The next morning, they went out to ask about the man. Not expecting anything, just because they had to. Of course they would have no luck at literally the first stop, that would be ridiculous. Otherwise, the queen's men would have found him years ago.
He was sure that's what they all thought. And so it went.
They had struggled through the afternoon, but were left empty-handed. No one had seen anything or heard anything.
They had not even heard of his feat. For it had been hidden in the dark. Maybe Christina was right, and he had fled simply because of that.
Anger. Anger that what was his had been taken from him.
Understandable. Although it was inconvenient for him and, of course, he would have preferred it if he had stayed put in the capital.
Anyway.
They came to the conclusion that the man had never been there before, that it was not worth trying any further.
So they set off with their new transport.
So they went from town to town, and from city to city, where they stayed the longest. Because of the size. Obvious.
Nowhere did they get results.
They slowly lost all hope. Right now, Desmond and Christina were sitting together at the bar.
They hadn't been out for fun, of course.
They were again asking about Theo. The miraculous Theo. While Abigail and Amy had gone their separate ways, to other places. Covering more ground. Being more efficient. At least in theory.
"Have you seen this man?" Christina asked the bar owner, who was behind the counter, while holding Theo's painting.
A routine action, already instinctive, after so long doing the same thing.
Again and again and again. To no avail.
"Yes," the man replied simply.
They hadn't expected to get anything, so it was visibly hard for both of them to process his answer. An affirmation, not one of many denials.
During the trip, Desmond had discovered something about himself.
That deep down he had indeed had some hope that they would find this man, that he would be fixed. As feeble as the plan was and as hopeless as the situation was.
But, as the days had turned into weeks, that faint hope had evaporated.
The same with the others.
Or so he thought. Frankly, he had the feeling that they were going along with this just because. But none of them had any hope that it would get anywhere, like he did.
Until now.
Now he could feel it reviving in his chest, burning like a bonfire. But not even the fire of hope could kill his healthy skepticism.
Was it really possible that they had succeeded?
Not succeed in finding him, for this would not be enough even if he was telling the truth. It would only put them at the starting line, in the end, so to speak.
But was it really possible?
All of a sudden?
He wanted to believe it, and at the same time, a part of him couldn't believe it. It sounded too convenient to be true. Too much good luck, when his luck was horrible shit.
"It must have been years ago, and dozens of people pass through here every day. Do you really remember?" Desmond asked.
His hope wasn't defeated by his own convincing words. But his argument did make him lose his enthusiasm.
It was still possible that the bar owner had recognized him.
But his version sounded more convincing, really.
Too many years, too many people, old and new, passing through this dump every day. Not to mention that Theo was an everyman.
I mean, the feat that should have made him famous was buried.
No one knew about it, except the princess and a few confidants, he imagined.
And Theo himself, of course. Assuming the poor bastard was still alive. A healing mage would attract attention wherever he went, but this one wanted to disappear, so he sure as hell hadn't used his magic in public ever.
Not even to make money. Just in case.
It was the least he could do to go unnoticed, to elude the agents of the royal family.
"A lot of people pass through here, it's true," the bar owner admitted. "But they are all from the village. The outsiders are conspicuous. Especially one who suddenly disappears one day."
Okay, that...
That sounded believable, he had to admit. Maybe there's still hope, he thinks.
"Did he say anything before he disappeared?" Christina cut to the chase.
The bar owner picked up a damp towel and used it to wipe his hands while he talked. He did this between services, Desmond had observed. He seemed very fastidious, that man. Not that it had anything to do with him. Let him do as he pleased, as long as he had answers to give them.
"That he was going up the mountain to investigate. After that no one has seen a hair on his head. He probably died there."
"And no one bothered to look for him?
The bar owner looked at him sideways, grimaced, annoyed. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, princess, he thought.
"We did, of course. In this town everybody takes care of each other. But we didn't find a trace. And we had to give up the search."
Well, at least they had made the attempt. He changed the subject quickly. Which also bothered the man, clearly. Desmond was too tired and desperate to give a shit, though.
And now that he had a whiff of hope, he could only go after it like an animal.
"What was it he wanted to investigate, anyway?"
The guy shrugged.
"A stupid local legend."
Huh. Interesting.
"What kind of legend?" Christina asked.
"Stupid, unimportant."
"Answer the question," Christina demanded.
"Okay, fine. But don't say later that I didn't warn you." The man shrugged again. "In short, it is said that the spirits of the dead roam that mountain. That they can tell you your future. And that you can become a spirit."
"Why would anyone want to...?" Christina asked.
The owner shrugged.
"The legends don't mention it. It doesn't make sense, but then again, none of it does."
He had been right all along, it was a stupid legend.
Like most legends, but.... Desmond didn't know what to expect. In any case, that Theo had disappeared and possibly died for something like that seemed ridiculous.
Like a bad joke.
Only it wasn't Theo who got the brunt of the joke, but him.
Them, in general.
If only you'd stayed still, he thought.
"That's fine. Thanks for the information," Christina replied.
Christina took some coins out of the bag, closed it again, then put them on the table. The man stared at the coins as if it was the first time he had ever seen gold coins.
Then he put his hand on them.
But not to pick them up. Instead, he slid them back to Christina. Apparently, she didn't know what to think about that.
"This is a bar," the owner said. "If you're going to pay me for something, do it for my job, not for telling a story that anyone could have. I'm not going to steal from children."
Very nice of the man... he supposed. I mean, it wasn't that big a deal, one way or the other. But less was nothing. He couldn't complain.
"Okay, let's have two beers then." To his surprise, Christina took him up on the offer she'd just received.
"I don't drink," Desmond said, probably more forcefully than was necessary. No, surely. But he had to insist.
Few things in the world disgusted him more than drunks. He had never tasted a drop of alcohol in his life and he wasn't about to start now.
That wasn't the road he wanted to go down.
He already disliked more than enough having to be sharing space with so many drunken shits. Breathing the same air.
If he were to say it out loud, Christina would probably say he was overreacting. But seriously it all made him feel nauseous. He ran a hand over his dry lips.
"Water will do. And something to snack on," Desmond continued.
"Okay."
The owner turned around and got down to business.
"You don't drink?" Christina asked.
He'd rather not talk about it at all, but now that she'd mentioned it, he couldn't just ignore her. And asking her to change the subject would be a little awkward.
Because it's not like it was a big deal either.
He shouldn't have a problem talking about it.
"I thought you wouldn't either."
He thought, specifically, that Christina was too smart to do such a thing. For his own good he was smart enough to know that saying that would be a huge blunder, and he didn't elaborate.
"And that's right, I never have. Until today. First time for everything, right?"
She said it in such a casual way.
He supposed it was a casual subject for most people, after all, so there was nothing unusual about it.
It wasn't very like her though.
Not enough to worry about, but it was curious.
"Not to me. Not on this."
"What's up with that?" she asked, putting special emphasis on the last word.
"I prefer... to be in full control of my mind." And it was really that simple. It's not as if there was some deep, dark reason.
"Aha. I doubt I'd get drunk with one beer."
So did he.
He had no direct experience, but it didn't take that to know that you had to have a strangely low tolerance for alcohol to get drunk on a single beer. And...
"But if I do, don't take advantage of me."
Desmond coughed loudly, nearly choking on his own saliva. His cheeks burned like fireworks. Explosively and intensely.
He stared back at her wide-eyed, his whole face burning.
Had he heard right, had he really said that?
She couldn't have, could she?
Suddenly suggesting something like that? What would she want from him? He was fine with being friends. In fact, that was perfect, it wasn't that he didn't want to ask for more, it was that he didn't need more.
"What are you saying?" He stuttered, unable to look her straight in the eye.
"It's a joke, a joke," Christina said, looking straight ahead, waving a hand distinctly. "Even I'm in that mood from time to time."
Desmond took a deep breath. Then he sighed in relief.
"I see."
It was a silly thing to say that he'd never thought would come out of the mouth of someone like Christina, just like ordering a beer. But whatever.
He could accept it and forget it, if it was just a joke.
He just wasn't entirely sure that it had been a joke, as stupid as that might sound on his part.
Anyway.
Anyway.
He wiped a hand across his forehead, wiping away the sweat.
What he had ordered arrived. A pitcher of beer, a glass of water. And some ham on a plate. For snacks.
"It looks like if we find Theo, it'll be his skeleton," Desmond said. It wasn't too subtle a change of topic. But it was what he had.
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
"Yes."
"I don't want to talk about it, to be honest. Can't we talk about something else?"
"All right."
What, though? Well, he could do with anything but that comment she'd made. Gods, his cheeks still wouldn't stop burning. He was trying, but he couldn't control himself.
Inevitably. The more you tried not to think about something, the more you did.
So he was still as red as a tomato.
And he kept thinking about what she might have meant by that, if it wasn't just a joke. The implications. What it could mean for their relationship.
He wasn't cut out for this kind of shit. Definitely.
Ah, he didn't know what to do, he didn't know.
Fortunately, Christina rescued him by opening up another topic of conversation and guiding little by little, allowing it to flow well. He could be a quiet person, like her.
But as far as social skills were concerned, she was on a completely different level.
Her cheat of being able to read other people's emotions was part of it, but not all of it, not even the most important thing. And oh gods, he had just remembered that.
That she could basically know what he was thinking.
He was reading emotions, not thoughts, but it was close enough to screw with him now.
Because, well...
After she'd said that, he hadn't been able to get it out of his head.
After she'd said that, he hadn't been able to get it out of his head. Of course. And he'd, well, snuck more than a few glances at her.
Christina was beautiful, inside and out.
But speaking of the outside. Let's just say I was starting to notice things I hadn't paid much attention to before. Maybe knowing that if he started, he couldn't stop, or not exactly, but that it would drive a wedge in their relationship that couldn't be repaired.
Another gap, as if more was needed.
He had been noticing things like the movements of her throat as she drank from the pitcher.
Things like the sweat running down her neck.
And, well, well...
Things.
And he was embarrassed enough about it when he was the only one who knew about it. Christina finding out what he'd been thinking, and feeling, was the last thing he needed.
He wanted nothing to do with her.
Of course he didn't want any of that with her, that hadn't changed and wasn't ever going to change. But it's just that...
How else was he going to react, after all that? How could he not be more aware of her, even if it was in the short term?
But hey, at least they were already moving away from that. Talking about harmless things.
Soon they would both forget about it, or at least silently agree to never speak of it again.
Oh, how innocent he had been to think that.
Christina, for some reason, felt the need to bring it up again.
"You look very uncomfortable." His posture was stiff, but it usually was. Of course, she probably wasn't talking about what was visible to the naked eye. "Tell me, would it be so bad to be with me? Do you think I'm unattractive?"
Of course not, he had eyes.
He didn't want to talk about it. Really, it was the last thing he wanted, least of all here. But he couldn't pretend he hadn't heard anything, or something like that.
What other choice did he have?
"You'd be the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen in my life... if I hadn't met Abigail." It seemed to him the highest compliment that could be given to anyone other than Abigail herself. Only after he said it did he realize how harsh it might sound. "But it's not fair to compare you to her. That's not the point. It's just that... We're like family. It would be... It wouldn't be right."
They weren't family. Not really.
But he didn't want to tarnish the precious bond between them with... dirty things like that.
That was for the best, wasn't it?
The ultimate proof of his love. He really loved her, not because he was looking for something from her. Not because he was looking for her body. Christina had harshly rejected a boy, she remembered, because that was all he'd been interested in.
Did she really want things to change between them like that?
Or was she just talking for the sake of talking?
He didn't know. Desmond wasn't thinking. Desmond couldn't think.
"I see you the same way, too," Christina said, with surprising ease. Despite what she had said earlier. "But... you have to look at things realistically, don't you?"
Realistic? What did she mean?
He knew his head was a mess, but he didn't think that was to blame for the fact that Christina was getting harder and harder to understand.
"What do you mean?"
He supposed maybe there was a reasonable explanation behind it all.
While he was at it with the questions, why had she taken to talking about this in a bar full of drunks? Well, it wasn't really crowded. There weren't many people apart from them. Three or four drunks, enough to bother him, but not many.
Still, it wasn't the most appropriate place for a topic like this.
Though of course he didn't want to talk about it anywhere. He was very uncomfortable.
As if he had ants under his skin.
"We're always together, the four of us."
Alone, he thought.
"Unlike Amy... I'm not into women. And we live a dangerous life. We could die at any moment. So lately I've been thinking, I've had a lot to think about... About the things you don't experience when you die young. Because having this life, I'm not going to last."
None of them would last. Not even Abigail, the immortal.
In the end he'd be left alone. He would be the very last to die. That was something that had been true from the beginning, but something he hadn't wanted to think about.
No one wanted to think about the inevitable bitter end.
Only things had changed.
Now it was quite possible that he would die like them. But that wasn't what was important here.
"Christina..."
He swallowed saliva.
What could he say?
"I'm not saying I'm a virgin. I did it once, but it was unpleasant."
At those ominous words, Desmond tensed his entire body and leaned upward, as if in preparation to leap up and fight an enemy.
Said enemy, if it existed, was out of reach.
"Did they force you?" he asked, his mouth dry and his heart almost stopped, as if painfully constricted by an invisible hand.
A terrible question.
But after the way she'd said it, he had to ask it. To be sure.
"No, no. Another kind of unpleasant."
Desmond could breathe easy, now. Well. Pretty much.
"Short. Painful. Confusing. And I'm... I don't know how to say it. Anyway, forget it. It's all nonsense. Maybe I did get drunk on a single jug."
He glanced at it. She'd said that when she'd barely touched it. There was more than half of it left.
Even she didn't believe that.
"I don't know what to say," Desmond admitted, slowly and after a while. Of course he didn't know what to say. This whole conversation was beyond him.
"You don't have to say anything." She replied with those transient words and a not"too"sincere smile.
That was like a knife in the heart.
Christina was saying that nothing was wrong, but that wasn't believable at all. The atmosphere had changed completely, and now silence reigned.
Not the comfortable silence that you could easily fall into with the people you were closest to. To whom you didn't have to prove anything.
But one of those silences that did nothing more than point out the reason why they had been silent in the first place.
In other words, it couldn't get any more awkward.
Desmond squirmed in his seat, unable to find a comfortable position or posture.
She...
She had opened up to him. She had told him private thoughts, the kind of things other people never heard, because they learned early on that it was better to keep quiet.
She had taken a bold step and it was only fair he reciprocated, wasn't it?
That wasn't what she wanted. She hadn't asked for it at any point. But he started thinking along those lines anyway.
Desmond didn't think he was wrong. He already knew what to tell her. But he didn't want to.
It was something Abigail didn't even know.
It was something he hadn't wanted to admit out loud that had happened to him, something he wanted to keep buried at all costs. But...
Relationships were about give and take, and....
And there were no obstacles. The bar owner was there, talking to customers, sitting at the table like them. He supposed drunks tended to get along with whoever served them poison.
It wasn't the ideal place to talk about such personal things, certainly.
But they had some privacy, like this.
If you could call it that.
Anyway. Here I go, he thought.
Desmond snatched the mug from Christina's hands before she took another sip. And he downed it in one gulp at her puzzled look, then set it down on the table.
"Didn't you say you don't drink?"
Of course. But he had made many exceptions since the day he arrived at The Four Seasons Academy.
Since everything had changed.
For example, lately he had done nothing but disobey Abigail. Saying it was for her sake or not, before, if she had told him to jump, he would have jumped. Without first asking how high.
For example, he had believed that he wasn't someone special.
He had readily accepted that Abigail had chosen him purely by chance. That anyone else could have been saved, not just him, because it had made the burden of his guilt lighter.
Yet he had accepted without a second thought.
Visions that told him he was someone special. Someone who could, nay, who would change the world.
And following the message of the gods, believing himself to be special, was how he had ended up in this sorry state.
By comparison, this exception wasn't such a big deal, really.
"I need some liquid courage. You see... Neither am I. A virgin."
He dared to say it. Without looking at the girl, but he dared.
"Abigail?"
Desmond bent his head, even more embarrassed. Why was that the first thing she'd thought of?
Again, he wondered if this was really a good idea.
It made sense to him. It was what he would have wanted, had he been in the same position as Christina was now. Maybe not exactly, but something like that. Reciprocation.
Christina hadn't asked him for anything, but that didn't mean he didn't have to give it to her.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself.
He went on with his story.
An unfortunate and all"too"common story.
"No. When I was a boy, I had to travel through a lot of territory... devastated by war." She knew that already, but it was still hard to talk about it. Partly because it was a prelude to 'it'. But only partly. He would never talk naturally about the past he wished he could forget. "Trying to survive. And there were also many people like me wandering the roads. Only... older. Stronger..."
The memories had never gone away.
Just talking about it, all that shit came to life. As if it was happening all over again. As if his life since then had been nothing more than a dream to take refuge in, so he could endure the horror of being reduced to an object.
Of being used.
Christina placed a hand over his silently.
It was then that she realized that her hands had started to tremble. The touch helped with the tremors. A little.
Yes. Neither liquid courage nor Christina's touch could work magic. Of course he was about to collapse. He bit his lower lip hard, drawing blood. His eyes stung.
He didn't think he was capable of continuing.
He didn't want to even if he was capable. For the first time he had confronted that part of his dark past.And he had said more than enough, hadn't he?
Christina agreed.
"You don't have to say more. I'm sorry I didn't stop you sooner. I already knew."
Eh...?
"What do you mean, you... you knew?"
Maybe Desmond should be angry that she'd let him do this to himself, cut himself open, when she didn't need it. Because she already knew.
But mostly he was confused.
How? When?
It didn't make sense. He hadn't even told Abigail.
"I didn't mean to, I'm really sorry." She lowered her voice even further. "But when you fought for that woman... It was clear from your emotions that it was a personal anger. So there were only two choices."
Two choices.
That it had brought back memories of seeing a loved one suffer in that way.
Or that he had suffered that horror in his own flesh.
She had hit the nail on the head, as she was wont to do. It was a little unsettling that Christina had known something so...private, for lack of a better word, without his consent.
But, at the same time, it wasn't her fault.
"Thank you," Christina said, slowly and after a while.
Desmond nodded his head. But without looking at her.
——
They finished their business, left that damned bar and headed back to the motel. There was no point in running around looking for the others, better to wait there for them to meet and report the information.
It wasn't much, but it was more than they'd had in weeks.
It was a start.
All these weeks, they had left every town or city empty-handed. And they had gone from motel to motel constantly.
Some, of course, had been worse. Others better.
But in the end no great change either way. He'd rather have a fixed place, to call home, than wandering around the kingdom like this.
But it wasn't so bad. Desmond supposed he could get used to it.
That is, if they were making this trip under better circumstances. With nothing hanging over their heads.
Like... Like this, now.
They didn't know what to say, so they were walking in silence. Each was kind of hoping the other would break it. Putting the responsibility on the other person's shoulders.
Desmond was ahead, even though he was using a crutch. So he had no idea what kind of expression Christina was showing. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, either, so for the moment he hadn't looked back. Not once. Not even that.
But nothing lasts forever.
Finally, the silence was broken. And sure enough, it was Christina who broke it.
"Desmond..." Her voice contained so much that it seemed impossible that she had only uttered that one word.
He wondered what she was going to say.
But he didn't hear it. She cut off with a gasp of surprise. That was what he thought, at least, turning around. He had never expected what was about to happen.
Christina's limp body fell into his arms.
She gasped again, and he felt blood splattering on his neck.
Blood.
Of course she was bleeding from the mouth. Desmond saw a knife buried deep in her back. He reached out a hand toward the knife, thinking, of course, of pulling it out.
Not thinking. It was more of an impulse. His head was full of noise that meant nothing.
Still, in the end he made no such mistake. In the end he dropped his hand.
Why? Well, because it would only make her bleed out faster if he removed the object. What she needed was urgent medical attention. Urgent.
Desmond opened his mouth, wanting to scream for help, but nothing came out. As if his throat was blocked by a block of cement, he could barely breathe, let alone call for help.
Right.
Right.
Because the knife had been plunged right above Christina's heart. In the back, but right on top of it. Accurately.
The boy trembled. Shaking like a leaf.
His knees couldn't take it anymore. Desmond fell, dragging Christina with him. He felt her faint breathing on his neck. He felt the blood escaping, flowing.
He began to scream.