History Repeating
OOC: A couple people have wondered just what's with Harrick's father and Tag? I hope this post will answer that. I don't feel like putting everything in Italics - just know that from here on out, there is not a word one spoken in Common. This is very long, so I'm putting it behind a cut.
"We have to kill him, Tag," Harrick said, and Tag sighed, his hands combing through his hair. It was too long, and the curls were tight, grabbing onto his fingers. He was only 19, had only been here a year now on his home planet with Harrick and his family, learning about his heritage. He'd grown up in it, yes, on a ship, but that was different than on land, as an adult. So much time lost...that he was slowly recovering.
With the help of Harrick's family. His father, his mother, and his child sister, Tag had finally found a place that felt like home. And now, with Harrick's father Mikel dying of cancer, Harrick wanted him to risk everything he had.
"I CAN'T, Harrick! I can't murder him! How could you ask it of me? Ask me to move every mountain you've ever seen. Ask me to bring the heavens to you. Ask me to spill the blood of every child I know until I die, but brother, you cannot ask this of me. It would kill me inside," Tag sobbed, pleading with Harrick, going down on one knee and hugging himself to his brother's shoulder. Harrick was his soul's brother, rather than by birth. They'd found each other on Whithower's ship and couldn't be separated by stars or captains. "He is like my father, Harrick."
"He IS my father, Heut. And he is dying. He cannot kill himself, even though it eats at his every cell. We've got to do this for him. You must help me."
"He will kill me, and you know it. I cannot fight him. I'm not ready. He carries a Jathe sword, Harrick."
Harrick nodded. Tag was considering the possibilities, which meant that he'd already decided to do it. "We can fight him together. If you wear him down first. He'll not go quiet, there's enough in him left for that. He would never throw himself upon our blades, even though he cries with every waking moment for his end."
"The Fates will curse us. This is upon you, Harrick. It is upon me. We will live lives of death and pain for taking their place," Tag groaned, leaning back against the open window of Harrick's bedroom, pushing his hair out of his eyes again. He'd not cut it since he was ten, and it was so long now that he had to keep it braided, or it would blind him in a duel. Of which he'd had several, just in the past month. It was a tiring place, Mo'i'ro.
"Then let them, Heut. I cannot take this any longer."
*******************
"I challenge you to a duel, master Mikel du son Jaines," Tag said, resting his wrist on the pommel of his sword, covering the needles engraved there. Harrick stood beside him, in the same pose, covering his own pommel bearing the scissors. Mikel rounded slowly on them both, and the people around them began to widen away naturally, like a river flowing around a rock.
"On what grounds?" Mikel asked, his cancer ridden throat making the words raspy and sticking.
Tag stiffened. "You are unfit to lead your house. Your sons challenge for it."
Mikel narrowed his eyes. "So ready to die, boy?"
"On of us is," Tag said, drawing his blade clean from its sheathe and taking up a beginning stance, a lead in to something darker.
Mikel watched him, and puffed out his upper lip, making his long mustache tremble. He drew his sword, and though Tag expected a tremble, there was none. Mikel was not to die this day. "I'll take you both. First one, then the other. Your blood will wash these streets clean."
Tag's back stiffened, and as the man ran at him, he side stepped, bringing his sword down, the steel clashing against steel, sliding with a squeal like glass breaking, over and over. They pulled apart, pushing past each other, and Tag pulled his sword back into first stance, awaiting the next run as honor dictated, but it didn't come. Mikel was behind him somehow, and Tag felt the blade slice his skin before he knew that it had cut the fabric of his pants, slicing down and along the muscle of his right thigh. He stumbled and nearly fell, a crowd beginning to form around them, witnesses to the duel. That Mikel was dying was common knowledge - his crime was witnessed. The challenge had happened in broad daylight, on the street, and it was witnessed. Here now they all stood, watching and waiting. Twin duels were rare. But Mikel was a grand master.
Mikel didn't give him any curtsey, gave him no quarter. Tag knew that he was fighting for his life, and Harrick could do nothing but stand on the side and wait until Tag was either dead or near enough that it wouldn't matter. He heard his brother's anguished cries only dimly, his world narrowing to the blades.
They met and met again, and he heard the clacking, falling into a rhythm, watching Mikel move. The old man was starting to favor his left side, and Tag paced himself around it, watching for his moment, feeling the sword bite into him when he wasn't fast enough to guard or parry. He saw his chance and in a riposte slammed his blade into the old man's leg, drawing out the needles from his arm sheathes as Mikel dropped his own sword, trying to pry Tag's loose. Tag dove in, but Mikel feinted and flipped him over, his back arching, and he rolled with the young Heut to the ground, wresting his needles away and pinning his left arm tot he ground with one, just above his wrist, between the bones. Tag screamed in blinding pain, wordless cries, like a child, as Mikel started in on the sword again, sliding it free in slow increments, cursing Tag's name as he went, shards of bone and meat coming up with the curving edge. Tag rolled as far as his arm would allow him, tugging on the needle at first and then simply tugging on his arm, watching blood spurt out onto the ground, thick and red and wet. How had the man driven it so deep?!
He groped desperately for the old man's sword, and as his hand found purchase he felt another slice across his leg, the left this time, as Mikel found him defenseless. He didn't have time to get the sword up as Mikel began to slash at him with his own blade, biting into him and ripping through his skin and muscle. He was thinner then, wiry and small, and the blade cut deep. He started losing strength as much from the blood loss as his disheartenment, seeing Mikel bring the blade up high over his head.
Heut grabbed the hilt and brought it up and around, the sword whistling through the air, and slammed it into Mikel, no longer able to think clearly, just blindly hoping that he'd managed to hit something vital before he died, to aid Harrick.
Things were starting to get foggy, but he knew by the man's roar that he'd hit something hard and deep, and he could see the silhouette of the man he'd wanted to call father scrabbling at a sword in his chest, the cross guard biting into the buttons of his shirt. Harrick approached then, slowly, and brought his sword up and then down, Mikel's head flying through the air, blood splashing in an arc over Tag and the street, landing near the edge of the crowd's feet. The headless body slumped, then fell forward, driving the blade farther into his body, causing the old man's figure to bend around it.
Harrick fell to his knees beside Heut, and cradled his friend's neck and shoulders, pressing Tag to him and rocking him back and forth. He kissed Tag's eye lids, then began screaming for someone to get a doctor, hot wet tears falling onto Heut's face, little spots of water clearing the blood.
It's soaking him, Tag thought absently, seeing the blood draw itself up Harrick's clothing - like ink only slower. He gasped and mewled at his friend, and as Harrick pulled the needle from the ground Tag found that he could scream again, great wails of agony, and then there was numbness.
*******************
Tag awoke, slowly, in a hospital, stitched with multicolored thread and another charm on him to be added to the collection around his ankle. Harrick was sitting beside him, his head in his hands, and at the sound of Tag's breathing change looked up and rubbed a thumb across Heut's nose.
"Thought I'd lost you to the evening star," he said, smiling shakily. "But we did it. You did it. You beat him."
"A cursed life," Tag whispered back to him, and looked away, miserable. "Pain will follow us like dogs snapping at a fox's heels."
Harrick kissed his cheek, and patted his stomach. "You'll never hurt again, Heut. We freed him. In the end, he knew, and he loved us. I know it."
He leaned in closer, and laid his head on the pillow next to Tag's, clasping his left hand in Heut's right. "It must be true, brother. We did him mercy. You are the only man I could ever trust, Tag. You are my brother. He whispers to us from the moon's rays now, smiles down upon us from her three faces."
"I lost," Tag croaked out, and Harrick shook his head violently, putting a finger to his lips.
"No, little brother, you did not lose. But I am marking you all the same - to show your victory. All our people will know. My life is yours. My heart is yours. My soul is yours. I will bind my own wrist since you cannot, and the length of my thread shall be epic. Sleep, Tag. Sleep well, shard of my soul."
"We have to kill him, Tag," Harrick said, and Tag sighed, his hands combing through his hair. It was too long, and the curls were tight, grabbing onto his fingers. He was only 19, had only been here a year now on his home planet with Harrick and his family, learning about his heritage. He'd grown up in it, yes, on a ship, but that was different than on land, as an adult. So much time lost...that he was slowly recovering.
With the help of Harrick's family. His father, his mother, and his child sister, Tag had finally found a place that felt like home. And now, with Harrick's father Mikel dying of cancer, Harrick wanted him to risk everything he had.
"I CAN'T, Harrick! I can't murder him! How could you ask it of me? Ask me to move every mountain you've ever seen. Ask me to bring the heavens to you. Ask me to spill the blood of every child I know until I die, but brother, you cannot ask this of me. It would kill me inside," Tag sobbed, pleading with Harrick, going down on one knee and hugging himself to his brother's shoulder. Harrick was his soul's brother, rather than by birth. They'd found each other on Whithower's ship and couldn't be separated by stars or captains. "He is like my father, Harrick."
"He IS my father, Heut. And he is dying. He cannot kill himself, even though it eats at his every cell. We've got to do this for him. You must help me."
"He will kill me, and you know it. I cannot fight him. I'm not ready. He carries a Jathe sword, Harrick."
Harrick nodded. Tag was considering the possibilities, which meant that he'd already decided to do it. "We can fight him together. If you wear him down first. He'll not go quiet, there's enough in him left for that. He would never throw himself upon our blades, even though he cries with every waking moment for his end."
"The Fates will curse us. This is upon you, Harrick. It is upon me. We will live lives of death and pain for taking their place," Tag groaned, leaning back against the open window of Harrick's bedroom, pushing his hair out of his eyes again. He'd not cut it since he was ten, and it was so long now that he had to keep it braided, or it would blind him in a duel. Of which he'd had several, just in the past month. It was a tiring place, Mo'i'ro.
"Then let them, Heut. I cannot take this any longer."
*******************
"I challenge you to a duel, master Mikel du son Jaines," Tag said, resting his wrist on the pommel of his sword, covering the needles engraved there. Harrick stood beside him, in the same pose, covering his own pommel bearing the scissors. Mikel rounded slowly on them both, and the people around them began to widen away naturally, like a river flowing around a rock.
"On what grounds?" Mikel asked, his cancer ridden throat making the words raspy and sticking.
Tag stiffened. "You are unfit to lead your house. Your sons challenge for it."
Mikel narrowed his eyes. "So ready to die, boy?"
"On of us is," Tag said, drawing his blade clean from its sheathe and taking up a beginning stance, a lead in to something darker.
Mikel watched him, and puffed out his upper lip, making his long mustache tremble. He drew his sword, and though Tag expected a tremble, there was none. Mikel was not to die this day. "I'll take you both. First one, then the other. Your blood will wash these streets clean."
Tag's back stiffened, and as the man ran at him, he side stepped, bringing his sword down, the steel clashing against steel, sliding with a squeal like glass breaking, over and over. They pulled apart, pushing past each other, and Tag pulled his sword back into first stance, awaiting the next run as honor dictated, but it didn't come. Mikel was behind him somehow, and Tag felt the blade slice his skin before he knew that it had cut the fabric of his pants, slicing down and along the muscle of his right thigh. He stumbled and nearly fell, a crowd beginning to form around them, witnesses to the duel. That Mikel was dying was common knowledge - his crime was witnessed. The challenge had happened in broad daylight, on the street, and it was witnessed. Here now they all stood, watching and waiting. Twin duels were rare. But Mikel was a grand master.
Mikel didn't give him any curtsey, gave him no quarter. Tag knew that he was fighting for his life, and Harrick could do nothing but stand on the side and wait until Tag was either dead or near enough that it wouldn't matter. He heard his brother's anguished cries only dimly, his world narrowing to the blades.
They met and met again, and he heard the clacking, falling into a rhythm, watching Mikel move. The old man was starting to favor his left side, and Tag paced himself around it, watching for his moment, feeling the sword bite into him when he wasn't fast enough to guard or parry. He saw his chance and in a riposte slammed his blade into the old man's leg, drawing out the needles from his arm sheathes as Mikel dropped his own sword, trying to pry Tag's loose. Tag dove in, but Mikel feinted and flipped him over, his back arching, and he rolled with the young Heut to the ground, wresting his needles away and pinning his left arm tot he ground with one, just above his wrist, between the bones. Tag screamed in blinding pain, wordless cries, like a child, as Mikel started in on the sword again, sliding it free in slow increments, cursing Tag's name as he went, shards of bone and meat coming up with the curving edge. Tag rolled as far as his arm would allow him, tugging on the needle at first and then simply tugging on his arm, watching blood spurt out onto the ground, thick and red and wet. How had the man driven it so deep?!
He groped desperately for the old man's sword, and as his hand found purchase he felt another slice across his leg, the left this time, as Mikel found him defenseless. He didn't have time to get the sword up as Mikel began to slash at him with his own blade, biting into him and ripping through his skin and muscle. He was thinner then, wiry and small, and the blade cut deep. He started losing strength as much from the blood loss as his disheartenment, seeing Mikel bring the blade up high over his head.
Heut grabbed the hilt and brought it up and around, the sword whistling through the air, and slammed it into Mikel, no longer able to think clearly, just blindly hoping that he'd managed to hit something vital before he died, to aid Harrick.
Things were starting to get foggy, but he knew by the man's roar that he'd hit something hard and deep, and he could see the silhouette of the man he'd wanted to call father scrabbling at a sword in his chest, the cross guard biting into the buttons of his shirt. Harrick approached then, slowly, and brought his sword up and then down, Mikel's head flying through the air, blood splashing in an arc over Tag and the street, landing near the edge of the crowd's feet. The headless body slumped, then fell forward, driving the blade farther into his body, causing the old man's figure to bend around it.
Harrick fell to his knees beside Heut, and cradled his friend's neck and shoulders, pressing Tag to him and rocking him back and forth. He kissed Tag's eye lids, then began screaming for someone to get a doctor, hot wet tears falling onto Heut's face, little spots of water clearing the blood.
It's soaking him, Tag thought absently, seeing the blood draw itself up Harrick's clothing - like ink only slower. He gasped and mewled at his friend, and as Harrick pulled the needle from the ground Tag found that he could scream again, great wails of agony, and then there was numbness.
*******************
Tag awoke, slowly, in a hospital, stitched with multicolored thread and another charm on him to be added to the collection around his ankle. Harrick was sitting beside him, his head in his hands, and at the sound of Tag's breathing change looked up and rubbed a thumb across Heut's nose.
"Thought I'd lost you to the evening star," he said, smiling shakily. "But we did it. You did it. You beat him."
"A cursed life," Tag whispered back to him, and looked away, miserable. "Pain will follow us like dogs snapping at a fox's heels."
Harrick kissed his cheek, and patted his stomach. "You'll never hurt again, Heut. We freed him. In the end, he knew, and he loved us. I know it."
He leaned in closer, and laid his head on the pillow next to Tag's, clasping his left hand in Heut's right. "It must be true, brother. We did him mercy. You are the only man I could ever trust, Tag. You are my brother. He whispers to us from the moon's rays now, smiles down upon us from her three faces."
"I lost," Tag croaked out, and Harrick shook his head violently, putting a finger to his lips.
"No, little brother, you did not lose. But I am marking you all the same - to show your victory. All our people will know. My life is yours. My heart is yours. My soul is yours. I will bind my own wrist since you cannot, and the length of my thread shall be epic. Sleep, Tag. Sleep well, shard of my soul."