His touch didn't hurt.
But enough things had, for a long enough time, that Jude had simply reached his limit. He collapsed to the floor, and that was all for a time.
#
Jude awoke in a calm white room. It was quiet; there was a bird nearby, singing. Foot traffic and horse-drawn carriages passed by outside, and he was alone in a soft white bed with soft white sheets.
He opened his eyes, but couldn't bring himself to care where he was. Had he been drugged? Probably…
He drifted for a long time, sleeping sometimes, or listening to the soothing sounds of horses' hooves passing by outside his window.
"Is this him?" asked the voice he recognized as Uncle Percy. He couldn't bring himself to care enough to open his eyes.
"Yes, that's him," said Alphonse, sounding rather un-Alphonse-like: meek, quiet, and serious, not mocking and confident.
Jude's eyes flew open, and he tried to get up. Alphonse stood at the other end of the room watching him solemnly. He looked quieter and somehow smaller than normal.
"Jude?" he said, not moving any closer.
Jude's eyes got huge. He couldn't feel the man's magic, but it must be there, surrounding him. What would he do this time, drag Jude out by his hair? Or just skip a few steps and kill him right now?
"Don't," said Jude, in a hoarse, croaking voice. "Just go away. Please."
"Now, son, be calm," said Uncle Percy, returning to his side, stroking his hair back and giving him a drink of water. Under his gray hair were traces of a sandy red, and he had a few freckles on his nose. He must've looked much like his nephew when he was younger. And why was he turning Jude over to Alphonse?
Jude swallowed the water because his mouth was so dry, but he kept looking at Alphonse every other moment. His body felt heavy and strange; he must've been drugged at some point. Would he be able to run, even if he could get up?
"What… did you do to me?" he demanded, his voice strained and low. He looked up miserably at Uncle Percy, his eyes pleading for help the way a wounded animal might.
"Calm down. I gave you something to suppress your magic. It was running on overdrive, giving you a lot of pain."
"I— I don't have any magic besides a little healing and making things bloom," he managed to get out.
Uncle Percy snorted. "You have a great deal of magic, and it's all tuned to sensitivity, to sensing magic. A rare gift, and a good one if it's not tuned wrongly. Yours is; it's going to take time to retrain you, and you may need these suppressants until then to keep the pain to a minimum. But it's a very useful skill, once used correctly. In fact, the police want to speak to you when you're well."
"The police?!" He tried again to sit up, but gentle fingers pushed him back.
"Shush," said Uncle Percy, as if talking to a small child or a dog. "They want to see if you'll be able to work with them. For some investigations, a person with the ability to sense even the tiniest amount of magic is unusually important. Murders can be hidden, you know. A tiny bit of magic in the wrong hands, squeezing a blood vessel to the brain shut, can kill a person and leave no trace. A magic user like you can sense that, even after the fact. It's a good job, and an important one, if you can be trained to do it. And trained to stop turning your magic inward and hurting yourself every time you sense magic being used to cause hurt."
Jude stared at him for a long moment, trying to let the words take on meaning. Everything felt strange, the words a jumble, not like they were about him at all.
Slowly, his eyes filled with tears as he looked up at Percy. "That's why I can't go back. That's why I can't see Ferrous a-anymore. I love him, but he duels. And I can't be near it, not even after the fact."
Percy looked concerned. "That does sound unfortunate. I don't know if your magic could ever be suppressed enough to be around something like that for long periods of time. Perhaps—"
"Perhaps you could talk to him about it, instead of running away all the time," interrupted Alphonse gruffly, stepping forward.
Jude couldn't help it; he flinched.
Alphonse's face looked sadder, graver, and older. He shut up for a moment, and when he spoke, he picked his words slowly and carefully. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I frightened you. Those men wanted to hurt you much worse. I know you don't see it this way, but I was trying to help. So was my cousin."
Alphonse took a deep, shaken breath. "You've no idea how much you've hurt Ferrous. I thought you were just a brat, running away like that. I didn't understand how much magic aftereffects were hurting you till Percy here explained some things." He ran his hand back over his hair. "So, come on home. We'll try to work it out. I'll not bother you again. Just come home. But you need to know, it'll kill Ferr if you don't. I've never seen him like this—never. He's murder in the ring these days. There's nothing to live for, nothing to stay out of it for. He was staying out for you, in case you never guessed. He'd been well enough to return for a while, after you fixed him up."
Alphonse shrugged, looking defeated, his face lined and sad. "And now he doesn't have anything to live for. He looked everywhere for you. Even checked the morgue. He's been more than halfway convinced they caught you and tortured you to death to stop him fighting."
He looked reminiscent for a moment, and quite proud. "You've never seen him in the ring, but he's the damned best I've ever seen. Makes me proud to be his cousin. But there are always crooked people, and someone wanted him to stop. Someone wanted him to take a fall, and when he wouldn't, they hurt him. Badly.
"You fixed him. Now he thinks they've hurt you, probably killed you, just to stop him. And he'd rather die than stop fighting. He'd rather kill them and die than go on living without you."
"Stop," pleaded Jude, his eyes wet. "I'll go with you. Just stop." He covered his face with his hands, shoulders shaking.
Everything hurt, everything: but Ferrous was hurting worse.
Jude had to see him again, no matter what it cost him.
#
It wasn't as simple as that, of course. He was almost too weak to stand, and Ferrous was halfway around the world, taking part in a huge tournament that would earn him gobs of money if he won, but probably permanently cripple him if he didn't.
The odds were stacked against him, and there were few rules in this dangerous tournament. Even Alphonse hadn't wanted him to be in it. But he could face his enemies there, and he could dance with death.
And so they did everything they could to contact him. Not that he was taking any messages; telegrams didn't reach him, or at least weren't answered if they were received.
So Alphonse and Jude boarded the fastest train they could, Jude still too weak to walk on his own, leaning on Alphonse heavily, his legs wobbly.
"Remember, take the pills any time you start feeling pain," Percy had told him. "And come back soon. There's training you can receive, and you'll feel better for it."
And so he sat on a train, sitting by Alphonse, or sometimes, when he crumpled in sleep, leaning on the man, falling asleep on his shoulder.
Alfie was gentle with him, keeping his impatient speech to a minimum, occasionally even going out of his way to engage Jude in conversation. Mostly, Jude looked out the window, watching the fields and towns sweep by. Sometimes he saw people working outside their homes. They stopped and waved at the train, and he waved back.
He wondered what was happening to Ferrous. Was he still alive? Would they ever see one another again?
"Eat something, Jude," Alfie told him, scolding and exasperated.
He flinched only a little from the harsh tone; it was more automatic reaction than fear. He wasn't really afraid of Alphonse anymore. The man was spending too much time looking after him, and not mocking him or hurting him, to be really frightening.
Besides which, the pills were helping. He didn't feel so raw to everything now. He felt a curious distance instead. And a sinking dread: what if Ferrous—? He could barely even let himself finish that thought. That beautiful, gentle wizard couldn't be d
ead, not really. They had to at least say goodbye.
Perhaps he could tell Ferrous he was all right, and Ferrous wouldn't have to fight anymore. Maybe they could shake hands and say goodbye. Maybe they could even hug.
Maybe they could never part ever again.
He squeezed his hands at his sides, and watched the telegraph poles flash by.
I love him. I still love him. But I don't know how this can work.
When he woke up crying out, reaching restlessly for Ferrous, Alphonse took Jude in his arms till his trembling stopped, brushing back his hair. The touch reminded him of Ferrous, made him ache with a pain he hadn't known it was possible to feel so deeply at the same time he was feeling numb. He buried his head on Alfie's shoulder and tried not to weep. Why was it possible to feel so very alone? To hurt so much on the inside, even when he wasn't in pain physically? He couldn't stop thinking of Ferrous, who was suffering because of him….
They arrived. Finally, they arrived. The city was bustling, crowded with people, many of them no doubt wanted to watch the tournament.
Vultures!
He stayed close to Alfie's side, clinging to his sleeve in the jostling crowd. Once he felt faint and they had to stop so he could take another of Percy's pills. Alfie shielded him from the worst of the jostling, though, and they made it through eventually.
Alphonse flashed his identification papers and was allowed through immediately, Jude with him. They were treated respectfully; he was clearly on the right list somewhere.
Alfie shepherded Jude close to him. "Where is my cousin?" he asked a large man chomping a cigar. "Is he…?"
"In the ring," said the man, gesturing with his cigar toward a room that roared with the shouting, cheering, and screaming passion of sports fans. His gaze settled on Jude and he stared, fascinated or repulsed, Jude couldn't tell. Perhaps both. Jude found he was still clinging to Alfie's sleeve, and quickly released him.
Alphonse looked at him, grimacing. "Come on, then! Don't make me do everything!" He pushed Jude toward the door.
Inside, it looked like a screaming, shoving pit. The stench of dark, dangerous magic hung everywhere, making Jude's head reel.
In a lit ring in the middle of the giant, crowded room, two men faced each other. Magic sparked around them, shielding the crowd from their furious blows. Protecting the crowd from them, but not them from each other.
Ferrous. He was one of the duelers.
"Ferrous!" screamed Jude, his voice immediately swallowed by the crowd's din. "Ferr!"
He squeezed his fingernails into his palms until he felt blood; he screamed Ferrous's name. His eyes filled with tears at the sight, blurring the two men who pummeled each other with the hard, hurting body blows of men who would stop at nothing to injure one another.
They drew back now and circled, their chests heaving. Ferrous was striped with blood, limping badly, one of his eyes swollen shut. And those were the visible wounds. What else was going on with him, what magic that was bad enough to wound, perhaps permanently, no matter what healers were present? Would no one stop this vicious bloodbath?
They circled warily, and then erupted toward each other again, fists and magic flailing.
Jude flinched suddenly at the strong feeling of magic beside him. He turned to gape at Alfie, who was doing something very intense, an attention attraction spell. Others were turning to stare now, too, tearing their attention away from the fight; it was a strong spell.
I see! He's trying to get Ferr's attention so he sees us here and stops fighting—or at least stops fighting like he wants to die.
He tugged Alphonse's arm. "Pick me up!" he shouted in Alfie's ear, loud as he could. Even so, the man could barely hear him. Alfie frowned, brow wrinkling, and then nodded as the words sank in. He lifted Jude by the waist and hefted. He was strong enough to lift him, muscles straining, thighs planted firmly.
In the writhing, dimly-lit, dog fighting hellhole, Jude waved his hands wildly. The spell, or his waving, or something, did the trick. As the men circled each other, Ferrous's head rose just a little. He hesitated for a second.
Ferrous saw Jude.
And his opponent saw a chance. Dashing in, regardless of sportsmanship, the man began to pummel. He beat on Ferrous with a ferocity worse than a savage animal, as if guided by nothing but a desire to kill.
And Ferrous, his face slack with shock, went down under it.
He didn't even try to fight back; he simply went down.
The crowd booed, yelled for him to get up, to fight.
"No!" screamed Jude, fighting to get down. Alfie put him down, and the two of them fought to get through the gibbering, frenzied crowd pressing up against the magic barriers. "Stop it!" he screamed, tears streaming down his face.
But the blows and kicks rained down, and then finally, finally a bell rang, and someone announced over a loudspeaker that the match was over.
Ferrous had lost. Healers and medics swarmed in, checking him. He lay so very still.
Jude tried to push his way forward, to get there, but the raving crowd was still behaving worse than a herd of buffalos. Someone elbowed him in the face, probably by accident. The blow made him reel, and he fell back against Alfie. The other man held him up, grip tight and angry on his arm.
Alphonse waved his free hand, and suddenly there was room; they moved forward. Jude drooped as he tried to get his legs under him, as he waited for the ringing to leave his head.
Was Ferrous…?
And there, he moved.
It was enough. For Jude, it was enough. He slumped, letting the darkness reach its tendril fingers toward him, pulling him down. Surrounded by so much anger and magic and with that blow to his head still ringing, he was more than glad to surrender to it.
"Oh no you don't," said Alfie through gritted teeth, and Jude could hear him now, as the crowd's noise began to dim. "You're going to go to him. Don't even think about running this time!"
Jude wanted to protest that he wasn't running, but he hadn't the strength. And then he realized that perhaps giving in and losing consciousness would be a sort of running; perhaps that was what Alfie meant. So he held on grimly while the wizard-lawyer manhandled him forward. There would be bruises on his arms for a week, but that didn't matter. Alphonse wasn't really hurting him; he was helping.
"Ferrous!" shouted Jude again, straining his voice, his lungs, and his heart to reach the man in front of them, slumped between crouching medical workers. "Ferr!"
Alphonse flashed his ID again, as well as his angry expression, and the guards let him through immediately, motioning the two men forward.
"Ferrous!" Inside the ring, Jude dropped to his knees, reaching for the wounded man. Ferrous lay on his back, blinking, lifting his right hand, then his left hand as ordered, and answering very simple questions from the medics.
Then his eyes fell on Jude. He blinked.
It wasn't the reaction Jude had hoped for, but that was all right: Ferrous was alive.
"Ferrous," he repeated, reaching for his wizard's hand.
"Stay back, sir," said a physician, grasping his shoulders to push him back.
Ferrous moved. "No." He spoke firmly, sitting up and sweeping them all aside. He winced in pain but reached for Jude anyway, his gaze locked on Jude, refusing to look elsewhere. He gathered Jude close, as gingerly as ever he had. Only this time it was perhaps because he was broken inside, maybe even dying.
"I can't fix you," said Jude against his shoulder, returning his hug gingerly, trying to stop trembling. "I've had to take pills to suppress my magic."
"It doesn't matter," said Ferrous in a croaking, broken voice. He carded bloody fingers back through Jude's hair. His hand shook with a tremor that wouldn't stop. He pressed his mouth against Jude's hair with convulsive tenderness, and then rested his face against him, closing his eyes. He heaved a deep, slow breath, holding Jude close. "You're here. You're real, and alive. And so am I."
"O-of course I am. I'm sorry I ran. I couldn't—I just…I coul
dn't. But I didn't know. I didn't know you were hurting so much. I'm sorry you thought I was dead!"
"I did," said Ferrous in that slow, rasping voice that sounded like it hurt with every syllable. "I saw you on Alfie's shoulders, and I thought, that's him, he's a ghost and I'm dying now, too. And then I'll be…with him."
Jude couldn't speak; his shoulders shook, and he held onto Ferrous as loosely, as tenderly as he could while the healers worked around him, fixing and checking for worse injuries inside.
"You asshole," said Alphonse above them, in a fierce, angry croak. "Last time I bring your boyfriend to you, if you're just going to give up."
Jude and Ferrous both looked up. Alfie stood glaring down fiercely at them, his fists clenched at his sides, looking angrier than Jude had ever seen him before. Then he realized he was seeing Alphonse in tears.
Ferrous just smiled up at his cousin, a slow, sweet smile that made him look like nothing could ever annoy him again. "Thanks, Alfie," he said, giving him a small nod, eyes shining. "You brought him home."
Ferrous smelled of blood and sweat and pain, and they sat in the middle of a ring used to hurt people with magic, and it didn't matter. This was home; wherever Ferrous was was home, and Jude could breathe again, could really breathe, right where he belonged. He held onto his beloved, and did just that: breathed.
Ferrous buried his face against Jude's neck, breathing in the scent of him, his breath soft and warm against Jude's sensitive skin. "I don't need to fight anymore," he whispered, squeezing Jude close. "I don't need to fight now. You're back."
"I'm back," agreed Jude. "And I'm staying."
And he did.
/the end/
About the author
Hollis Shiloh writes love stories about men, with the preferred genres of contemporary, historical, and fantasy. Hollis's stories tend toward the sweet rather than the spicy. When not writing, the author enjoys reading, listening to music, and being around animals. Blog: http://hollisshiloh.blogspot.com/ email: [email protected]
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Jude's Magic Page 5
