

 

“Yes,” Vorador said. Unfortunately, he did.

 

Janos sighed again. “If I had my way, we would not be adversaries, the vampires and the Sarafan. If you had your way, we would have no adversaries, and there would be no Sarafan.

 

Vorador listened and nodded. That much was true.

 

“If we succeed in eliminating the Sarafan completely, we become no better than they, committing genocide in the name of fear,” said Janos. “The vampires were once a proud and noble race. Their history is writ upon the very walls deep within this aerie. If you have not yet learned it, it would benefit you greatly to do so.”

 

Vorador merely nodded, unwilling to speak his mind. He had no interest in the past, so long as the future remained in doubt.

 

Janos smiled. “Enough of this. I did not summon you here merely to lecture you as if you were a foolish, wayward fledgling.”

 

Vorador snorted at the very notion. “I would not expect it of you, anyway.”

 

“It grows wearisome, I must confess.” Janos' voice had dwindled, become hollow. “So many years alone, waiting, with none but my mortal enemies to keep me company.”

 

“If you can call that companionship.” Vorador's temper flared briefly.

 

“I do,” said Janos. “There were times when that was all that kept me going. Loneliness can be as devastating as any disease.” He turned to face Vorador, his face somber. “A man can starve to death from want of companionship and love as from want of warmth, food, water or any other life-giving substance.”

 

“Master Janos,” said Vorador, then stopped, fumbling for words. He had never heard Janos speak this way before.

 

“Just Janos, Vorador,” Janos reminded him, his voice gentle. “After so much time, I do not think we are mentor and pupil anymore.”

 

“Perhaps,” said Vorador, his brow sharply furrowed. In truth, he didn't know what they were to each other anymore. He felt an unaccustomed pang of guilt. Of late he had been too engrossed in his own existence to take note of Janos'. He had been told that this was simply the natural way of things. That the Sire and his offspring would gradually grow apart, as the fledgling gained more power and skill. He hadn't liked it at the time. Now that the prediction seemed to be coming true, he liked it still less.

 

Janos took note of Vorador's unhappy expression. “Do you believe that I could forget about you? That you would ever come to mean nothing to me?”

 

“No,” said Vorador. Janos could always sense how he felt. In the past this ability, deftly wielded, had helped him deal with emotions he could not bring himself to show. Now it made him uneasy. It made him uneasy, too, that there were places inside him that Janos could go and he could not.

 

“Vorador.” At the sound of Janos' voice, Vorador looked up. He had been lost in his own thoughts.

 

“Vorador, something troubles you.” Vorador wondered at the unspoken question within the comment.

 

“It is nothing, Janos,” answered Vorador, forcing his attention back to the present, and away from disturbing questions. “I allow myself to dwell on trifles.”

 

Janos merely nodded. “It is growing late. I trust you have already fed?”

 

Vorador grinned. “I have, and quite well, thanks to them.”

 

Janos turned his attention towards the cleft in the hillside that marked the path to the Pillars. “For thousands of years, I have waited. Now, tonight, of all nights…” He turned to face Vorador again. “Tonight, I do not desire to be alone.” His eyes sought Vorador's. “Vorador, will you spend the night with me?”

 

Vorador looked at Janos. Another latent question. Tonight, he suspected, would provide answers to all questions, past and present.

 

“Yes, Janos,” he answered, fighting down misgivings. “Tonight, I will stay.”