[Labyrinth] A Walk to Remember [Lysander, Seodai]

[Tabarnac]

The old chaplain had a bemused smile for the pair of them, the juxtaposition of opposites that he hoped would realize a paradoxical connection. There were friendships between stranger people: Haimon and himself, for example. He patted his grandson's hand and opened his mouth to say something when words and movement were arrested by an inward-searching look to his face as if trying to figure out what were happening with his insides, or listening to some faint song to discern the lyrics. Darkness stole over the face of the moon, snuffed the stars out thousands at a time. There was a rumbling in the earth before bolts of light shot up into the air to paint the dark clouds with sickening color, disappearing into the threatening, inky sky. "Children," he said suddenly with a voice as stern and strong as a sergeant-at-arms. "Boys. Quickly now. Run!"

[Seodai]

The hand that slid into his, so casually, as if it belonged there, felt as smooth as silk to the young farmer with work calloused hands. How strange it was, those pale digits curling so freely in his own, so cool and lovely. Seodai was distracted enough with the touch that he paid little mind to the question Lysander posed, though it was one burning in his own mind as well. There had to be a reason for this, right? Zahari had much more valuable uses of his time than to just ensure that the pair of them made friends, after all. Right? Such concerns as these seemed trivial and meaningless when the night changed in the blink of an eye. The stars he hadn't thought to appreciate enough were suddenly muted, gone, and with it the moon which had bathed Lysander in such a lovely light. The peaceful, quiet pace of the night was replaced with an instinctual discomfort, fright. His fingers closed on the foreign ones in them, curling snugly into a single fist. The shafts of light, appearing from nowhere and disappearing just as strangely, only exacerbated the changing of the mood, the shifting of the growling earth beneath them. Whatever benign reason had caused this meeting, it was no longer important, it would seem. And then they were instructed to run, to flee whatever danger Zahari understood that they couldn't. Seodai felt compelled to obey, but his concern for Zahari overshadowed his own cowardice. After all, how could the young acolyte protect the Chaplain alone? In his hedging, his inner struggle with obedience or heroics, Seodai had finally lost sight of the surreal man beside of him. It wasn't until an insistent tugging on his arm could no longer be ignored that Seodai glanced back to find wide, golden eyes fixed upon his own. "We can't leave him," Seodai complained, his concerned glance falling back towards Zahari.

[Lysander]

The sickening crack of earth failing beneath some force unknown drenched Lysander in a hot sweat, prickling fear rising on the back of his neck and forcing his grip on Seodai’s rough hand to tighten to a white-knuckled pitch. Screaming light forced the Ethaefal to take a few stumbling backward steps and glare at the blind sky. Had neither reacted, he would have assumed this was another terrifying revelation brought on by the spiritual push of the Labyrinth. It was then something awful gripped him, drew air from his lungs and squeezed a sea of gold around shrinking pupils—the Moon was gone. There was a halting scream, the unmistakable command that burst from Zahari barely registered as language in his ears; merely a dutiful alarm that set fire to his heels and urge the farmboy he held at an arm’s length to follow. The body on the other end refused to move. He should not have looked so surprised. Exasperation and fear drove tears to burn the corners of Lysander’s eyes and threatened to force his very heart through his throat. “Seo, he told us to run.” Lysander hissed, fingers dropping away from Seodai’s trembling grip in defeat. He found himself raising his voice in order to speak over the rumbling chaos, and soon brought both hands to the farmer’s shoulders in an attempt to draw him back, at least another step. “I don’t know what to do!” The helpless Ethaefal leered over the curve of Seodai’s shoulder to regard the Chaplain of Aquiras and his acolyte. Every pounding fibre of his being screamed retreat, to get the hell away—and to fuck with finding out just what had caused the very earth to split and shine so unnaturally into the sky. But he couldn’t; not alone. A sobbing prayer to his masked Father escaped from between quivering white lips, and searching gold looked between the old soul and his silent companion in feeble desperation.

[Tabarnac]

The acolyte, anyway, knew better than to disobey, and shoved Seo toward the nearest exit from the meditation garden back into the maze. His own intuition was hardly as attuned to the world as Zahari's, but he had grown a strong faith in the old man's wisdom. Whatever he sensed, immediate flight was the wisest course of action. No bigger or stronger than the farmer or the child of the moon, still he pushed at the both of them. "Run, run!" he urged, then turned back to collect Zahari. But when he looked back, there was a strange expression on the old man's face. An awareness of pain more intense than the failings of age. His lips moved, whispering something unheard. Then the meditation garden was blanked out by white glare, sound shunted out of their ears by white noise. When these things subsided, the chaplain was gone. His acolyte was the first to move, crawling, then stumbling over to the stone bench to clutch at it desperately, looking around for Zahari. But in the distance in all directions, those bolts of light were falling. Were they people of Lysander's race making earthfall? Whatever was happening, it had attacked the chaplain of Aquiras, one of the most important people in Denval's society. Seodai, at least, was Denvali enough to know that this must needs be reported to Captain Astrid, the Shield of Denval. But someone would also have to help the sobbing acolyte, who looked about ready to die himself.

[Seodai]

Seo would never know exactly how it had happened, but in all of the chaos he had somehow found the smooth, perfect hand of the fallen one again. Tucked into his own, it's flawlessness almost felt fragile, despite the fact that the ethaefal was both taller and thicker than himself. A solid shove from the acolyte, and Seo was convinced. One foot fell behind the other and he was just turning, prepared to fall into the maze of the labyrinth, to flee. It was too late. The world went white, and deafeningly silent, and somehow that was worse than if it had gone black. Unable to see, how could Seodai do anything in his clambering motion except stumble? Stumble he did, and he fell too, though it wasn't until the temporary white-washing of the world faded that he realized he had been more fortunate than Lysander, who had somehow served as the cushion to his fall. So it was that Seo lifted his head from the broad chest he had fallen against in the same moment that the acolyte reached the bench, the terrible realization falling on the both of them at the exact same moment. "Gods, no," he half croaked, his voice tight and restricted in his throat. His fingers curled in the fabric of the beautiful one's shirt, providing a stable point against which he could push. He managed to right himself, even if it was only to sit between Lysander's thighs. One hand fell to the knee upthrust betwixt himself and the empty bench, his mind racing. Was this happening all across Denval? What of Theo, the farm, the animals? His brain was too rattled to think too much further, and so he glanced down to his fellow journeyman on what was meant to be a simple walk. His eyes were terribly bright, undoubtedly tear filled, though eh refused to let them fall. The acolyte was doing enough of that for them both. "Lys, you okay?" Somehow the awkwardness had faded with the blasts of light, the trembling earth, the disappearing Chaplain. Lysander belonged to him now, and he to Lysander, terrible companions in this dark night. Another brilliant shaft of light, not too far away, jolted Seodai closer to the fallen ethaefal. "We've got to get him, to go." Seo thought again of his Uncle. What would Theo do? The younger nephew wasn't certain, but he knew what Theo wouldn't do. He wouldn't fall apart. And so, finally struggling to his feet, Seo offered Lysander a hand, still considering who they should tell, first. Who could help, really? It took only a pair of steps before the obvious occurred to the young man. Of course. The Captain. Seo, though slim, was strong, and used to pushing around bull-headed animals. The grief of the acolyte was a powerful force, though, and so Seo did his best to wrestle the young man from his hold. His bright blue eyes lifted towards Lysander, silently pleading for help. "Hurry," he said, to himself as much as his companion.

[Lysander]

The acolyte’s scream was swallowed in the blinding silence and disorientation of the light. In a second, something warm and solid had hit him with enough force to overwhelm his already compromised footing. A crack of horn on hard-packed ground far outweighed the pain of the body on top of him hitting the ground and as tissue tore behind his left ear, jolting steadfast skull and giving rise to the cool rush of crimson, he let out a laboured hiss. One arm wrapped protectively around the shoulders of the other that had nearly knocked the wind out of his lungs in their tumble while his free hand attempted to make ends of the searing pain that now plagued his skull. Nothing appeared broken. When Lysander’s hand receded from his temple, covered in the blood of haemorrhaging scalp, Seodai was already propped between his thighs and voicing concern for him—but what of the Chaplain? Narrowed gold searched past the farmboy and through the consuming blackness where just moments before a light gathered up the elderly man and swept him away. In his place, the feeble desperation of robed kin played out over a stone slab. “I’m fine,” he lied under his breath before heaving himself into a sit. His head throbbed, and he was floundering in confusion and fear; but ‘fine’ was all he could manage to say. Lysander would be pressed to admit that he didn’t want to further burden Seodai, who looked as unsettled as he did. For a moment, the terrified pair sat in befuddled darkness. Lysander inhaled his Seodai, arms offering what paltry mutual comfort a short embrace could before they parted again. The sweet, thick scent of grass and a hard-working man’s perspiration was ripped away and replaced by the outline of an extended hand, and Lysander took it, painting the tanned skin with sanguine warmth. That body’s warm scent was the only small comfort he seemed to be able to pinpoint in the chaos-fettered world, lingering for only a moment before the greedy wind had yanked it from his nose. Had the situation been different, he may have questioned his sudden disappointment. Another distant streak of light ascended into a black sky. It took effort for Lysander to clench his fists, to keep face when he would rather have lain where he fell and sobbed helplessly to his distant Father. He took the acolyte’s vacant side and offered his own firm hand in Seodai’s efforts. “Please, ser. We need to go.” Though he spoke to the grieving stranger, his unearthly stare remained transfixed with his companion, and his mind had drifted far into the ebony belly of night. Blood still poured out of the small tear behind one crystalline horn; it matted his mixed tresses, but was ignored in favour of unspoken prayers of salvation for old Zahari.

[Tabarnac]

The acolyte's tears dried as they rushed through the labyrinth. This time their passage seemed jerky and slow, whereas their journey inward had been completed in the fullness of time. No longer sure-footed, they stumbled and fell several times, cutting knees, scraping arms, but eventually they made it out and continued to flee toward the settlement proper in the unnatural dark lit by the occasional flash of light in the distance. Perhaps the world was coming to an end. Could Astrid save them from that? The lights of town burned sullen, but called them onward, Seo leading them to the Captain's Hall where people were gathered, confused and concerned. Thankfully most were hiding under the eaves of different buildings to avoid those blasts of light. The doors burst open to reveal the Captain herself, hands glowing a bright white, beacons of Priskil's hope. Before Seo could get to her, however, she was motioning her people in. The Hall couldn't hold everyone, but it could hold those who were loitering instead of staying home where it might have been safer.

[Seodai]

The struggle to escape the labyrinth, which had become a prison in place of the meditative garden it had been only hours before, was difficult. All of them were bruised and bleeding by the time they emerged, but even Seodai, to whom seemingly insignificant cuts were rarely insignificant, was so relieved that they had finally found the end (or was it the beginning?) that he hardly noticed the oozing crimson. They all wore it, now. On their brows, scuffed hands, abused knees. They had to continue on, no matter, and so he led the way. Seodai was quick on his feet, slowing only once or twice to ensure that no one was left behind. So it was they arrived breathless at the Captain's Hall, her hands like beacons to the Denvali who knew Astrid as protector, as a stable point in all of this chaos. He began to push through the loosely assembled crowd, recognizing most faces absently. Denval was too small of a place for there to ever really be strangers, unless they were from the outside, even for someone as backward as Seo. There was the butcher, who had lost his eye some dozen years ago in a scuffle of some sort, but had a smile for everyone. The mason, who was as quiet as he was talented. And the pretty girl Seodai had questioned his Uncle over, the one he had thought might be special. Perhaps looking into the face of fallen beauty had ruined Seodai's perception. She was dreadfully plain as he passed her by, her wide brown eyes lifting in shock at the sight of him. He could feel the ethaefal close to him, pressed nearly to his side as they attempted to part the crowd. He knew the acolyte wouldn't be far behind, and was glad of it. He didn't think Captain Astrid would doubt his story, but the acolyte was kin, and his grief alone would be testament to the validity of what Seodai would have to say. And Lysander? Seodai was just glad he was there, pale perfection marred with blood, dust, and grime, but shadowing so closely to him. It gave a certain sense of certainty to such an uncertain night. Before they could make real progress on their quest, however, the Captain extended her arms in generous welcome to the people milling about. She invited them in to safety, which was good for them, but not so much for the trio trying to reach the Captain. As if her welcome had somehow exacerbated the fear in the crowd, they suddenly pressed forward with a renewed sense of urgency, nearly trapping Seodai and his companions in the flow. "To the Captain," Seodai yelled over his shoulder, towards Lysander and the heartbroken grandson. If Lysander didn't know who that was, the acolyte certainly would, and together they began to shoulder and shove their way through people in order to reach their mark.

[Lysander]

The Captain’s Hall filled with the constant buzz of hushed murmur, broken by the occasional cry for justice—or salvation—from the mouths of terrified Denvali. Hand-in-hand the farmer and the Moon child remained. Lysander’s eyes would occasionally drift from their eventual goal to skim the crowd for Sitkanis: with features that were a testament to Leth’s beauty, and the familiar curve of horn that so closely resembled his, they very well should have been blood relatives. Despite his efforts, the brother was nowhere to be seen. “Have you heard? The Stirling boy is gone, someone saw him vanish while he was patrolling The Road.” The name had stood out among frenzied chatter. Talen had been an acquaintance; was he gone, like Zahari? Another voice drifted above the drone. “What is happening? Are we all doomed to disappear in a flash of light?” Every time his attention or sore feet would falter, Seodai would break him of his weary spell with a tug and move him along. There had been several prayers between the Labyrinth and the Captain’s Hall where Lysander had thanked Leth for the guidance of this farmer’s nephew: without him, the Ethaefal would have been lost. If Denval stood when the sun rose, he may have gained a friend. The crowd and the air were thickening, and Captain Astrid was at the head of the rush. Unmistakable, were the blessings of Priskil illuminating milk-white hands. Unwavering, was the strength of her city laid in a stony gaze. Unfailing, was the Shield of Denval. Lysander’s temple continued to throb and blood had long-since dried in a macabre trail behind his ear and down his neck, now accompanied by several scrapes and tears on elbows and borrowed pant legs that had bled through and stained the linen. A calloused hand became fingertips and their mutual grip was wrenched apart as a rush of bodies took the trio by shock. To the Captain, Seodai had yelled, and Lysander obliged, following briskly in step with the acolyte close behind. When they finally stopped at the Captain’s feet, Lysander had to steady himself against the farmboy. Blood loss and a gaping wound had left him light-headed, and his peripheries were blackening. Gold fluttered in an attempt to maintain his consciousness, and a set of fingers squeezed along the slight shoulder of the shorter man.

[Tabarnac]

There was fear to be sure, but fear was a natural reaction to the unknown. What was striking were the quiet ones, those who had come to the source of authority in Denval, the Captain, who was no priestess, but certainly a friend of the goddess of hope. They were soldiers, all of them; the entirety of the Denvali's small population could be raised to defend her modest borders in the event of an attack, which this may or may not have been. When they reached her, she took in the sight of the bloody farmboy, the ethaefal, and the acolyte. With Zahari not in attendance, she could only guess that something was amiss. "My people," he cried with clarion tones, her voice reaching the edges of the square and down the streets, quieting most of them. "Denval requires your bravery and calm as we seek out our answers to this crisis!" The glow of her hands and the confidence in her voice quieted many more panicked voices, and from far away, light bloomed from the apex of the chapterhouse of the Order of Radiance, a paling of pale, watery light wavering out from its spire of starglass to guard the settlement. Or so it would seem. This too quieted many with relief, shielded by hope made tangible. "Now," she called, her voice even more confident, "report!" Her secretaries, aides-de-camp, came forward to gather information, but she crooked a pretty, glowing finger at the acolyte. "Zahir, to me." He gulped and came forward, tugging Seodai with him, who would, of course, bring Lysander too.