Consequences of the Maou\'s Heart

Chapter 14

A world weary Murata sat in his quarters, silently berating himself for allowing himself to be drawn into such a mess. At best, everything would go as the blond former prince hoped. The worse possibilities left his head spinning. None of them was world ending, which was a small comfort. However, Murata was sure no one would welcome him back to the castle should his deception be uncovered. He knew that he needed to talk to Gisela. The healer made it perfectly clear that she knew something about what was going on. Yet, the normally forthright woman’s silence on the issue worried him. He couldn’t imagine anything keeping her from doing what’s best for one of her patients. Something was keeping her from telling Yuri about his status as treatment for Wolfram’s condition, and Murata was fairly sure that something involved the blond himself. Agitation boiled up in is heart; he’d seen so much pain, so many failures, and each one seemed to be rising to the surface. Without thought, he stood and began pacing the room, whispered curses trailing in his wake.

“So… Turbulent my dear,” a voice floated airily through the room. An annoyed rumble formed in Murata’s throat as he glared about the room looking for another familiar blond whom had yet to appear.

“Shinou!” though whispered, Murata’s voice was filled with irritation, “Another one of your plans!?”

“Peace my sage, peace. As… amusing as this little event may yet be, it is not the fruit of any plans of mine.” A warm throaty chuckle followed the old Maou’s words and Murata would have sworn that he felt a breath beside his ear. “In fact, I dare say this goes very opposite of any plans I may or may not have made.”

“So you’ve been making plans then?” Against his will, Murata found himself calming. This game he played with Shinou was familiar, if not always pleasant.

“I’ve little else to do but plan and scheme my dear sage… and watch of course. Watching is always so much fun.” Despite the lack of being physically in the room, Murata could see the licentious smirk slipping onto Shinou’s face.

“Perhaps for you, but I’ve always found doing much more pleasurable.”

“Touché! It is little wonder why so many have followed your… fountain of knowledge.” Murata let out a small noise that could have been either a contained snort or an affronted huff. He wondered absently if the old Maou would ever outgrow his childish double entendres.

“Yes my… fountain that is something worth following.”

“Indeed I have followed it many, many times.” The words flowed out slowly, as if Shinou tasted each letter and caused a blush to rise up over Murata’s face.

“Mmm, that was then and this is now.” Murata spoke with as little infection as he could manage and focused his gaze blankly on the view outside one of his windows.

“Of course, yet as always you are more concerned with the future than the then or the now. Mayhap, you should see that which is before your eyes?” Murata nearly turned to snarl at the empty room, but movement on the ground caught his eye. The moon reflected faintly off a pale skinned, fair-haired figure leaving the gardens.

“Ah I see Bielefeld didn’t wander too far.” A faint agreeing sound was the only response to Murata’s statement. “So was it a part of your plans for him to die?”

“He really should have realized everything by now.” The answer was equal parts evasion and hint.

“And pray tell, just what should Bielefeld have realized?”

“Mmm… My pretty little descendent has realized much more than expected of him, but still remains in the dark about so much.”

“And he’s not the one you were referring to, is he?” He pushed his glass up to rest in a mass of black hair as Murata rubbed his eyes in agitation.

“Now, now what fun is there in being so obvious?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, just tell me what’s going to happen!” Murata knew he was loosing his usually eternal patience, but couldn’t bring himself to care. A few tense moments passed and the Sage began to wonder if Shinou’s spirit had left the room at his outburst. Cool pressure pushed softly on the sides of his face, it took a moment for Murata to register that Shinou was cupping his face between both hands.

“I would tell you all I knew my sage, yet this is not of my doing, and what little I see of the future is twisting and turning. So many hearts and minds are undecided and warring. The biggest players hide in trembling shacks, afraid to see beyond what they have always seen. I have been into the depths of those who hold the ability to change it all. A shining den of safety to barricade away all but the most pious of thoughts. Such a heart can not strengthen without its most wicked desire.” Each word was accompanied by cold breeze ghosting over Murata’s lips.

“What?” Surprise radiated off Murata.

“The boy king and his prince should have married years ago; the ramifications may reach far beyond the imagination of most.” Murata took a deep breath and focused on Shinou’s words. The old king always chose his words carefully, no matter how flippant they may seem.

“May reach? Not, will reach?” The pressure abruptly disappeared and Murata was left with a sense of defeat that was not his own.

“I… I do not know. My ability to influence this would is waning and I can no longer see the full effect of the choices of mortals.”

“Shinou?”

“My time in this world is growing short, but that is of little matter. The dead do not belong amongst the living. This will be your last life as my sage, go with my Wolf, see him though what there is to be done.”

“I don’t understand.”

“And you need not understand. Go enjoy the world, eat, drink, fall in love, and …how do they say…get laid.” Bawdy laughter echoed through the room, leaving Murata alone and fuming.

“Lecherous old man,” Murata muttered darkly to himself. It had been late when the old Maou’s spirit made an appearance and it was later still when he left. Thoughts of visiting the resident healer were put off for the night and Murata began preparing for bed. As much as he would have liked to sleep the coming morning away, it was beginning to look like another early day was in store. The last few candles in Murata’s room were doused and the Sage crawled into the bed. He plucked his glasses off the top of his head and placed them on the table next to his bed. It took several minutes, but eventually he fell into a restless sleep. Nearly as soon as Murata’s consciousness slipped away, a cool wind swept into the room. It moved through the room, scattering clothing and generally upsetting the order imposed by some industrious maid earlier in the day.

“There, much better,” Shinou’s voice drifted through the air. The wind gently stirred the hair falling onto Murata’s forehead. “Sleep my dear; you will need your rest. This life still has so much in store for you and I hope you enjoy it to the fullest. You will not remember me in the next, yet I will finally be more than a ghost to you.” Murata’s glasses were casually swept up and tossed under the bed before the wind disappeared completely.

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Wolfram was dreaming, he could tell from the screams and smell of burning flesh that haunted his most reoccurring nightmare. He stood atop a hill, over looking what was once a quaint little village. It was one of the villages he'd been ordered to torch. In reality, the town had been mostly used by humans to store weapons, esoteric stones, and other implements of war in a location near the front lines of fighting during the last Great War. In reality, there had only been a few civilian casualties and Wolfram hadn't stayed to watch. Unfortunately, for Wolfram, nightmares couldn’t care less about reality.

Flames licked up the sides of every building and filled the air with a dark, toxic smoke. The heat building inside of houses burst windows out in little showers of glass. He could hear the frantic whinnying of horses pinned in for the night as they panicked and died in the blaze. One horse managed to break free, singed and terrified it ran blindly away from the stables. Its progress was halted when a front hoof stepped onto, and summarily through, the unmoving body of one of the townspeople. Slippery viscera cause the horse to fall and break its leg with a deafening crack that only a dream-scape could produce. Wolfram watched, unable to move, as the injured mare writhed and thrashed. Each movement further mauled the body underneath it, spreading organs about like so much confetti.

A scream tore Wolfram’s attention away from the gruesome scene, and he wished it hadn’t. One door burst open and allowed a woman to run free of the burning building. She ran like a scared rabbit, trailing smoke behind her. Wolfram wasn’t sure if she didn’t realize she was on fire or if she thought running would put out the flames. Either way, the flames were quickly consuming her thin frame. Her skin itself started to fuel the fire, muscles stretching and burning at the same time. A few more running steps and she collapsed. Her face turned towards the hill Wolfram stood on. He watched as her jaw worked to form screams, even as bits of gleaming white bone started to show through the flames and charred bits of flesh.

Wolfram tried desperately to close he eyes; he knew what was coming next. Everything else about the dream might change, but never this. It crawled up the hill, chubby little fingers digging into the earth. Both legs ended abruptly before the knee and trailed blood along the grass. The pale glow of the moon shouldn’t have been enough to show the blood as anything other than a dark stain, but Wolfram’s psyche preferred full color details. Short wheezing breaths echoed in Wolfram’s ears as he stared into the face of a young boy, no older than Greta had been when she first came to Covenant Castle. Inch by inch the boy crawled towards Wolfram. One small bloodied hand reached out to grab onto his pant leg, and Wolfram started screaming in his head and trying to run. However, dream Wolfram didn’t care what the real Wolfram wanted to do, and so he felt himself bend down and clasp the boy’s chin in his hand. Fire welled up in his veins and he distantly heard himself chanting a summoning spell. The boy’s eyes shone with pain as fire shot from Wolfram’s hand and engulfed his head. Wolfram tried to pull away but could only watch as the boy’s face melted from his skull. Finally, the little body slumped and fell dead away from Wolfram’s hand.

The last part of the nightmare was new enough that it didn’t always accompany the rest. A horrified gasp let Wolfram know he’d be waking up screaming. Yuri stood a few feet away from him, staring at the destruction of the town and the empty shell of a boy at his feet. Wolfram could see the disgust written in every line of Yuri’s stance and face. The emotion hurt, but was nothing in comparison to the fact that Wolfram still couldn’t move of his own volition. He watched helplessly as one of the burnt villagers appeared behind Yuri, raised a bow and took aim. The sound of his own screams deafened Wolfram, but his mouth never moved and Yuri heard nothing. A whoosh of air and the vibration of string over shadowed the noise of Wolfram’s screams, the racket of the still rampaging fire, and Yuri’s softly whispered “Why?” The world seemed to freeze for a second, just before the arrow burst out of the front of Yuri’s chest. Four inches of metal and wood protruded, glistening with the Maou’s blood.

“YURI!” Wolfram shot upright from his slumber. He wasn’t immediately aware of his surroundings and was trying to gather his thoughts enough to add the words ‘you cheater’ to his scream. Yuri didn’t worry about his nightmares if he thought they had to do with some perceived impropriety with a maiden. Instead of the concerned black eyes, he had come to expect upon waking, he was met by the concerned gaze of his subordinate. Edward watched his captain come to full awareness. Nightmares were simply a fact of life for those whom had served in the last Great War, but every man in Wolfram’s unit knew the blond’s tended to leave him nearly unable to function for a few moments after he woke up. So, it was highly surprising that instead of staring blankly around the room, Wolfram was actually taking in his surroundings almost immediately.

“Where’s Simon?” Edward fought the urge to raise an eyebrow even as he gestured towards the door in response. Wolfram nodded absentmindedly. Faint light was leaking in from the narrow slits of glass that lined the top of the wall, serving as secure windows. As usual, the bedding surrounding Wolfram was terribly rumpled from his restless sleeping habits. Two other beds sat along the walls, one bore signs of having been slept in but the other was perfectly made. Knowing his men, Wolfram was sure neither had slept the full night. They had likely taken turns sleeping and watching over him. The treatment was as embarrassing as it was comforting.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to hold the thoughts and emotions fighting to come to the surface. Before he could allow himself to wallow in the mess that was currently his life, a loud thump sounded against the door. The room’s occupants jumped slightly, and Edward went to see what had made the noise. A second thump echo through the room just before the door swung inward. Simon half stepped, half stumbled in to the room. In one hand he held a cloth covered basket, the opposite hand precariously held a pitcher of water, and he griped a cloth wrapped bundle between his teeth. Wolfram found himself grinning slightly at the sight, especially once Edward began trying to help the other soldier deposit his burden on the small table in the center of the room. Every time Edward reached to grab an item, Simon would twist just slightly to keep it out of range. The two men danced around the table, frustration growing in Edward’s eyes and mirth blooming in Simon’s. They might have continued their little ploy to cheer up their captain if a loud grumbling growl hadn’t interrupted their play. Both men blinked owlishly at Wolfram, who in turn blushed faintly.

“I’m guessing breakfast in bed was a good idea?” Simon spoke as Edward finally managed to grab the cloth from his mouth. Wolfram chortled briefly before nodding and getting out of bed. They ate in companionable silence, before cleaning up the mess and making the beds in short order. Once finished, Simon and Edward excused themselves to begin their duties for the day. Wolfram shucked the borrowed pair of short pants he’d been wearing and redressed in his uniform, he’d have to get one of the servants to move his clothing and other personal items to the barracks. It wouldn’t do to leave them in the royal bedchamber, even if he wouldn’t need them much longer. He’d made it the first night without any signs of the poison reeking havoc on his body and he estimated he’d have a few more days before anything became noticeable. Nevertheless, he needed to leave and he needed to leave soon.

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AN: Oye massive case of writer's block, coupled with cosplay crunch time = late chapter. Ah well at least it's out now.