Again, there was that stab of jealously. Ash trusted Mamoru a great deal for being only passing acquaintances. Maybe their interlude was longer than Mamoru let on.
As if she could actually read his mind, she sighed, giving him a look that said he was being silly. “I do trust Mamoru. Remember what I told you before about blood? No greater truth than what it holds. Mamoru is most assuredly friend.”
Tristan nodded, licking his lips as he considered just blurting it all out. She was still lying to Tristan. Mouth firmly closed, Tristan looked away to hide his anger. That’s when he noticed it was quieter than it should have been. He realized why when he saw the pale figure slumped, propped up in a little corner on the rocks. Desmond was asleep for the day already, having used more seikonō than he was willing to admit. It was dangerous to use up all their greater power as sudden deficits were too large of a toll to pay. If a vampire ran out of seikonō they could easily put themselves into an involuntary comma until the next sunset, which, if they’d been anywhere where natural light could touch, was life ending.
“There’s no chance that someone else made it?”
Ash tilted her head, considering Tristan. “You are not convinced that he is the one either then?”
Tristan sighed, slumping. “No, not really. I mean, I didn’t really like the dude, but he was… I don’t know. He seemed like he really meant it when he said he didn’t want to interfere with fate.”
“He has had his share of misfortunes, from what I understand, with dabbling with the flow of fate but I believe him to be like most men of his kind.”
Tristan looked at her and raised an eyebrow in question.
“Prideful fools.”
He smiled. “I guess there’s not many antediluvians around anyway, huh?” he asked, remembering what Mamoru had told him.
“No. Not many at all.” Only five world-wide that anyone could say with a one-percent certainty. Though, Ash couldn’t recall any of their names right then outside of Agamemnon of Crete and Pauwu, a lovely Algonquin that, from what Ash had last heard, had found herself a nice little corner of Australia to sulk in after having a lovers quarrel with one of the other antediluvian shortly before his sudden and violent death. But for the life of her, Ash couldn’t remember that other pythia’s name. She was sure she knew all five names but there was a haze around the memory that felt cold and tasted of Yukihime. Why would Yukihime want to take such a memory, just what was she up to?
“After we get out of here, we’ll go right to that old bastard and make him tell us what he’s done.”
Ash’s blue eyes rolled slowly up to meet Tristan’s and he shivered at the hot anger in their depths.
“So,” he drawled and Ash let out a little puff of air. She hadn’t needed her vampire gifts to know what was about to come out of Tristan’s mouth from the look in his eyes. “You really think that gross old fart knows who my father is?” Inside he was worried as hell but the possibility of finding out who is father was lifted his spirits. He was starting to make the mysterious sperm donor up in his mind as a great man. He had to be, right? Because if he wasn’t, all that was left was a selfish asshole who ran out on his mom, the same woman who was now dead because there was no one there to help fight off the vampire out for her blood.
“Perhaps,” she said sounding guarded, eyes searching for something to fix on that wasn’t Tristan’s excited expression or Mamoru’s equally worried one.
“Because I wondered that too. Chrysanthe seemed to hint at knowing too.” Hell, he was starting to wonder if everyone but him and Ash knew because he was nearing certainty that Yuki knew too, the scheming old bat.
“I will know for sure when I kill him,” Ash said.
“You’re set on that, huh?”
“If he was indeed the one who spelled me human, then yes. He will die.”
Tristan wasn’t so sure she really meant what she said. She was just angry, rash in the moment. He gave Mamoru an apologetic look. “Do you mind?”
“Uh, sure. Excuse me.” The Japanese man had more color to his face but he was still unsteady on his feet. The group really was a mess. In fact, Tristan was the only one well enough to do anything right now. And he was the weakest one.
Tristan waited as Mamoru shuffled to the far side of the dead tiger jikininki and wondered what the man was doing as he pulled out that ornate silver knife.
“Hey,” he said softly as he returned his attention to Ash and lifted the hair out of her eyes to push behind an ear. “Will you talk to me?”
Her eyes widened almost unperceivably so. “About…?”
He huffed and let his hand drop to his side. “You were just at the whims of a woman who…” He choked, remembering the pain and fear, the hopelessness of being trapped by that vampire. They were Ash’s feelings but he felt them with a keen awareness that felt like his own experiences. For those feelings alone he wanted to kill Genoveva.
“He really did show you.”
It was probably meant to be a question, but in Ash’s mind it was anything but. Tristan nodded, eyes flicking to the passed-out vampire. “Yeah.”
She dropped her head to hide the well of tears. “I am sorry you had to experience that. I know how terrible it must have been.”
He pressed a finger lightly under her chin and lifted her face to look at him. “It was and still is. Don’t ever think your pain isn’t mine. I don’t think I’ll ever forget what Desmond showed me.”
“Some things,” Ash whispered. “Are not meant to be remembered.” She only had believed that anyway.
Tristan dropped his hand away, straightening his back. He didn’t want to do this now, but he had the opening. And it was a conversation that had to be had. “Ash. I know you’re hiding things from me still. Big things… things that happened in France…”
If she were feeling more herself she might have been able to hide her reaction. As it was, she wasn’t herself and she flinched. Her mouth opened, sound came out, though not words, and shut again. She was at a loss for words, for once.
“How could you lie to me still? After all we’ve been through.”
“Tristan—” She winced hard enough that the nails on her good hand cut into her palm when she squeezed too hard.
Recognizing the reaction and understanding exactly what it was, Tristan sighed. “Don’t think just because the sun is about to put you under, this is a free pass. You’re going to tell me why when you’re up again.”
“Promise.”
His lips pressed tightly together and then he sighed again. “Good night.” He kissed her on the cheek and then pressed his lips to her ear to whisper, “I love you.”
She sucked in a gasp to say something but her compromised state and the pull of the coming sun cut her off and she crumpled into dead weight in Tristan’s arms. He blinked once, twice and the gasped, shoving her off him but not really meaning to. Her heart wasn’t beating anymore, it was like she was dead.
“Technically,” Mamoru said softly over the sound of wet slicing. “They are.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Tristan asked as he got up, backing away from Ash. He felt terrible shoving her off like that and then leaving her in that awkward lump, but he was having a really hard time working it out in his head that he was really in love with a dead woman.
The smile Mamoru gave him over the dead animal creeped him out more than holding Ash’s limp body. “You ever watch Star Wars growing up?”
Tristan took a step back, disgusted. “You’re going to stink like a dead jikininki if you wear that.”
“Sure,” Mamoru answered with a nod. “But I won’t freeze to death.”
Now that Mamoru mentioned it, Tristan was cold too. And soggy. “Will you, uh, will you move Ash for me?”
The other man only lifted a brow at him and nodded. Without a word he went over, scooped her up and trudged through the water to place her next to Desmond. There was a chance of them waking up slightly disoriented from their conditions and if they were to la
sh out, they wouldn’t kill each other, not right away anyway. Mamoru didn’t see any reason to tell Tristan this aloud though, the American was having a harder time dealing with everything than he let on.
“Thanks,” Tristan muttered and crossed his arms about him as a little shiver shook him.
“Sure.” Mamoru stomped through the water towards him, wrapping the fresh cut tiger fur around him. He came right up to Tristan and sat. Not that there was much dry land left, Genoveva’s temper tantrum had sunk all but a seven foot patch, barely enough to lay on comfortably without drowning. “You shouldn’t be so mad at her, you know.”
“Excuse me?” Tristan snapped and crouched so that he was more at eye level.
“She’s not holding things back to be malicious, she’s just… scared. Terrified even.”
Tristan sat down with a grunt. “Don’t you think it’s weird for a vampire to be scared of anything?”
Mamoru shook his head. Boy, he looked warm hunkered down in that blanket, even if it smelled like death. “They have more to lose than humans, or any other shinwa or heikō for that matter.”
“They can live forever. What’s for them to lose?”
Mamoru sighed and took the fur off, shoving it towards Tristan. He looked at it with disgust as the smell of rot and musk filled his sinuses. “I’ll be fine now that I’m back up to temperature. Just use it.”
Tristan frowned but took the stinking scalped fur.
“All seven shinwa, the heikō, us Uruwashi… humans, we are all more alike than you realize.”
“How so?” Tristan asked skeptically trying to get comfortable under the fur and calm his gag.
“We all form bonds. With plants, animals, a favorite toy, and most of all, each other. And we all fear their loss. For the humans, they live such a short life that they have learned to cherish those in their lives before parting from them. The same goes for the elves and fae, even the kitsune and troll. The lycan, when they were still in existence, they bonded and loved with a ferocity that rivaled any being on the planet. Even the shinigami have their own form of love.
“But the vampire, yes, they bond and love and cherish too, even deeply for some. For most, it takes them lifetime after lifetime to fully grasp the reality of life and death. They take so much life, but it’s to fuel their deaths. And those they wish to live always die. They don’t take the finality of death seriously enough until it’s too late and they are forced to watch those dear to them die.
“Over and over again and again they lose the things they most cherish in this world until they become numb to it. But they really aren’t. They feel the breakage of each bond more keenly than anything alive. For that, they truly are damned.
“You see, they have the most to lose because more bonds are broken for them in any one lifetime than most. And then, at the end, when the debt of life has piled up and they can’t stand it anymore and they want to die just to find peace, they can’t. Like Netty. That man is so old that he can’t even kill himself. If that’s not the definition of tragic, then I don’t know what is.”
Tristan let out a shaky breath. “I never looked at it like that.”
“No, of course not.” Mamoru pulled his knees up to rest his cheek on them. “Most don’t, especially the vampires themselves. They’re all afraid and don’t want to see it. It would make them weak and fragile. Really, inside, they’re just as human as you and I.”
“You maybe. I’m not even part human.”
“You keep saying that. Why do you think that?” Mamoru asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously on him.
Tristan stared at him a moment, puffing up his cheeks in thought of saying what he was thinking and then thought better of it, letting out a sigh. “No, it’s nothing.”
“What is it, friend?”
Oh sure, pile on the flattery. Tristan heaved a sigh. “Ash tasted my blood in France, before I killed Lucien. She said that whatever I am, she tasted no human in my blood. I’m not even half human, Mamoru. And the worse part, she doesn’t even know what that other flavor is. I’m half Uruwashi, half monster.” He looked up slowly and met the other man’s eyes. “I was never even human.”
The Japanese man studied him for a long time, thoughts veiled behind curious eyes. Finally he sighed, lowering his head with a sad smile. “All Uruwashi feel the way you do more than once in our lives. Especially after we’ve been bitten, but it’s just the nature of things, my friend.” He looked up again, a spark of hope and understanding in his expression. “But just because our DNA isn’t human, doesn’t make us monsters. We’re just a different species of man.”
“Not sure that makes me feel better, man,” Tristan mumbled.
“I’m just—there are many races of beings on this planet. Out of all the thousands not a single one of them lives without killing in some way. It’s the nature of things, the strong eat the weak.”
“Dude—”
Mamoru put up a hand. “You can’t begrudge what it is in your nature to be. It will only make you miserable. And what’s the point of life if you live it in agony… ne?”
Tristan looked to Ash. She was miserable for centuries and still went on. She lived with doubt and fear, hate and need. She felt so strongly all of her emotions and yet, she went on. In hope of finding happiness.
“Exactly right,” Mamoru said in a reverent tone. “Misery pushes us harder to finding our happiness. It’s just a matter of how much misery one can take to find that happiness. One has to decide if it’s worth it, all the darkness and death just for a chance to live.”
Tristan frowned. He understood exactly what Mamoru was saying. And then felt ashamed, feeling so sorry for himself after he’d seen firsthand what Ash had been through and realized his own hardships were nothing in comparison. He was stronger than this. He was a fighter and would live on. If that meant living as a monster… well, he wasn’t one-hundred percent ready to accept that, but knew he had to learn to.
Mamoru nodded at Tristan, but was watching him in a way that made him uncomfortable. Mamoru laid down on his side with his back to Tristan, curling his arms under his head for a pillow.
“Hey, Mamoru?” Tristan said casually as he tried to find a comfortable spot that on the ground that didn’t have a rock poking him in the back. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what it was you two were talking about?” He’d only awoken to hear a small part of it.
The man’s back was terribly unexpressive, his voice equally such. “I don’t think it’s really my place. You should ask Ash. It was her theory anyway.”
The last was spoken with something quavering in the man’s voice. He knew something, or thought he knew something that scared him. Tristan was too tired to push right then on what it was. They would have plenty of time after Genoveva was dead to exchanged theories and views.
“You should rest,” Mamoru muttered, sounding like he was nodding off. “We’ve got a busy night ahead of us.”
Tristan snorted a rude laugh. “Yeah, I haven’t heard that one before.”
Mamoru smiled though the other man couldn’t see it. “Oyasumi.”
“Yeah, night.”
Lying on the hard earth, wet, cold and starting to feel nauseous under the stink of jikininki rot, Tristan knew there was no sleeping. He was too busy in his own head, like always. He thought that as time went on and he learned more about himself and the world he lived in that he’d find peace and understanding. Instead he found more things to confuse him, to be scared of, worried over and mad at.
There was no peace to be had for an Uruwashi he was realizing. It was times like these he had to push all things not the most urgent to the back burner. Confronting Ash about her lies, questioning Agamemnon about his father, learning all there was to be known about the Uruwashi and all shinwa, these were all very, very important to him. But they had to wait. They were only secondary to the most important thing for everyone, his job, to find and kill Genoveva.
The trouble was, he was almost willing to let Genoveva slide in to se
cond, letting the talk he needed to have with Ash take precedence. He was afraid of what that talk would mean for them and the very idea that he’d let something so menial, in the grand scheme of things anyway, mean harm to the others.
Mamoru let out a puff of semi-annoyed air. “Tristan?”
“Yeah?” he sighed tiredly.
Mamoru rolled over to look at him, eyes heavily lidded and tired. “Sorry to do this to you but… sleep.”
Realizing immediately as the pull of unconsciousness quickly overtook him what Mamoru had done, he groaned. “You son of a—” He was out before he could finished cursing the man. Mamoru smiled and then rolled back over to join his friend in much needed rest.
14: Butterfly Caught
CHIKUSHŌ!” Mamoru screamed and his voice didn’t echo off the walls like it should have. He gasped and dove. “Tristan!”
He got a mouthful of salty water and winced at the heady taste. The water here was saltier than elsewhere in the world. The same water that was now drowning them. Mamoru’s entire head dipped as he tried to catch Tristan. The American was soundly asleep, thanks to Mamoru, so it was up to him to save Tristan. His quicker reflexes had him to the bottom, grabbing Tristan and back to the surface again before Tristan’s body even had time to register that he was underwater and unable to breathe.
“Kuso!” Mamoru cursed when he broke the surface. “Tristan,” he grumbled in between spitting out water and struggling to keep Tristan’s larger, dead weight upright. “Wake up.”
The man didn’t even stir. Realizing he wasn’t concentrating hard enough he shut his eyes, let their heads fall under and only once he was sure he was able to put the right compulsion into his voice did he blurt out, “Oki nasai, Tristan.” The water muffled the sound but it could have been a whisper of words and the compulsion to do what Mamoru willed would have still hit Tristan. Speaking aloud, regardless of the language, just backed up the mental push.
Tristan’s eyes shot up and he opened his mouth in shock, breathing in a little bit of water before he realized where he was. In a rush of panic he choked, freezing for a moment. The hand in his hair, jerking him up distracted him from the panic and burn in his lungs. He broke the surface and spit up the water he half breathed in, coughing and sputtering, trying to stay above the line of water.
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