Chapter Ten: We are Tangled.

He just stares at me for the longest time, which I can certainly understand. He’s probably never seen someone rip off a demon’s head with a whip before. I shake the sizzling blood off of the heels of my boots as best as I can, the boots themselves are trashed. I’d say I have to get a new pair- but who would I be kidding? I have plenty enough. By the time I look up he has come closer.

“I’m not afraid of you. You did all of that to protect me. That was the most badass thing I’ve ever seen.” He says that like it’s some sort of accomplishment. I ignore the pain in my arm as it escalates, begging for proper attention-which there is none of, in this immediate vicinity. I shake my head at him, taking a deep breath and coiling Bloodlust up single-handedly and strapping it back against my hip. I start the walk back to the nearest portal back into Muortum. Which, if we were lucky, shouldn’t be far. Citizens of Muortum have a way of sensing portals back home, and out of it. Sometimes they come in the form of something as simple as a puddle- or, if you were as unlucky as Megan, the only portal for a 200 mile radius may come in the form of a broken-down outhouse. (Because I definitely didn’t have to listen to a two hour rant about that one.)

“I didn’t do it to protect you.” I state coldly.

“Sure seemed like it, Admit it- you actually liiiiiike me, don’t you?”

“No.” I simply state the word, trying to ignore his prompting and picking.

“If you say you didn’t do it to protect me, then why did you do it?”

“Information. Otherwise I would have let the stupid mutt chomp your head off. It would have taught you a lesson.” This wasn’t exactly the truth, I did actually do it to protect him- but that doesn’t mean I like or favor him in any sense. It just means that there’s still some scrap of morality within me that wouldn’t let him die in front of me without at least trying to stop it. I feel a dull ache within my cold chest, one that sympathizes with the pain in my bloody arm. Why? Why exactly couldn’t I bring myself to let him be destroyed? What on earth possessed me to injure myself in order to protect him? I haven’t the faintest clue what that rush was back there- but I swear to myself, I swear that it will never happen again. I can’t run around feeling things like that- it is against every principle I have ever learned, it goes against the slayer law. Slayer Law is a set of rules that you are sworn to, upon both entering and graduating from the academy, and it is something that no slayer will ever take lightly. Slayer Law number one states that you shall give your all in the name of the most honorable Lord Death, following up that- the second law states that if anything is in the way of that objective- it should be terminated promptly and mercilessly. And of course, as though that were not enough, the third law states that you shall show no mercy nor beg to receive such grace under any given circumstances. You know what? Why don’t I just write them down- they go as follows;

Law no.1:I shall forfeit all that I am in the name of the honorable Lord Death.

Law no.2:Should anything get in the way of my proper service, I shall terminate the source of the problem promptly and mercilessly.

Law no.3:I shall never bestow or receive mercy. To do so would invoke great shame.

Law no.4:The kill is always most important.

Law no.5:I shall always follow orders, and carry them out both efficiently and as dictated.

Law no.6:I shall use whatever means are at my disposal to do a thorough job and extract accurate information- these means include, but are not limited to; Torture, Wordplay, Dueling, Threats, Stabbing/Gashing/Sawing/Whipping/Punching/Kicking, and foul play.

Law no.7:I shall never fall in combat- and if it occurs that I do, I will do everything in my power to get away from the enemy before I perish.

Law no.8:I shall never willfully inform mortals of the existence of Muortum.

Law no.9:If all else should fail me, I shall use murder to accomplish my goal.

Law no.10:I shall always be reverent of my master, teachers, elders, and Chapel Head- even after they are deceased.

Law no.11:My life is not my own.

Law no.12:Everything I do shall be rational and in the best interest of all.

Law no.13:I shall not cry, whine, beg, plead, require company nor comfort, or rely on anyone else for my own survival. I shall never show any signs of weakness, especially in the face of my foes.

Law no.14:I need not, nor shall I ever grow attached to, worldly beings or possessions.

Law no.15:The ways of torture and assassination shall become second-nature to me, and I will never hesitate to use them to advance my goals.

Law no.16:I shall use my own hatred to make me strong, all other emotions are useless and irrelevant.

Of course, those were ‘watered down’ a bit, beneath every law there would be separate clauses and in depth explanations that would somehow seek to confuse you, and there would always be strict lessons from harsh teachers who would use Slayer Law no.10 to their advantage. What it boils down to is a rather simple concept- Slayers have vowed to give their all to defeat the forces of evil- whether they manifest in our own realm, or in the darkness that lies between surreal planes of being. And the thing is- we do that, we make that choice willingly. People don’t understand why we would give our lives up to such a violent life- and even so, the truth of the matter, is that indeed most of us do not do it to protect mortals or anything else- we do it for revenge. It may sound a bit childish, but all slayers have had the dark ones rob them of something precious, in most cases- the most precious thing they have ever known. Megan’s twin brother, Christopher, was murdered before her eyes at a young age- he was the only one to understand and listen to her, even her parents did not care for their “strange” daughter, who was afflicted with an uncommon fixation of tomboy-esque qualities. My Mistress Kay has told me her story (a very intimate thing to do for a slayer), she was one of the unlucky ones- she had to fight the dark ones off, her brothers and sisters behind her- and she still could not protect them. She was knocked out during the struggle, only fourteen years of age, and when she woke- all she could see was the brutal savagery that had somehow overlooked her. Because the dark ones- they prefer young souls, innocent lives, ones that have yet to know of the evils of the world. Mistress Kay was the eldest of her parents’ children- and she was the only one to walk away that day, but she did not walk away unscarred…..Because that's always how it goes….Nobody ever walks away unscarred….

We all know that we can never reclaim our lives, never really piece them together, back into what they were before. Because what was taken- it is the one missing piece, the keystone that without, no matter how determined a person shall seem- without it, the bridge they have built back to that old life will always collapse and crumble into oblivion with the slightest test. In a world where there is so much insanity, so much murder- the tormented have only two options. To be driven mad by their grief and loss, or to stand up and fight. For what? Most don’t know in the beginning what it is that they fight for.But as time passes, as that tender heart becomes encased in a hard lead shell- they come to realize that they fight, not for honor. Not for morals or righteousness. But they recognize that what they fight for is vengance. Revenge. Nothing can bring back their loved ones. Nothing can bring back that house that was burned into cinders with raging hellfire. Nothing can bleach away the blood- but it isn’t even the blood that most of them care about, truly, it is that nothing can bleach away the memories. Nothing can fix what has been so thoroughly broken, as I like to say. But they damn well know that they can make somebody, or in a slayer’s case, something pay. ‘Nothing is without cost’ Mistress Kay taught me. ‘A thief who steals, even if only to feed himself, knows that when he is caught- he will pay for his crimes. And even if he is not caught, he shall pay all his life with fear; the fear of those officials banging on his door late at night. Even long after his years of stealing are over. The cost of his decision will weigh heavily with him either way. Or in the case of the dark ones that we hunt- their decision to pursue such dark and evil acts will eventually cost them their lives, but on the other side- the slayers who give their lives up to their pursuit, who make that decision to become strong and fearless, they will also trade their lives. And trading them is the only viable exchange, to learn of the darkest secrets and forbidden sins, and to walk alongside the greatest warriors there have ever been. Muortum is a double edged sword. It must keep the Gap at bay, and also guard the stability of the mortal realm. So has been it’s duty since the beginning of time. And those who represent it, have traded their lives through the ages- giving them up to serve,lead, and in the end- die. Slayers trade their lives to achieve their coveted revenge, and in fact, being a slayer is the only place you will be able to find for yourself in the world, after everything else has been wrenched away from you. We trade our lives in order to find a place for them. The world and all that it is will always be based upon this grand property of balance. Everything must be balanced- the light. The dark. And nothingness. And as we know this, we should also know that Nothing, good nor bad, can ever come without a cost.’.

Of course I knew that the ‘light, darkness, and nothingness’ she referred to were aliases for Vietellam, Muortum, and The Gap. And everything she taught me was nothing but the truth. Try as we might to deny it- the real reason people become slayers is for the sole purpose of revenge. Even though we all know that no matter what we do, it cannot bring back what was taken- it brings, at the very least, a false sense of contentedness- because at least your hands are busy, at least you are serving “justice”, as warped and bloody as it may be. And that, all on its own, sure beats staring at a blank wall and twiddling your thumbs as everything that you are is eaten away by the acid that is corruption.

Corruption. I like to think of it in much the same way as demon blood. It is black, and it bubbles, festers, and burns- it will eat away flesh and bone until all that is left is a writhing and pitiful mass that used to be a person. Once it gets into one’s mind, in much the same manner, it will eat away and kill, turning black and sickly, the brain that it has infested. The acid of corruption can turn a righteous man to the path of murder, an ignorant human to give their life to the demons, a king to massacre his own people. I classify corruption as having many different ‘flavors’. The corruption of lust, per example. The corruption of power. But the one my Mistress Kay taught me to fear the very most- That would be the Corruption of Chaos.

The darkest of the dark, the most sinister of the evil, the most devastating of disasters- that is what makes the corruption of chaos. The balance that she always strived to teach me- Chaos is what topples that balance. I was taught to hate it. Apparently, back in the old days- the Corruption of Chaos is what led Grim, Lord Death’s brother, to turn into such a downright evil and malicious ruler that he sent his subjects of the immortal realm to terrorize the humans- and our current Lord was the only one who had the power to stop him, with a battle that shaped the earth for the rest of time. The rule of King Grim is, and forever will be, a blemish on the face of Muortum, and the face of history itself. It is said that god wept tears for the people of Muortum and Vietellam alike- or so the legend says. I have a hard time believing anyone would shed tears for people of Muortum. But nonetheless, as the battle raged on, for forty days and forty nights, the ‘tears of god’ poured down from the heavens. Flooding the mortal world beneath, killing them in the sheer torrents of water. And so-that is what marks the turning of an age, from the rule of King Grim, to the era of Lord Death.

“I don’t ever want you looking down on me.” I pause for a moment, the portal back into Muortum rippling before me with purple light, this portal came in the form of a puddle. But despite it’s deceiving appearance that would seem to drop us far down into the depths of the earth, years of experience told me that even if it appeared that way, we would still emerge back in Muortum. If a human were to see us, they would have seen a young woman and man seeming to step into a puddle and sink into nothingness, left marveling and testing an everyday average puddle that would never yield the same results for them. Perhaps if they were truly perceptive, they would have noticed that the reflection inside of the small gathering of water never really ceased in its rippling- but they would just dismiss it as an odd phenomena and wander away wondering if what they had seen had ever really occurred in the first place. And that is how it should be, the world of Muortum always slyly hinting at its existence, but never honestly exposing itself. Exposure means death in more ways than one. People have always detested things that they do not, and will not, understand.

“Why would I look down on you? Ya know, besides the whole psychopathic b***h thing.” My legs wobble a bit as my feet greet solid ground, melting snow sloshing underfoot. I push away his helping hand as he reaches out to steady me. If I can take the burning pain of ninety-nine lashes, I can certainly handle walking on my own until I can stitch my own arm back up. Because I don’t trust doctors. Come to think of it, I don’t believe I ever have. And that is not a weakness nor is it a fear. It is a reasonable life choice.

“I don’t want anyone looking down on me. That statement is not just restricted to you. I don’t know everything that you do, and in that way I am both cursed and blessed. Cursed with the agony of never knowing, and blessed because I will never have to fear that those things will be taken away from me. I will never accept somebody looking down on me because I am not the same as them. And in the same manner neither should you, because you are associated with me now. Even if everything they do makes you want to shriek in unbridled fury, even if blood falls from your face, you must never act out. Because then they will look down on you too. Seeing you about to get hurt like that was not a thing I could ignore because, had I let it occur, I would have been at fault. And it would have been my name to take the blow. But even so, maybe I acted out as I did because in particular, I do not want you to look down on me. As infuriating as you may be- you are not a bad person. And any soldier of Lord Death will not stand idly by to allow good people to fall in harms way.” He is silent for a while, I don’t see why this seems to happen lately, when I speak to him. I would say that perhaps it is because he has nothing left to say- but having known him for, dare I say, a while now, I know that is not the case.

“You aren’t a bad person either.” He states blankly as I fumble to put the key in its slot, as though it is a tasteless phrase he never thought would be passing his lips. I know he would rather I go to a doctor- but I have a high pain tolerance and can look upon even the most grotesque of things without so much as a flinch, besides- I don’t trust doctors. I don’t trust anyone as much as I trust myself. You never can. Trust somebody else more so than yourself, and terrible things will happen. Nobody can pull through for you like you can.

“You don’t know everything I’ve done.” The key twists in the lock and the door clicks open. My response is simple, and yet chillingly accurate. How can he, When even I can’t recall everything that I’ve done? It is thought that if you do something over and over, like tying your shoe, that you will no longer remember each time that you do it. The same can be said for killing. Grim as it may be- it is the truth. If you ask a serial killer to tell you about his 54th victim out of 89, he may be able to tell you a hair color, maybe some very faint feature- but unless that victim was different from all the others, he will not be able to tell you all of the details you would wish him to say. It is disappointing that memory is such an elusive skill to grasp, and in some cases- impossible to grasp and improve upon. But it is not all for loss, like the serial killer with a particularly unique victim, one can always recall a particularly difficult hunt- and learn from that experience. Kurai says I am not a bad person- but I stopped believing that, no- really, I never believed that at all. And I don’t think I ever will.

He reaches out to help me with my arm as I go inside and sit on the marble counter of the bathroom sink. I pull a small white box from behind the mirror, like something you would hold a few bandages and maybe a tube of antibiotic ointment inside- but I would have no use for those. This isn’t something you can just smack a Hello Kitty band-aid on and call “all better!”. I open it up and theres what almost looks like a sewing kit inside, a rather rag-tag one at that. Maybe something you would find in the home of a person who was mentally demented. Which I guess would be how you’d describe any person from our realm. You don’t have to look at it for very long to realize that it isn’t actually a handy little sewing kit. There’s a small spool of black wire inside, in place of thread. The sort that doctors use for sutures, which is, of course, exactly what the spool was meant for. Beside the spool lies a set of needles, tucked neatly by order of size, piercing a soft and thick bit of cloth so as not to rattle around and fall out of place. Next to the needles there is a fairly small bottle of iodine or other strong antibacterial solution, a little white jar, unlabeled and unmarked, and- in fact, a tube of ointment. Not neosporin mind you, but an ointment all the same. It too is unmarked, save for a green-blue dot at the top of the cap, marked in paint. Like I said before, people of Muortum don’t really like all of the modern technology in Vietellam, medicine is no exception. We prefer old and trusted techniques, ways that we know for sure will work. Like me, most do not like doctors- if asked, I’d say only half of us would even admit to trusting a doctor. So for most that means going down to your local witch and purchasing salves from her/him. Sometimes the best remedies are ones that have been hand-made, with care, precision, and of course- a bit of respectable witch magic. The entire contents of the case lie on a thick blanket of gauze and bandages.

I thread the needle with slightly trembling fingers. “If you insist upon helping, you can remove the belt.” I tell him, my arm is completely dead now, it’s connection to the rest of my body nearly severed with the lost blood flow. In this such case, the deadened feeling will come to my advantage.

“You’ll bleed out.” He states, as though he knows everything and should not have to listen to such absolutely ludicrous instructions.

“Don’t worry about it. It looks worse than it is.” It takes a long stern glare for his fingers to make their way to the slick belt and fumble with its tight length, his clumsy fingers at first slipping and losing purchase quite easily- scratching the numb skin. I take a deep breath, rubbing a cloth up and down the length of my arm, soaked in iodine and cleaning whatever parts of it I could reach. It may just be as bad as it seems- rolling over it with the cloth I can feel my own bone, a very surreal feeling, and the gash-like indentation left upon it. I can understand why Kurai was so hesitant, I must look like a Hollowman from the shoulder down.

The moment the belt is released my skin flushes red, and I waste no time. I plunge the threaded needle in and out, over and across the flesh, deep down into the muscle and sinew and back out again, while the deadened feeling remains. I make quick work of it- but the pain returns quickly as well, I grit my teeth and clench the muscles in my hand as they start to tremble on their own accord. My life is in no danger, I know, but even so- the blood makes my body think it is. Adrenaline pumps through my veins right alongside the crimson substance.

“Put some of the salve in the tube onto a bandage and put it on carefully.” I order him, snipping the wire with my teeth and giving another cursory swipe with the iodine-soaked cloth over the freshly sutured shoulder. He does as he’s told, smearing the dark blue and green swirled paste over a very large bandage and I hold out my arm as best as I can. He is quick about it, pressing the bandage on and sealing the edges meticulously with his fingers, the paste slowly making the pain ebb and cool, leaving an almost refreshing feel as it works its, for lack of a better term, “magic”. I look up to see his silver eyes burning into mine, his messy dark hair drenched in sweat and clinging to his face. For a moment I think he is angry at me, from the look in those eyes.

“Don’t put yourself in a demon’s way for me again.” He says coldly. So coldly in fact, that it takes me by surprise. The way he says that, with a sort of hurt, a sort of force that cannot truly be described- I know in that instant, Kurai knows something more of demons. Maybe more so about them than any of the other dark ones. How, or why, or what- I do not know. But something about the subject of demons manages to touch a button of his.

I should have left it alone. I should have never pushed him further. In that moment, there was a hint of truth behind his eyes- a moment that slipped away. Kurai was struggling with his own demon in a way I could never understand, and to this day- can never understand. His battle, just like mine, was always set out, destined to be exactly as it plays out from the moment of his birth, destined never to change- but to entwine with others, to weave a fabric of life rifled with strife, war,pain and tears- a fabric that at the moment of his death- will burn like all other tapestries of life. We weave a beautiful symphony, a beautiful cloth, started with our first cry, the very first thread-the very first shade. And it continues, shaped by our memories, by our experiences. To go all alone would be impossible, when looking back at a tapestry of one's life. Because people- they have become tangled with your thread, maybe a flaw at first- but working into something both beautiful and heart wrenching, shaping a life that started with only one color, one shade,and one person. But others join in...and even if you distance yourself, even if you try never to tangle with them- it is all in vain. Just as we, going on with our lives, flowing and ebbing with the good and the bad times, fraying our own edges and slipping our own knots, get all tangled up with others- our own thread will go off to tangle with theirs, will intertwine and join together- marking the memory, marking the day, marking the second- that they came into our lives, and we into theirs. A bold spot of color so different from our own- marked forever in the course of time in a way that can never be removed. You can not rip it out. You can not start over. You can not destroy your threads to weave it again. And we can try to go alone, we can insist that we are strong- but these splotches of color- they tell us otherwise. They tell us so much more. And when we look back at our own tapestries, and we see these hues of blue, and black, of red and silver, of green and yellow, of all the colors that taint our cloth- we wonder how our own thread has affected the cloths of others. Where is my mark? Where did my memory color someone’s life? Because these “taints”, these “ugly splotches”, those little unintended tangles and slip ups- those are what make your tapestry, and everyone else’s- one of a kind. One that can not and never will be repeated, they are what makes a life beautiful and worth living. When the fire falls upon the center of that tapestry at the moment we begin to die, whether that fire spreads slowly or quickly, when all of those other threads fall from ours- singed at the ends and returning to their own cloths with the loss that has marked and seared them so badly- as that flame consumes the cloth, as we are slowly left, one by one, all alone- we can know that our tapestry is one that will never be seen again. That our thread, that tangled and knotted, that laughed and cried, is a one of a kind thread. One that left its mark on so many pieces of art. And when we fade away- those marks, those splotches, those memories we made- they will live on. Until the depths of the hottest fire consume them too, and then, ashes to ashes, the threads will tangle once again. In a poetic and heart breaking way. Nobody could tell you what really awaits you at the moment of your death- we believe certain things, but believing is different from knowing. How can someone know, in the instant that their life is fading, that there will ever be something more, a next chapter, so to speak?

I couldn’t have told you what would await Kurai and I, as the loom that forced us to progress in life relentlessly pushed us forward- with a set rhythm and unchangeable end. At that time, I really couldn’t have pictured the twists and turns that would warp our woven canvases. I couldn’t picture how much time we really would have left before we burned up to ashes, maybe some part of me had assumed that the time would be infinite- even though my mind knew that would be impossible. But at that moment, somehow I did know. Somewhere, some part of me, perhaps far back in my mind, it knew that Kurai and I had become tangled- it didn’t matter that we had met months before, or at least- that wasn’t when it dawned on me. But at that moment, it did. I realized that I had marked him and he had marked me, and we would never be able to get rid of each other quite so easily- ever again. Even at times when it would have been best to shake off each other and forget we ever knew them- we couldn’t. Even though I didn’t want to admit it- I cared about him. I cared about him like I cared for Megan, in a protective, defensive manner. But I would never let him know that. At that time, he was my charge, and I his instructor. We had marked each other as such, but that was just the start of it. Everything has to start with something.

Even as we both approached our own ends, our destiny unfurling and pushing us towards a darkness that would swallow us up whole- we didn’t let go. We couldn’t let go.

Because we were tangled. Our paths and fates all twisted up and intermingled.

And we could never have let go.

And he didn’t let go……

Even when I wanted him to…..

Author's Note

Sooooosososososo sorry it took me forever to get this written. Due to some rather demanding classes I hardly have any time to write anymore ><

Reviews

[EmaleighLynn]

I love this exploration of Aura's feelings and thoughts. And the explanation blurb about Mourtum is brilliant as well. I also love the tapestry thing in the middle. :) Love your writing girl!

[Catherine Frain]

Wow...this is amazing. o.o. It shows more of Aura's past, but it also sheds light on the 'relationship' of comrades with this. It shows that Aura does care about Kurai, but Kurai also cares about Aura.
Good job.

And girl have a 100 again. :)