Cat Story

Title: none so far, used to be Seal of Destiny, but I'm changing it. 
Author: Dice 
Pairings: none yet 
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I started SoD fairly long ago. I always liked the idea, but the plot had more holes than a maffia turncoat and I wasn't pleased with the way the characters were developing and the both the love story and the discipline aspects were going nowhere fast. So this is a re-write, starting off in a galaxy far far away... no, not really ;-)


~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Prologue

The light had finally dispersed and left were only small, flickering specks of death, dancing like sprites over the bare stone. What had once been, was no more. All that the light had touched had been reduced to cinders now being swept away by the faint breeze, a breeze that carried with it a bitter smell of lives lost.

Never had such a power swept the land. As unexpected as it was devastating, magic had gathered like a storm in the south and burst out in a searing brightness, laying all in its way in ruins. In its wake remained now only an unnatural stillness.

A pair of ghostlike, clouded eyes stared out across the wasteland, blind to the desolation before them, yet seeing it for what it had been and what it would be. The eyes belonged to a slight, hooded figure, seated hidden in the murky entrance to a narrow passage. Its trembling fingers were clasped avidly around the worn, black leather of a book and its back was pressed hard against the stone that still trembled from the strain the unleashed power had put on the ancient charms that protected the citadel of Llunawîrh, or what remained thereof.

The once imposing walls and towers of the citadel had for a long time now been deserted to mere memories of greatness. Slowly nature was reclaiming the ground on which it had been built and only the protective charms of old still kept the stone from crumbling. The great citadel of Llunawîrh had become a tomb, but for all that, it was still a stronghold, a place safe from the power that had devastated all else.

The figure did not move when the air before it began to shimmer and melt away like burning paper to reveal another place, a place untouched by the wild, destructive magic that had ravished the land.

She stumbled as her bare feet touched the rocks and then fell, managing to meet the rough ground with one free hand, the other she kept pressed to the blood soaked silk of her dress. Behind her, the vision of a narrow alley, where roses climbed across bricks and mortar towards the sky, faded as the portal collapsed rather than closed. She remained lying on the ground her shallow breathing slowly dissipating.

Then all was again as unnaturally still as before.

The figure clasped the book harder and drew further back into the passage. It looked at the inert form lying all too still on the ground, but did not appear to see it. It made no move to aid the wounded woman.

However, if it had, it might not have mattered. She seemed beyond all aid. Her auburn hair, plastered to her pained face, was tacky with blood from a cut on her temple and the hand still pressed to the wound in her breast had been unable to hold back the flow from her heart and blood coloured the ivory silk and rich lace of her dress a dark, deep red.

The bleak sky grew darker as the pale sun set beyond the mountains and the day came to an end, tiny sparks of power still flitting among the rocks.

In the entrance sat the figure still, waking and watching, the tome clasped in an unbreakable grip. Night or day did not matter. The body lay where it was, lifeless, while the dark settled over the land. Her life seemed to have faded at length with the last light, flowing out of her with the blood.

Then out of nowhere came a small movement – her fingers twitching against the rocky ground and before long a small, choked gasp for air. Her lips moved with no sound, as if she whispered a prayer to the night.

She weakly forced herself to rise, but merely succeeded to push off the ground enough to fall to her side. A feeble sob escaped her and for a moment she remained still, but then she pushed herself up again, this time resting her weight on her elbows. Little by little she struggled upwards until she was sitting doubled over on the ground.

Although still fighting to remain upright, she was no longer bleeding, nor did she seem in pain. She appeared to grow stronger with each breath as if the air filled her body with new life.

She stared out into the darkness and began to tremble as the fear and shock took hold. A long time she sat, shaking in the dark, rocking faster and faster. Then her voice raised up towards the starless night sky in a scream of sorrow and rage.

The figure in the entrance stood up, ripped from whatever sway had kept it from moving before by her chilling cry and it fled down the passage like a spooked foal, book held close to its chest, knocking into the walls and stumbling on uneven steps. She tore up from the ground at the noise of its hasty flight and took off in pursuit, as much fleeing herself as chasing.

The desperate hunt lasted through the ancient catacombs and passages underneath the citadel, through unlit rooms of pillars and vaults where dwelt the bones of past rulers in eternal rest. As they raced deeper into the labyrinth of tombs the dark finally gave way to a faint light ahead and when she eventually cornered her prey, it was in a room lit by white flames that eagerly licked the insides of the crystal globes in which they were contained and which hung in chains from the arches above them.

Furthest into the room was a raised dais on which stood a stone coffin. The sides were decorated with the heads of fierce dragons and their claws were clasping the lid as if they were living beings guarding whatever treasure the coffin held.

Behind the coffin cowered a slight, gaunt boy, no more than twelve years old, in his hands he held a book. Her eyes locked on the worn, black leather and the chafed symbol on the cover. It had no name, but she knew it all the same.

"There now… there now…" she coaxed gently, the child flinched as though she'd shouted. "No need to hide, I shan't harm you… We can't stay here…" she moved closer and the boy drew back further. "He's here, isn't he?" she whispered. "By Fate… you're still bound to him."

She sat down, resting her weary head against a pillar. The scent of earth and stone surrounded her, made her drowsy. It took her an eternity to realise she was falling asleep, but as soon as she did she forced herself to wake up. Her eyes opened and the boy fell backwards, he was so close she could reach out and grab him, but her arms were too heavy.

"We must get you away from here…" she mumbled. "You'll die here, you're half starved already… or you'll be slain for merely setting foot in here!" the boy merely regarded her in silence, unhearing.

She managed to slowly lift her arm and held out her hand, palm open, inviting him to take it and after a while he seemed to notice it and he smiled, reaching out to place a small feather that he had been holding in her palm and closing her fingers around it.

"No, don't you see…?" she swallowed. Of course he did not see. He was far gone again, the now having no impact on him. She struggled to sit up, refusing to give into the compelling need for rest. "Selfish fiend, he should have set you free!" she took the boy by the hand and he looked up, at first fear evident in his eyes and then confusion, shifting into a smile and then she was forgotten again.

Without letting him go, she drew a circle in the dust on the floor and then, stepping into it, pulling the boy to her side, she drew another in the air. She doubted her strength, but there was no other choice. Not knowing what else to do she laid her life in the hands of Fate and asked for a safe place.

As the air melted away like burning paper the boy looked down at the tome in his hand, he saw his fingers loosen and even as he fumbled to regain his grip it slipped from him and then all was gone.


Chapter 1 - The Beginning of Change

It looked old, Gerald turned the book over in his hands, thumbing the worn, black leather, and it smelled of earth and stone, not of dust and mould like most old books. He opened it, flipping through the pages. Hand written passages covered each new leaf, broken off by intricate, colourful woodcuts showing various fantastic animals and people.

An image of some type of fierce looking feline caught his eye, it seemed to be staring straight at him. He traced the outlines of the cat with the tip of his fingers, a tremor going through him. It looked so alive. His eyes flitted to the short passage next to the picture: Inducing alteration of the sentient order necessitate ethereal luminescence of the intellect… Gerald rolled his eyes, the pictures were pretty at any rate.

How had this book ended up in the Occult Emporium? Albeit Ferdinand Otto knew where to dig up cool looking stuff, nothing Gerald had ever seen in the shop had looked this real and if it did it certainly wasn't for sale. Of course this book lacked a price tag, never a good sign in Ferdinand's shop.

He looked over his shoulder to see if he could find the tall, gangly bloke who were usually slumped over the counter with some magazine. Ferdinand wasn't there though, he was chatting up a young woman in a long black dress, who seemed in awe of whatever dark secrets he was inventing at the moment.

Gerald hung on to the book as he threaded his way between the shelves. Apart from the standard candles, crystals and books that any occult shop with a sense of pride would sell, Ferdinand had amassed a great number of strange artefacts over the years and the shop was teeming with trinkets of varying age and value. Most of it was probably rubbish though as far Gerald could tell, but it gave the shop a certain sense of authenticity.

He grabbed a bundle of plain, white candles and a box of incense and headed over to the counter. A bundle of pamphlets next to the register attracted his interest and he picked one up as Ferdinand came sauntering over, giving the girl a crooked grin and a wink as he rounded the counter.

"Hey," Ferdinand greeted him casually. "You going to the convention?" he nodded at the pamphlet Gerald was reading.

"Nah, not my scene," Gerald put it down.

"Janice took one," Ferdinand started punching in the prices of Gerald's wares.

"Mm," Gerald ignored the innuendo in his voice, `just friends' meant very little to Ferdinand Otto – meant very little to Janice as well as it were, so he'd stopped bothering to insist.

"Where did you find this?" he looked up and felt his breath hitch as Ferdinand waved the heavy, black book in the air.

Of course, he'd guessed it wasn't for sale. Damn, he really wanted it, it was just so perfect, it felt so good to hold, as if it belonged to him somehow. He shrugged and indicated the shelve to the back of the shop where he'd picked it up.

"Huh, well, didn't put a price on this, pretty odd thing, don't know if I want to sell it…" there it was, Gerald gritted his teeth.

"How much?" Gerald heard his voice utter the words even before he could think them.

"Uh, how `bout fifty quid?" Ferdinand shrugged.

Fifty pounds? Was he insane? Gerald had perhaps that much to spend in a month on nonessentials, if that. To hell with it, why did he want the damn thing anyway, it was just a stupid book that he'd never read anyhow. As soon as he thought it he knew he needed that book, more than he had ever needed anything in his life.

"Twenty?" he breathed, taken aback by the intensity of his whisper.

"You know, you wouldn't know what to do with this anyway, it's the real thing. Not something for you and your friends to play your little games in the woods with," Ferdinand gave him an overbearing smirk. "It could be dangerous, selling you this, god knows what you'd conjure up with your silly rituals."

Janice and her big mouth. She'd been telling him about their meetings in the glade north of town, Gerald felt his eyes narrow angrily and knew he had to fight down the anger before he erupted.

"Who the fuck do you think you are? Are you selling the book or not?" he hissed and before he knew it he'd wrenched it out of the other's hands and slammed it down on the counter.

"Hey! Take it easy, what's with you?" Ferdinand asked, glaring at him in shock. "You can have it for thirty five, but I'm not going lower!"

Gerald swallowed hard, struggling to overcome his frustration. He had exactly twenty eight pounds, seventy on him, but that was supposed to have covered the rest of the things Janice and the others were expecting him to get for the meeting tonight.

"I don't have that much now, please, I just… I need that book, it's like…" Gerald didn't finish his sentence, it wouldn't matter, when it came down to it Ferdinand was a businessman and money was what really mattered to him.

"I guess, may the good spirits protect you if such a powerful book has claimed your soul… how much can you part with?" Gerald looked up in disbelief, but before he could answer the girl in the black dress edged up to him looking intently at the book.

"That looks really old!" she said, voice filled with awe.

"It's mine!" snapped Gerald before he could stop himself. "I'll give you twenty eight, it's what I've got on me!"

"Certainly, but promise me, my friend that you are wary of the powers this book holds and…" Gerald threw the cash down on the counter and left before Ferdinand could finish his theatrics.


~*~ ~*~ ~*~


The discord from the noisy street hit him like a whiplash and he squinted in the intense sunlight; he had been inside the badly lit shop for too long, making his eyes unaccustomed to the bright day outside. He pressed a thumb and forefinger against his eyelids trying to rub some of the sharp pain away.

"Oy, look! The vampire can't take the sun!"

Gerald cringed as the all too familiar voice reached his ears. He was not in the mood for this. Stroking a lifeless strand of inky hair from his face he pretended to check the time as if he hadn't heard.

They weren't giving up simply because he ignored them though, they never did, never had. Since they were in school together Ted Dillon and his little posse had made his life hell whenever they could; Gerald had always been an easy target, slighter than most boys his age, asthmatic, scrawny and awkward, but quick to anger and always trying to no avail to fight his oppressors.

He felt the anger rising now and the frustration of knowing how feeble it was made him even angrier, a familiar weight on his chest made him keenly aware of the inhaler he'd left at home.

"How's your voodoo going? Any progress?" Ted Dillon called; they were making their way towards him and his heartbeat picked up gradually as they came nearer and nearer.

Trying to ignore them he started walking faster homewards, zigzagging between the people on the pavement trying not to get knocked to the ground. He held on to the book he had bought so hard his knuckles turned white, not sure whether he was shielding himself with it or protecting it.

A hand on his arm, a quick tug and the book fell on the street… Staring up into the scornful face he felt the colour leave his own. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? While Ted Dillon hooked one arm around his shoulders in a gesture that mocked friendliness and was rather painful, his friend, Robert West, bent to pick up the book; he leafed through the first few pages with a ridiculing look.

"So, any spells on how to remove the zits for pizza face here?" Ted laughed, rubbing his knuckles in Gerald's hair so sharply tears sprang to his eyes.

"You fuck! Give me that!" Gerald twisted free sinking his elbow into Ted's ribs.

It took him all of his strength to get loose and as usual whenever he had to exert himself his breathing became strained and slowly more and more painful until he felt as if he was choking on sand. He started coughing and gasping for air, every breath was a struggle and he clawed at his throat.

"Give me…" his words came out in a coarse wheezing as he stumbled up to Robert, grabbing for the book.

Robert dropped it, cringing away from him, eyes large, the book bounced once on the tarmac, falling open. He looked at Ted for instructions. The other boys were all backing away and Ted rubbed his side, where Gerald's bony elbow had left its impression and then he tossed his head, an uncomfortable look on his face.

"Shit, fuck this, let's clear off!" he said and they scattered like rats down the street.

Gerald fell to his knees, too weak to stand, no air found its way into his lungs and his vision was becoming hazy. He sank down next to the book, reaching out a hand. The cat's eyes met his and for an instant he saw it move towards him.

"Help me…" his mouth moved to shape the words, but there was no sound.

****

His father's worried face was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. Warmth flooded him; he was home, safe and his father was there. He had come back, no, he had never been gone. Gerald reached out a hand and his father touched it.

"I thought I was dead," Gerald whispered. His father didn't reply, he merely smiled. It was such a sad smile, Gerald couldn't tell what it meant.

His father leaned forward and the familiar, gentle face and its sadness melted away and became another, a proud, arrogant face with hard features as if chiselled out of stone. The face had an icy perfection and its beauty was unlike any Gerald had seen in a man or woman, the sharp jaw line gave the man an unyielding appearance and the eyes, dark green and fierce, as if lit by a fire, seemed to see straight into his heart.

The man placed a heavy hand on his chest and bent over him until Gerald could feel his warm breath on his face, a scent of earth and stone surrounded him, and filled his chest with fresh air, an unpleasant smile curled the exquisite lips as his other hand came up and stroke his hair away from his face. Gerald felt his mouth move, but couldn't make a sound and then the other's lips met his…

****

Gerald jerked upright, yanking free the oxygen mask and tubes he was connected to. His body was shaking and he choke on dry sobs before at length he could make a sound. The room was a blur of dimness and bright lights from a doorway. He fought against the coarse, restrictive sheets until somebody grabbed him and tried to make him lie down. He struggled against the grip, but then a voice broke through.

"Ger! Please, it's me!" Janice face came into focus and he drew a deep breath.

He could breathe! Relaxing, he finally managed to look at her and the worry he saw made him very self conscious. He fell back on the hard pillow and his hand found its way to his lips. The stranger's kiss seemed to linger like a burn. But it must've been a dream.

"A nightmare," he mumbled.

"Yeah, you must've been dreaming something, you've been tossing and turning… god, Ger, you scared me, I thought this was it!" she launched at him, hugging him fiercely, but when she tried to kiss him, he turned his face so her lips only brushed against his cheek.

"Me too…" Gerald stared into the wall, away from her.

"I'll get the nurse…" Janice's hand trailed over the covers and slid to her side, he didn't look at her and she left the room.

Back in a hospital bed. He sat up, his breathing was free and easy, as if he'd never had an attack. He wondered how long he'd been out. They were bound to want to keep him for observation as usual, but he'd be damned if he'd stay here. He got up and found an overnight bag that Janice must've packed for him.

Janice had a spare key to his apartment and was the one he had listed as person to contact if something should happen. It had made sense at the time, she was the only one who cared at all about his wellbeing, but he wasn't so sure it had been a good idea.

Still, there was no one else. His father… his father was gone, end of story and he hadn't talked to his foster parents since he was seventeen and they had, less than subtly, encouraged him to make it on his own. The social services had never found his mother, or any record of him ever having one for that matter.

He got dressed, slowly buttoning his jeans with a sore hand, he couldn't remember having hurt it, but he didn't really know what had happened after he blacked out in the street, only that image from the book before it all went black.

The book! He looked around the room, a sense of dread creeping up through him. Where was it, had they left it in the street where they found him? He delved into the bag tossing the clothes about and then looked under the hospital bed, under his pillow. His hands were shaking and he mentally kicked himself for acting so irrationally.

Janice returned, a sturdy older nurse in tow. They both stopped and looked sceptically at the mess in the room.

"Ger…?" Janice began, but he wasn't listening.

"Where is it? Where's the book?" he nearly yelled.

"What book?" Janice asked worriedly, looking at the nurse, who shrugged.

"Perhaps, ducky, you could do with a sedative…" she suggested mildly. Gerald gave her a withering glare.

"My book, I bought it today, a black book!" Gerald swallowed as he saw their blank looks. He knew he'd have to resign to the fact that he'd lost it. "It's gone…" he concluded slowly and he gritted his teeth against the rage, but it won out and he found he was holding the bag in his hand and it flew into the wall on the other side of the room. "I'll kill those fuckers!"

"Ger… maybe you should lie down, you're not well…" Janice spoke soothingly, which made him feel even more frustrated.

"Oh, piss off!" he snapped, but then saw the nurse moving towards the door, no doubt to fetch someone to convince him he could do with a nice little sedative. He sat down heavily on the bed and gave her a smile that only succeeded in becoming a sneer.

"What book was it?" Janice asked as she began gathering his clothes up from the floor. "You can always get another… right?"

"Fat chance that, I got it from Ferdinand, cost me twenty eight quid, Jan, twenty eight! I doubt there's another like it anywhere… it was ancient, with brilliant pictures! Woodcuts, looked practically medieval!" as he spoke he could almost feel the book in his hands, the texture and weight of it. He cursed himself for losing it. He should have kept it safe.

But it was gone.


Chapter 2 - Threads of Fate


Gerald shrank back against the wall, this was the kind of place he disliked the most – one with people in it. He was holding on to his drink as if his life depended on it. Even Janice, who usually thought he was about as much fun as a parsnip when out clubbing, had asked if he didn't think he'd had enough.

But how could he have enough? He wanted to drink himself into a stupor and never wake up. At least he wasn't trapped with Him anymore. The hand holding the drink moved and he was gulping down the rest before realising he was doing it. Janice had patched up his cuts and bruises before coming here, asking him questions that were hard to avoid. Somehow he'd managed to invent a few believable stories, while being rather economical with the truth.

He sighed, thinking of the bits he'd left out, wishing that what he had told her was the truth – a simple believable story – about how he fell down while buying the newspaper. He was clumsy enough, so she had believed it although laughing rather harshly.

Oh, how he wanted to crawl up and hide somewhere. The only reason he'd come, was to get out of the apartment – away from Him. Now, he wished he wasn't here. Truth be told he wished he didn't have to be anywhere. To top it all off he'd forgotten his inhaler and he knew that was always bad.

The club was depressingly Goth and the gloom was seeping into his mind. Janice loved to come here, she knew the bartender and some of the girls who waited tables. There was always people here she liked and wanted to see, so she usually drifted off in the crowd soon as they came – at the moment he didn't mind, he didn't want her near.

She was dancing with Lukas he realised. He was a misfit in this world, his hair shining like a light bulb through the vastness of black and grey, his red shirt stood out like an open wound. But nobody but the newcomers minded; Lukas was as much part of the club interior as was the furniture and the wallpaper. He was a few sticks short of a rookery, that one, but nevertheless a rather nice bloke and being Lukas's friend got you free drinks at times, because he was chummy with the bar owner – chummy as in living with.

Gerald sighed and shook his glass watching the red drops on the bottom twirl around; his feet felt too heavy to lift. The crowd was closing in on him and he had to exert a great deal of self control not to get up and run out; tears threatened to well up and he closed his eyes, but that was like opening a window and calling in the events from earlier. Shivering he opened his eyes, breathing raggedly and with great effort.

Earlier, later, he didn't want there to be either. But there was, there would be.



"Quite a question to ask after you call someone from his tomb…" he'd said, voice low and husky and his breath on Gerald's neck. Gerald had nearly wet himself.

The stranger had let him sink to the laminated floor when his legs gave way and in the next moment he had been crouching down with Gerald's black hair wrapped around his hand in a relentless grip. The look on his face had been fierce and somewhat scornful. His grasp had hardened leaving Gerald writhing in pain.

He had been sure that that face spelled his doom and he couldn't remember ever having been so frightened before. It was the kind of intangible fear that weakens the entire body, like fear of darkness or lightning – the one where you can't even scream. Nightmare fear.

"So you fear me, do you?" a low malicious hiss and Gerald began sobbing quietly; his chest tight and aching. The man's other hand had come up and touched his face in what might've been a soothing gesture if it hadn't been for the coldness in his eyes. "Witless child! Playing at things beyond your understanding," his voice had taken on an admonishing tone, one drifting away from the coldness and sounding more human. He'd been let go with a light shove.

"Such a weedy wisp of a thing you are," simple weariness replacing all else at this point. "Rise! I'll not speak with a babe, cowering on the floor! There, get to your feet!"

As if the words were ropes to cling to Gerald had obeyed, somehow dreading to be pulled up, which seemed more than likely to be the outcome if he didn't do what he was told. For the first time Gerald had registered that the stranger was dressed. The clothes were vaguely familiar and he realised that at least the trousers must have been taken from his RPG clothing, the costume for the D&D elf he rarely played. Despite being loose when Gerald wore them, they must've fit the much stronger built body rather badly, but you couldn't see it the way he carried them.

"Who…" he had winced and then pushed on stuttering, "wh-who… are you?"

For a while he'd been sure his only answer would be the piercing stare, but then the figure seated himself on the kitchen table – looking quite as if he owned the world – one leg drawn up so that he could rest his elbow on it. Though he was apparently relaxed, his nonchalant pose had added to his authoritative air and made Gerald feel even smaller than before.

"Cassyon Arh Llunawîrh at your service, Master of Sorcery and Lord of the southern province, at least I once was," he had had something wistful in his eyes at those words, but the sharpness came back as quickly. "And you, boy, have a name I presume?" Gerald hadn't been able to respond, the shock had taken his voice and run out into a heavily trafficked street. "What do your kin call you?" the stranger had intoned deliberately, as if Gerald was hard of hearing.

"I… I'm Gerald.. er, Stevenson." He had felt absurd standing there in his own brightly yellow kitchen, introducing himself to this person, this apparition that he wasn't even sure was real. Sorcery? He had never realised how little he actually believed in it before. He had always considered himself a believer, one of the few who saw, who felt the truth. The truth that whatever it was controlling the world it was not a benevolent, or even a malevolent, god of some sort, but this strange power that could be controlled in return. Destiny. Fate. Chance. He had always known there to be more than just `the way things are' and still, deep down there was always a voice of reason.

No voice of reason could explain this man though.

"So, did you entreat me to a meal just now?" the stranger had asked, breaking the awkward silence.

Gerald had brought the pie from the microwave and offered a plate to the man who had eaten without a sound, making a few grimaces as he did. Gerald hadn't spoken either, but neither had he eaten. He still felt as if someone had turned his world upside down like a snow globe and shaken it.

There had been, and still were, questions he didn't dare search for the answer to, and yet he knew he had no choice. He had tried to look anywhere but at the figure at his kitchen table. There was something so pallid and ghostlike about him Gerald couldn't keep from remembering his words "…call someone from his tomb…" What was he?

Not a vampire, the sun had been shining in through his window after all, not quite as bright and cheerful as he might've wanted, but shining nonetheless. Vampires couldn't stand sunlight, could they? Of course if you read some books they could, by putting dirt from their homeland in their shoes. Gerald furtively tried looking beneath the table, but then realised he couldn't have any dirt with him – being stark naked in Gerald's bed when he first saw him. Besides, he didn't seem to have any fangs.

Master of sorcery, what did that even mean? Gerald had frowned going through all his past knowledge and reading of the occult. Gerald knew magic! Well he didn't know magic, but he knew magic, had read more than anyone he knew – apart from Ferdinand. His knowledge didn't appear to amount to anything at the moment though, at least not to anything that would help him solve this enigma.

"You amuse me, boy," the man had pushed the plate away, leaving only a few crumbs, his face lit up with a crooked grin showing some teeth – he was very handsome Gerald had reflected and then mentally slapped himself. When your daydreams could turn themselves into cats you should probably not indulge in them.

"Why's that?" he'd mumbled not wanting to look at the man.

"`Tis your face – it reveals every thought, every feeling. I can read your mind as simply as a small child's," he'd grinned, clearly very amused at what he was seeing there at the moment. There had been something normal and almost relaxing about that look. "I regret having treated you like a threat. You are clearly no such thing."

His words had struck Gerald as odd. Him the threat? That was ridiculous. If anyone was threatening it was that weird man sitting across from him.

"What I cannot fathom is how someone, a mere child as yourself, evidently without instruction, could do this. It seems impossible and yet here I am," he'd continued to speak in the same calm tone, which Gerald found very out of place, but all the same much easier to cope with than his earlier ominous mood.

"Do what… exactly?" he'd finally asked, feeling as if the casualness of their conversation was somewhat out of place.

The man's face had distorted for a moment in a look as if he suddenly was overcome by a splitting headache. Gerald had almost been able to feel the air quiver around them in expectation of some kind of eruption when the man's patience snapped, but nothing happened.

He had then given him a long, cold look and risen from the table. When he had grabbed onto Gerald's arm, Gerald had forgotten how to walk and just stumbled forward into him. So close he'd been able to smell the detergent on the shirt and that earthy smell that came from all around this man.

There hadn't been time to apologise or actually to do anything but find his feet and go with the man as he had been pulled into the living room. He'd picked up the book and handed it to Gerald, the first page turned up and the writing glaring up at Gerald.

"That is what you have done! Do you know the words?"

"No… I mean I read them, I didn't think…" he'd trailed off in the face of the incredulous look on the other man's face.

"And how did you know how to perform the rite?"

"I wasn't performing no bleeding rite! I was just reading aloud!!" he'd instantly regretted the choice to shout when his cheek suddenly smarted after a hard smack.

He'd quickly backed away, fighting the onset of tears and then he'd turned and fled, locking himself in the bathroom just waiting for the door to be broken down. Nothing had happened though and after crying for awhile he'd fallen asleep on the shower floor, head resting against the soap flakes on the wall.

Several hours later Janice had been at the door expecting him to come along as he'd said. She'd rang the doorbell for several minutes and been in a right state when he finally opened. A green eyed cat had watched them from the couch, its eyes never leaving Gerald.

Gerald hadn't been able to take his eyes off the cat either, staring at it until he simply couldn't take it. He needed to get out before he did something completely irrational. None of this was real, none of it. It couldn't be! He had to get out of the house and into the real world, go somewhere where he could prove to himself that reality was still what he knew it to be – so naturally he went with Janice to get so bloody pissed he wasn't even sure whether he was sitting up or lying down.



Now he wasn't certain whether he was sitting up or lying down, he was however certain that he was very, very drunk. And it wasn't even a happy drunken stupor that allowed him to drown his sorrows, it was in fact one of those miserable drunken stupors that has you wondering whether life would look better from underneath the floorboards.

There was a sudden sharp flash and the room wobbled disturbingly. Gerald pinched his nose and drew a deep breath. He shouldn't drink, it wasn't good for his asthma. The forgotten inhaler came back to his mind. It was not like him to forget it, but there was probably a good reason for why he'd left it though, he just couldn't put his finger on it right now.

Janice sat down next to him and put her arms around his waist.

"You bored, Jer?" she asked and then didn't wait for his answer before continuing. "Do I need to fix my makeup? God, doesn't Lukas look great tonight? You know, he wasn't so… odd, those doe eyes of his could make a girl feel all maternal like." She giggled. "You know what he told me?" she changed her voice to an overdramatic pitch that was very far from how Lukas spoke.

"There is grave danger surrounding nearing you. Tread lightly where no one's stepped!" she smiled part fondly and part derisive. "He's such a kook, that one, innit?"

Gerald didn't answer. Danger…? He'd never put much thought into Lukas strange mutterings and premonitions before, he was after all slightly thick to be honest, and besides he never made much sense anyway. But now, now everything was different, whether Gerald liked admitting it or not, his view of the world had been undeniably altered.

"I've gotta see Fer… what's his name? Fernand, I've gotta!" Gerald slurred, his tongue feeling like a large, mushy potato when he spoke. He tried to rise, but stumbled on top of Janice who pushed him back.

"Ferdinand? What you need to see him for?" she sounded put out.

He suddenly realised he didn't remember why he wanted to see Ferdinand, only that it was important and that he needed proof. But proof of what and to do what with? He looked at his empty glass. One more of those and he might forget who he was too… he smiled.

"Oh, you're so pissed, you daft twit! I'm going to the bathroom, sober up before I get back!" she got up and stalked off towards the bathrooms. He looked at the curve of her bum as it wiggled underneath the tight skirt, she looked better in pants, not so bloody girly then. She had a flat bum anyway, it only looked good in those wide skirts she wore playing RPG's.

Lukas bum looked better, if he had to take a pick of bums. Bloody hell, he wished he could have another drink, but his legs had vacated the building, or gone asleep or some other evil thing to prevent him from having any more drinks.

Evil legs! Perhaps Janice would get him one. But if he drank anymore he might be sick. Not like sick in a flowerpot, but sick as in ambulance and liver failure. He wondered if she would feed that cat for him, she was sweet, she would probably… no, wait a minute, he didn't have a cat. He shook his head and swallowed as the piercing stare of burning green eyes came back to him.

There was a distinct flash and the room nearly tipped over. He drew a deep breath and steadied himself on the table until he realised that nothing was moving.

"Fuck this!" he breathed while letting go of the table, his hands trembling. He looked up and recoiled as a red sleeve came very suddenly into his line of vision.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Gerald. It's your name. Gerald is your name, right? Right? You're Gerald? Am I right?"

"Yes! Yes, you're right!" Gerald shook himself. Fuck! Lukas could be so annoying. He always asked the same question, as if he didn't quite believe that he knew what Gerald's name was, and they had met several times before.

"I'm not right, I'm Lukas," Lukas said, smiling innocently. He sat on a chair with his legs drawn up. He was tall and sitting like that, like a child, made him look very wrong.

Gerald sighed and nodded. He tried to ignore the big fawn eyes locked on him, but they were so alluring somehow. They had a depth that didn't at all fit with his naivety. They were old where he was young and they looked right through you, like those others had.

His head snapped up, a memory of something coming back and he started shaking, not quite so comfortably drunk and numb anymore.

"Gerald, aren't you well, Gerald? Aren't you well?" he reached out his hands and stroke Gerald's hair gently.

"I need to find Ferdinand, please Lukas, help me!" Gerald grabbed his arms and stared into his eyes, they were deeper than ever, they were nearly black and he felt as if he was being drawn in. "Beware your wishes, or it may be they seal your fate," he stated calmly, as if saying something about the weather. Then Lukas smiled mildly and he looked himself again. Gerald shivered.

He sank down in his seat again, there was never any point in asking Lukas what he'd said, or what he meant, he never knew himself and usually didn't even recall saying anything. He had the shortest attention span of anyone Gerald had ever met. Gerald looked at him, making a face, he was currently chasing some salt around on the table with his finger, oblivious to the world around him.

There was something cute about Lukas, innocent and always obliging – like a pet. Pet, the thought made Gerald swallow hard. Something about the thought of pets made him cringe.

Then suddenly he whirled around in his seat, still with a feeling as if someone had been watching him. He couldn't see anyone, the room was dimly lit and besides there was too much people to tell if someone had been watching him. And yet the feeling wouldn't leave him however much he tried to shake it off.

He rubbed his temples roughly and groaned for lack of better release – it made no difference. He saw Lukas look up before the shadow fell over him, his face altering to an expression of distinct dread.

"Lukas?" Gerald heard his voice chorused by another, but it hadn't spoken the same name and he turned his head in confusion towards the newcomer.

"Morgan?" the vaguely familiar figure said, his eyes fettering the blond, trembling young man next to Gerald. Lukas didn't answer, he simply watched the man with big eyes and then got up and took off in sheer terror. "Morgan!" the man called and then started off after the fleeing form and Gerald moved before he could think.

"Leave him alone!" his hand grasped the powerful arm and knew before even trying that there was no way he could hold this man back.

He did succeed in turning the other's attention to himself though and memory flooded back as he stared into the cold face. Gerald let go and stumbled backwards. The man was muttering under his breath and Gerald wasn't sure whether he was muttering some spell or just muttering. Then he closed his eyes and sighed as if gathering patience.

"Fate unravels the threads we weave and tears our dreams asunder," he stated, the words struck Gerald as somewhat familiar.

Then without further comment the man took Gerald by the arm, pulling him towards the door where Lukas had vanished. Gerald struggled against his grip, knocking over a metal chair as they went, the clattering turning several heads towards them, but not drawing any real attention. And then he bumped into a table hard enough for his hip to start throbbing. He felt like a rag-doll tossed about by a careless brat.

Something terrible would happen, he just knew it! And he didn't want to be part of it. The crowd drifted apart around them as if there was some invisible barrier between themselves and the others. Gerald tried reaching out, to grab someone and ask for help, but he was snatched away, like a child trying to touch something forbidden, and punished by a rough shake and a look that could kill.

They were at the door and one pallid hand closed around the handle and pushed down, Gerald choke down his fear and attempted to voice his objections.

"Gerald?!" Janice's voice! He turned around and she came at him, a bewildered look on her face. "Where are you going?! Who's this bloke then?" she shifted her eyes to the stranger and Gerald opened his mouth to reply before the man did something stupid – like introducing himself.

"What's going on here, Lukas you're not making sense…?" the door handle slipped out of his grasp and the man focused on the woman stepping out. She stopped, her small, curvy body stiff as if someone had poured cold water over her. The man took her in with a look on his face like a predator searching for weaknesses.

She recognised him, and she feared him – not as much as Lukas seemed to, but fear nonetheless. Gerald couldn't move, he was transfixed on the scene playing out before him. The woman – Lea Dove, the bar owner, who he knew by sight and had spoken to at times – pulled her dress up as if suddenly overcome by modesty. She had one hand on the doorpost hindering anyone who might want to go in and keeping the ones inside from coming out.

"So you've come now?" she looked him over in a would-be casual manner, but her eyes revealed disbelief. "I'd not thought it possible."

"Nor I," was his quiet reply.

"Are they with you?" to Gerald's chagrin she nodded towards him and Janice. He wanted to shake his head, say he'd never seen the man, but his tongue felt like sandpaper and wouldn't move.

"Our paths have crossed."

"You'd best come in here, mind you, keep away from Lukas!" she murmured, her eyes steely caution and nothing else.



The room was a small office, a sofa and a desk with a computer. Lukas was nowhere in sight, but then suddenly something rustled underneath the desk and the dustbin tipped over, there was a distressed whimper and then a hand came out and snatched up a crumpled, golden candy wrapper and disappeared in under the desk again, followed by a giggle.

Lea walked through the room and positioned herself in front of the window as if taking centre stage, she touched her fingertips against each other in a nervous manner and then gestured for them to sit down.

Janice smiled and sat down in the corner of the fluffy, black sofa and Gerald hesitantly sat down next to her, all the while guardedly watching the others in the room.

"Sit, please…" Lea began but her offer was ignored and the man glanced at Gerald and Janice. "Oh, perhaps some tea?" Lea continued and he nodded decisively. She walked around the desk and started setting up a boiler and measuring up tea from a small jar.

"Well, isn't this cosy? Lea, this is truly a quaint little den you have here," Janice chattered and Lea looked up with a polite smile. "So, Jer, may I ask how you know this handsome bloke then, eh? Been cheating on me?" she giggled, Gerald felt his face go cold and then hot. "Oh? You were cheating then?" she said pretending to be aghast and he pushed her.

"Janice, please!"

He was thinking so hard his brain nearly short circuited and he still had no idea what to tell her, he was such a bad liar even the truth sounded false coming from him at times. And then it clicked and he knew exactly what to say.

"This is an online friend I just met, he flew up and his luggage was lost, he's wearing my RPG clothes, see?" he talked quickly and tried sounding sure of himself.

"Oh! Are you what's his name? Breakheart54? From that board you're always on?!" Janice lit up and Gerald quickly nodded; she kept better track of his online acquaintances than he did himself, he couldn't even remember who that bloke was, probably someone he'd said he considered meeting.

Lea served them each a cup of scolding hot tea and "Breakheart54" sat down next to Gerald, giving him a slightly odd look that Gerald couldn't quite read. Janice blew on the tea and took a sip – Gerald was about to do the same, but a gentle hand on his wrist prevented him and he shot the man a quick surprised glance, receiving a short, negating nod.

"Mm, this was lovely! Where did you get it?" Janice swallowed another mouthful and Gerald felt he should stop her, but the words wouldn't come out.

"It's my own blend, not to strong for you, is it, dear?" Lea said smiling gently.

"No, not at all, it's…" she hid a yawn behind her hand, "oh, excuse me…" she yawned again.

Before their eyes she slumped back against the armrest and Lea just barely managed to rescue the cup before Janice's hand went limp. Gerald sprang up, panic hitting hard and chest tightening. He was pulled back down as quickly as he'd stood.

"Easy, boy!" a sharp hiss behind him and he felt one arm encircle him, keeping a firm grip on him. "She's asleep!"

Gerald swallowed hard, but found himself relaxing slightly, his breathing returning to normal even before it'd reached it's usual wheezing. Then he realised who he was leaning against and recoiled knocking his cup off the table and banging his knee on it's edge. For a moment sharp eyes pierced him and then the man rose and walked over to the window once again. Gerald scuttled backwards on the blood red rug and began to apologise as Lea came around and picked up the cup.

"Never mind, dear," she mumbled, not really listening. "I take it then the boy got you here?" she continued, making a vague gesture with the broken cup. "How? I never thought he could do such things, though Lukas has taken a liking to the two of them."

Lukas, hearing his name, peeked up behind the desk – saw the tall frame standing much closer than Lea and gave up a fearful cry before vanishing again. The man looked disgusted.

"I demand answers, mistress!" he said irritated, ignoring the whimper from underneath the desk. Lea seemed on the verge of objecting and then swallowed, straightening an invisible crease on her sleeve.

"Of course, ask away…" she met his eyes as they thinned to slits and she paled. "…my lord, forgive me I forget my…" he waved his hand and she nodded quickly, casting a subtle glance at Gerald before sitting down on the coffee table. "Where would you like me to begin, my lord?" she folded her hands, but that didn't stop them from trembling visibly.

He stood still, giving the impression he wasn't paying her any heed and then he shrugged his shoulders and sat on the desk in the same casual manner he'd done in Gerald's kitchen. Or had it been his kitchen? No, no it was his kitchen, the memories were becoming quite clear again.

"For what purpose did you come to this world?" the lord said, drawing another whimper from Lukas – he rolled his eyes. "How did you come here?"

"It was months after you… vanished. I was forced to, well, run… and where better to hide than in the ruins…? I found Lukas, alone in your catacombs – how he managed to stay alive down there when Jocelin unleashed his power I have no idea – but there he was, crying and clutching that blasted tome in his hands. I opened a portal, I didn't know where it led when I brought Lukas through it, but we ended up here."

"The tome, what happened to it?" Gerald could read urgency in his eyes even though he spoke very calmly.

"Don't know, I'd though it left behind when we went through…" Gerald had drawn up his knees and was pressing hard against the sofa the tale was a fascinating one, but hopeless to understand, it was like beginning to watch a TV series where you've missed the first crucial episodes and the characters continuously allude to events that you've missed.

He was dying to ask questions but instinct told him to shut the bloody hell up and just listen, hoping they'd forget he was even there. He didn't have such luck for long though.

"You've…" the man seemed to be looking for a word that suited his purposes, finding one he continued, sharp eyes still piercing Lea, "… adapted to this world, made allies?" his gaze turned to Gerald.

She gave a snort and then remembered herself and looked apologetically at Gerald. "Allies? Not as such no," she sighed. "I know them as clients…"

"Yes. The establishment, I'm led to believe, considering your behaviour, that it is yours…?" he sounded vaguely ridiculing and even smirked slightly. "To think, Liobsynde The Ardent – a barkeep… wouldn't that make that daughter of a misshapen cow laugh her faithless head off?"

"Don't call her that!" Lea hissed between clenched teeth, cheeks blotched with colour.

"No? Perhaps king's traitor and whore are more pleasing on your ears, mistress?" he had the look of someone who would soon spit on the floor, but either manners or dehydration were keeping him from it.

With a shriek she lifted the, now empty, cup Janice had drunk from and made to throw it straight at his smirking face, but he simply held up a hand, his eyes shooting sparks and she lowered it, hand clenched so tightly about it her entire arm shook.

"A question, mistress? You say you did not know where to the gate lead, then how did you create the spell?" she seemed befuddled at his quick change of subject and it took her awhile to gather her composure enough to answer him.

"I… I don't recall, it was so fast," she frowned slightly. "I asked for a safe place… no a secret place! A place where sorcery would fail to find us!" her face lit up as if in triumph and then it fell as fast. "But then you shouldn't have found us either… should you?" accusing eyes met his for mere seconds before she looked away. Gerald could feel the tension still sizzling in the room, whatever fight was between these two it was of the kind that ends in bloodshed.

"I never said I came here to find you…" he whispered and Gerald knew immediately that it was him the other man had come for. He shook his head, it still felt a bit foggy after all the beer but all the same much clearer than it had been just before he'd seen the man's face again. "I came to see whether my incantation took effect… it did not…" the look Gerald received was rather pensive than anything, but it still made him flinch – then again any look from those eyes made him flinch.

"But you mean to tell me that sorcery has no effect here, and thus my spells would not work?" he continued turning his focus back to Lea who shook her head indistinctly.

"Yes and no…" she said carefully, measuring her words. "I don't know, my lord, it seems this world is protected, but under certain circumstances sorcery… it seems to be fluke more or less…" she wasn't quite able to explain her thoughts on the subject and the man was looking at her as if she was mumbling some foreign language.

Then suddenly from underneath the plain wooden desk came a soft voice, like a child whispering secrets to a toy:

"Destiny is strong here, her will has ruled for many thousands of years, these people cannot control what they do not believe in… Fate unravels the threads we weave and tears our dreams asunder…" Lukas was singing and Gerald stiffened, his breath catching – reminding him again that his inhaler was at home somewhere – this song though…

Then Lukas stopped and went on to making Lea's desk chair wobble precariously with his foot. Memory faded rapidly, but his brow knit and Gerald knew that if he could just hear a few more lines he'd know where he'd heard that song before… He could've cheerfully choked himself if it'd prevented the sound of protest he made from being heard, but their attention was again focused on him and he blushed as brightly red as the carpet.

Lea almost at once disregarded his hushed dissent and began talking of something else, but the man's eyes lingered on him moments longer, solemn and, to Gerald great dismay, knowing.

"You've condemned us to the power of a fickle goddess then, mistress, bringing the tome here, her ancient tongue was in those scriptures – the boy will have read them and my attempts to make him forget has failed…"

"You put spells on me!?" Gerald scrambled to his feet, not knowing whether to sound terrified or reproachful, his voice wavered somewhere in between. He was never given an answer because behind him he felt Janice stirring.

The man quickly moved close to Lea, hissing something that Gerald couldn't hear and then his eyes fettered Gerald. Whatever he was about to say though was never said because Janice sat up, rubbing her eyes and moving strands of hair from her face. Her face showed signs of confusion and she looked around the room as if she'd never seen it before.

"Oh my," Lea moved closer and touched her face. "The camomile mustn't have agreed with you, dear, you drowsed off," Janice nodded and murmured something about a headache. "I'll get you a cab!" she moved off to dial the number and Gerald looked Janice over more carefully, she seemed utterly lost and confused and he had no doubt she would have forgotten all this by morning.

As he looked over to where the lord or sorcerer or whatever he called himself stood, he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that his own confusion would soon fade and he wasn't certain he wanted to know the things he feared they might tell him.


Chapter 3 

Author's LONG note: The chapter didn't have a name for a very long time and when it was done the temporary (lack of) title just seemed very fitting. So yes the chapter is called Nameless, and no I didn't just forget to name it ;-)

Oh and it hasn't been betaed or even alphaed so feel free to report any mistakes you spot. And I don't want to dangle over a cliff just because I let you do so, k?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Janice was sleeping again by the time they reached her apartment and Gerald couldn't wake her up. No matter how he shook her, he couldn't get her to stir, if it hadn't been for the snoring he would've thought she was dead.

The cab driver yelled something about them getting the bloody hell out and Gerald began apologising, but then the stranger moved, eyes glimmering dangerously in the shadows of the backseat and they didn't fail in causing the driver to rethink his tone of voice. He suddenly became very willing to help them and came around the cab to open the door for them. Then readily helped Gerald to carry the sleeping form up to her door.

Gerald undressed her and put her in bed. He stared at her calm face and sudden melancholy came over him. What if she wouldn't wake up again? He stroke her face with a trembling palm and then flinched hard when he felt those eyes on him from behind.

"You need not fear for her. Liobsynde makes a potent draught, but it is merely sleep…" the voice was a seductive whisper that made Gerald feel both calm and tense in a way he'd never experienced before.

It was unnerving that. This man he'd never met could make him feel so many things with just a variation in his tone or a change in his stance. Not the worst bullies in school had made him flinch with a look.

"Why…?" Gerald stopped himself not sure of what to ask, all the questions he didn't want to have to ask were a jumble in his mind. "I… I don't understand anything…" he said finally in a small, miserable voice that was heavy with pessimism. He didn't like being so pathetic, but it was his lot in life he supposed.

He hadn't really expected a reply and when none came he simply shrugged his shoulders. Looking at Janice again he wondered if perhaps he should stay with her; he rubbed at his eyes, they almost felt as if they were filled with sand. Drawing a deep breath he rose to pull the curtains closed and then recalled that she didn't like them closed, she wanted to wake to the sun on her face – said it made her feel like a princess in a castle. Well, as long as that princess wasn't named Briar Rose, he was happy.

There was a familiar clutter on Janice's desk and he ran his hand over her keyboard with a sigh. He'd spent several nights in this room, and although they never did much more than talk, Janice had never complained. Gerald wasn't sure what she wanted out of their relationship, but he was happy as long as it didn't go further. He wasn't ready for that and he wondered if he'd ever be. He'd never been attracted to someone in all his life and he guessed he might be asexual or something like that. Sex had just never interested him.

He caught a trace of earth and stone and looked up to find the man had moved closer to him. Closer, but not close. Still that scent was so clear he wondered whether it was actually in his head. He hid a sudden yawn behind the back of his hand.

"We ought to return to your dwelling, boy. You are tired."

"I don't want to leave her like this!" he objected. "And why should I let you come back with me anyway? I've no reason to let you stay with me!" he stood up, weariness giving him sudden courage.

He regretted it immediately when he saw the man's stance shift – he straightened his back, seemingly preparing an attack. Gerald swallowed hard and cursed himself for forgetting what he was dealing with – well, actually he didn't know what he was dealing with, but he knew he didn't want another smack in his face like the one he'd got this morning.

"Sorry, I didn't mean…" he winced when the man approached him and backed away so that the corner of Janice's bed came between them; it didn't stop the menacing figure from following however and he soon had Gerald pressed against the wall.

"You brought about my being here, child!" he hissed, dark eyes glistening. "And were I you, I would show greater care as to what I say."

He moved away leaving Gerald slumped against the wall and shivering with a cold feeling running through him.

Janice gave a snorting noise in her sleep.



They walked the way back to Gerald's apartment, it wasn't so far and Gerald didn't feel like taking the bus, his companion didn't show it much, but Gerald had the feeling he didn't like cars. Perhaps they didn't have cars where he came from.

He nearly laughed at himself and at how easily he accepted that the story he'd heard parts of was the truth. Part of him found the whole thing absurd, and he tried to figure out how someone could play this kind of joke on him and who'd do such a thing. But every time he thought he had a grip of reality once more, it came back to the cat.

People do not turn into cats. It was that simple really, not ordinary people anyhow.

Of course Gerald had read all about shape shifters and the likes, but those were superstitious stories told by ignorant farmers in ancient times, not the kind of magic he had actually ever believed in. He tried to clear his head, but glancing over at the imposing form a few steps ahead of him his mind stopped working.

He blushed fiercely, all of a sudden overcome by the thought that he'd woken up next to him only this morning. The thought made him excruciatingly aware of himself.

Then out of nowhere a car zoomed by, and someone inside threw a bottle on the pavement. It shattered in a cascade of glass just in front of them. Gerald cried out and raised an arm to keep the glass from his face, but he was already enveloped in a firm, shielding embrace. Blinking up at his unlikely protector he felt his cheeks burn.

"Let go!" he mumbled, struggling a tad. He was released immediately and without a sound.

Their side of the street had been empty of people, but now one of the passers by from the other side was rushing towards them across the street, worry clear in her face.

"Oh, my dear!" she called, slightly out of breath. "Are you alright? I got the registration number off of that hooligan! Doing such a thing to decent people!" she handed Gerald the note with a shaking hand, probably because he was the one looking at her. Gerald looked up and found the other man searching the surroundings for something, glaring darkly at the buildings and across the street at the small, lit shop still opened. His gaze was suspicious and his posture tense, as if he expected some danger to approach. His hand opened and clenched at his side.

It took Gerald a moment before realising what he must be doing – reflexively reaching for something, a weapon perhaps, that wasn't there.

The woman had gone on after assuring herself they were both unharmed. Gerald stuffed her note in his pocket, not that he'd use it, but it would be rude to throw it away while she could turn around and see him do it.

He got seemingly no response when he cleared his throat and began to walk, skirting the glass. The man stood where he was, his expression still much too intent.

Gerald walked back and cautiously put a hand on his sleeve. The look he was given came from the same intent eyes and they seemed distant and yet more piercing than anything Gerald had ever seen, as if it wasn't him he was looking at, but something within him, or beyond him.

"We should go…" he hesitated, not sure he was even heard.

"I care not for this place," the older man decided suddenly and began to walk ahead of Gerald again, for a moment Gerald just stared after him, before he hurried to match his gait. He felt slightly out of breath, but otherwise he was surprised that his asthma was behaving kindly, despite all he'd been through during the course of the evening, it wasn't normal. Though he supposed not much could be called normal anymore.

He'd sobered up quickly, perhaps he'd never been as drunk as he'd thought himself to be, perhaps he'd just so desperately wanted to drink himself into a stupor that his mind had allowed him to believe he had. Not that he'd ever been good at holding his drink, but tonight had been quite a low even for him. For goodness sake, even Janice had thought him too drunk to keep her company.

The silence dragged on, as it does between strangers who know nothing of each other and aren't certain they want to know anything either. Gerald wouldn't pretend not to be curious about the strange man, this lord as he called himself.

"So…" Gerald hesitated while gathering his courage, "how do you know Lukas, like?" he said finally.

No reply. The man stopped in front of him and turned around so quickly Gerald took a step back. He threw up his arms and heard his own shout echoing between the buildings as he was ruthlessly shoved to the ground. He tumbled down scraping his elbow and sending needles of pain from his fingers to his shoulder.

A shadow swept over him and he looked up in terror, expecting this to be the end, but the street was empty.

Scrambling up, he frantically searched the street for any sign of man or cat, but nothing. It was so still he could hear his own heartbeat, and beat it did, like a waterfall hammering against loose rocks. He wheezed and clasped at his throat, the attack he'd been waiting for suddenly sneaking up on him at the worst possible moment.

He fell on his knees on the pavement trying to regain control, but he simply couldn't breathe. Where was he? Was this all a bad dream he'd soon wake from? Perhaps the whole day had been in his head, it might still be Sunday and… he couldn't think anymore, he'd die before he finished another thought!

The street faded before his eyes as his vision blurred and he couldn't quite see the person suddenly stepping up to him from out of nowhere. He hadn't heard them come, but there was clearly someone standing there.

Gerald looked up, still clawing at his throat in a panic and reached out a hand, pleading for help. Soundlessly the figure moved. It reached back towards him, a soothing voice whispering something almost loud enough for him to hear, but not quite. The noise was hypnotic, lulling. He brushed his fingertips against something cold and then like a striking snake it clasped his wrist and searing pain flashed through him. He screamed.

It was cold. So cold. Like spikes of metal running through his veins, stabbing at his nerves.

The figure floated out of the shadows. It's grip on his arm too tight for mere human strength and Gerald stared up at it, his scream clogging in his throat, his very voice being drained from him. He forgot his terror – what he felt, staring at the being before him, was so beyond fear he was dead calm.

It had no face.

A blank mask was all he could see, only shadows where the eyes should have been and no mouth. The whole world wavered before his eyes then and he rocked backwards.

"Begone, nameless!" a chilling voice that Gerald had never thought he'd be glad to hear, stated behind him, calm and void of any emotion except a frightening confidence. "I know from whence you came. I know how you can be slain. Begone, nameless!"

Like a spell, Gerald thought, before his eyes rolled back in his head and he saw and heard nothing more.



Fate unravels the threads we weave and tears our dreams asunder. She holds the starlit night above and in her hands the world… Gerald turned, thick mist twirling around his legs, nothing but empty space and white twirling layers of mist… and that voice, those haunting tones from a distant past he could not recall… Lady Luck the pure and bright, Lady Chance the fickle, Lady Destiny the cold – beg her for her mercy…

"Beg, beg for mercy…" a last whisper, fading into silence.

"Gerald, my child…" Gerald spun around again, he knew that voice! "My boy, my son…"

"Dad!?" he took a step, his voice quivering desolately in the vastness around him. "Dad!?" his cry grew all the more panicked, but there was no reply. "DAD!!"

"Blessed child… he's waiting…"

"Dad? Wait! WAIT!!"

Waking up he was lying in his own bed. He flinched when a hand wrapped around his hair and held him still, but it merely bent him forward and brushed a cup against his lips.

"Drink, it will ease what ails you!" the voice was familiar, quiet and soothing. He breathed in wet stone and his eyes flew open as he thrashed out blindly.

The cup was knocked to the side and he heard a sudden, fierce slew of what was probably curses in a tongue he couldn't understand. He blinked up at Cassyon, who stood a few feet from him dripping with tea. Gerald opened his mouth, but he couldn't speak, his parched mouth felt stiff and numb.

"Had you but heeded and drunk what you were given, you might not still be half dead," Cassyon stated with a taut smile and then turned and left.

Gerald fought free of the covers, with great difficulty – they seemed to weigh a ton. He pulled his heavy legs towards the edge of the bed and tumbled forward, his arms folding as he landed making him knock his forehead against the floor.

"Did you not heed me, you half-wit?" Cassyon placed a new cup on the bedside table and lifted him into bed again as if he was a baby. His head was throbbing. "It almost took your life, you utter fool!"

Memories flooded in, drowning him in fear. He gulped for air, not able to breathe. He looked around for his inhaler, but it wasn't in the room.

"My… ah…"

"Drink!" Cassyon raised the cup to his lips again, he turned his head aside and was ruthlessly grabbed by the neck and pushed upwards. "Do not disobey me, or I shall let you die!"

Gerald drank. At first a sip and then more greedily as the liquid burned its way down his throat warming him and restoring life to his limbs. The harsh grip around his neck softened and Cassyon rubbed his nape soothingly, gently moving to knead his shoulders and then, putting the cup down, he continued to work on his arms and torso, restoring life to his unfeeling body.

He moved down his body, rubbing softly and in silence, until he reached his hips and thighs. A small spark of pleasure coursed through Gerald and he winced, lifting a hand to push feebly at the fingers touching his upper left leg.

"Please… stop…" Cassyon gave him a look that turned from slightly confused to a smirk that understood more than Gerald did himself and then he resumed his efforts without a word.

Once he had finished, Gerald was a tad out of breath, his throat felt torn from the inside and he was as tired as if he'd run six miles.

"There then, you might recover yet," a pitiless statement and Cassyon seemed to be many miles away as he said it. "Not many survives a second encounter…" he trailed off, his face overcast.

"What… what was that…?" Gerald bit his lip – he didn't really want to know and then again not knowing was even worse, or he believed it was even worse.

"A nameless… made of dust and scratches, they have no name to rule them and no life but that which they steal, none has power over them but the one who has made them," Cassyon rubbed his forehead with a tired hand. "You must rest… I have matters to attend to."

"Rest?" how was he supposed to rest, when he'd just been nearly killed by a monster from his worst nightmares? "What matters? Where did those… things come from?" He drew a breath, but again his breathing failed him and he found himself clawing at his throat, making pained, pleading noises.

Cassyon bent forward, hands planted on his shoulders and then he leaned across Gerald's struggling frame, his breath touching his lips. Gerald felt his eyes bulge and he went rigid when he realised what was about to happen. He choked and started coughing violently. A hand then covered his throat, making coughing as well as breathing impossible.

"Breathe in!" a sharp hiss against his lips and as his throat was released he obeyed instinctively. The kiss was firm and not truly a kiss at all, rather like being given mouth to mouth, though he wasn't certain it was air filling his mouth and than his lunges it was more like a… on second thought he didn't know anything to describe the odd sensation that filled him.

He was let go and suddenly he was able to breathe again, though every breath was a painful struggle and he was certain sandpaper was being pulled down into his lungs.

"Witless child," the insult came offhandedly. "A nameless steals your life, the essence which makes you live and breathe, that which makes your heart beat, you must not push yourself, nor your body, you ought not live and that it knows!"

Gerald lay still, defiantly glaring up at the wearied face above him. There was nothing he could say to what he'd just been told. He supposed Cassyon had just offered him an explanation and if he couldn't understand it, it was his own fault and the other man had no interest in making things any clearer.

He watched Cassyon leave the room and then closed his eyes. `You ought not live…' what was happening to him? What was happening to reality and to the world he knew? He was too tired to think. He would ask Cassyon all the questions he had when he came back – if he came back. If he didn't… Gerald suddenly realised that he didn't believe he wouldn't come back. At some point during the past day, or days, he wasn't certain which right now, he had come to expect Cassyon to be around forever.

Now wasn't that a strange insight? Did it mean he accepted him as a part of his reality? Janice had seen him… Janice and Ferdinand, well, not really he remembered, he had just seen the cat. Why couldn't he just be a cat, the cat didn't talk in riddles, it didn't do things to him that he felt he should recognise but that slipped away like a dream.

He liked the cat he decided and then he fell asleep.



"Look, Jer! That's a Merlin! Look, there it goes!" The bird soared upwards and Gerald let go of his father's hand, running up over the hill, laughing and pointing.

"Dad! I saw it! I saw it!" He stopped, his gaze following the bird until it vanished among the trees in the small growth below them.

His father came up behind him and placed a hand on his head, ruffling his hair gently. Gerald couldn't stop the joy bubbling up inside him, the air was so clear and the brisk wind against his face made him feel alive and as if, as if he could lift and soar away like the bird just now.

"Dad, I saw it, I really did!" he sighed, a warm feeling settling inside his chest. "It was wonderful!"

"Mm," his father nodded and smiled down at him. "I know."

They stood there in silence for a moment longer and then Gerald felt his father's mood shift. It did that, so suddenly sometimes. He'd smile and then he wouldn't. As if he thought of something that made the smile go away.

"Why's it called Merlin? Like the wizard with King Arthur!" Gerald asked tugging on his father's hand to make him look at him, to bring the smile back.

"Hm…? I don't know, I think some say he could turn into one though…" his father still looked absentmindedly down the hillside.

"He turned into a bird? And could fly? That's brilliant! I wish I could do that!" Gerald let his father go and took a leap into the air.

"Do you?" his father asked quietly, then he smiled a little. "Maybe one day you will… Like this!" he caught him up and swung him around in the air – Gerald spread his arms out and embraced the swooping sensation in his stomach as he put all his trust in his father's strength.

They walked down towards the village, tucked into the hills. If you looked carefully and squinted you could almost make out the lake just a short drive away.

"Mm, dad?"

"What?"

"Tell the story! Please!"

"And which story would that be?" His father laughed and pulled him close.

"About Merlin!"

"Oh, I guess… you know I'm no good at stories!" he lifted him up on his shoulders then and Gerald wrapped his arms around his father's head prompting him to tell anyway.

"Hm… all right… all right! Merlin was a druid… that's a sort of wizard… and adviser to King Arthur…"

The wind brought the scent of heather down the hill and the smell of smoke from the houses in the village. There were children playing football in the street and a lorry unloading something behind the pub where they were staying. Gerald didn't care, he listened to his father's voice as he told him a story.

A story about a wizard and a king and the sword in the stone. A story Gerald knew from Disney, but that from his father was a whole other story, one of broken loyalties, about evil and deception.

"…and so Nimue betrayed her teacher and used his love against him and Merlin was imprisoned in an oak by the use of his own magic."

Gerald was set down on the ground and his father took his hand. They walked down the street to the pub.

"Poor Merlin, why would she do that?"

"Who knows… I don't know why some people harm those who love them for power… but they do… remember that, Gerald, don't be too quick to trust just because you love someone… your love isn't enough to change the course of destiny… no one's is…"



When he woke again night had turned into morning and a faint light trickled in behind drawn curtains making spirals of brightness in the shadows. He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes. Though feeling tired and about as strong as a wrung out dish cloth he was strangely comfortable. He was happy, as if he'd found something he'd been missing greatly.

He'd dreamt of his father, he realised. The happiness withered away and remained only as a sour taste in his mouth. He tried to shake the memory, but he couldn't. His father's hand in his was almost tangible and he grabbed the covers in a fist and gritted his teeth. Why now?

Then he suddenly noticed the weight on his legs and looked up to see what it was. The cat! It was rolled up and sleeping heavily. It too seemed worn out.

The events of the nights before seemed nothing more than a bad dream now, but somehow he recognised more clearly now that they weren't and that no amount of wishing would make it so. He shook his head.

Pulling his legs free from the sleeping feline he staggered out of bed – it rolled over and stretched its legs in its sleep and then furled itself back with its head resting on its paws.

Gerald envied it, but knew he wouldn't be able to fall back to sleep, though he was strangely fatigued, as if he'd worked out the day before and was now suffering from overexertion, it was a weariness that sleep couldn't cure.

Brushing his teeth and washing his face made the morning seem all the more real and the night before all the more unreal. He turned on the TV, checking the time, Monday and only 5.30 in the morning. Well, he couldn't make it to work today anyway, not that they would miss him – he didn't do much there anyway, only collected a meagre pay for sitting around watching as the closed boxes passed by him on the line, removing those that didn't look right.

A year ago he'd told himself it was only temporary to earn enough to go back to school. He didn't try to fool himself anymore.

He poured a bowl of cereal for himself and then wondered what the cat would want. Or what Cassyon would want once he returned to himself again. He should go shopping for food, he admitted to himself.

The answering machine with its bored `leave-a-message'-message jarred him for some reason. He made his voice choked and his tongue thick in his mouth as he spun an impromptu tale about catching a cold and then he hung up, letting his head fall forward against the wall.

"Who pray tell did you tender that untruth to?" the soft voice sent a tremble through him, but all he could do was tilt his head to look at the nonchalant form leaning against the doorpost to his bedroom, arms crossed and wearing not so much as a thread of clothing.

Gerald felt his cheeks grow hot and closed his eyes, quickly turning his head the other way.

"What happened to your clothes?" he murmured sullenly, refusing to turn back, the heat was spreading rapidly to the back of his neck and down his back.

"Well, aren't you the coy maiden," Cassyon drawled in a tone of amusement and disgust mixed oddly together, then he looked out into the apartment with a bored air. "They are unfit for wear this day, have you any other?"

Gerald shrugged and then shook his head. Why should he keep him with clothes anyway? Of course he'd better come up with something unless he wanted to have him prance around like that. That thought made him even more self conscious and he turned around to walk past him and into the kitchen only to have his head swivel and his vision dim. He reached out for the wall, his breath coming in short gasps.

"You've the sense of a dung beetle!" Cassyon growled as he steadied him with a hand that seemed made of stone.

"Oh, thanks a lot! I'm… I'll tell you…" he started wheezing and his breath clogged in his throat. He couldn't stand up. He was fainting. The dim part of him that wasn't focused on losing consciousness was very annoyed at the prospect of fainting in Cassyon's arms.

Cassyon held him; Gerald's forehead rested against his chest and his hands came up pushing against the taut, bare stomach. He closed his eyes, his entire body going from hot to cold and back again as if he had a temperature.

He smelled wet stone, faint but, close – like inside the cave by the lake…

"Let… let go!" he rasped and dug his nails into the muscles beneath his fingertips.

Cassyon tilted his head up with a brusqueness that was unnerving and he quickly closed the gap between them by leaning forward and capturing Gerald's mouth under his. Gerald struggled frantically, but wasn't let go. His chest filled with that strange sensation he remembered from the night before and he felt himself grow calm and his breathing stable.

"Stop it!" he hissed against the lips covering his and as he regained the strength in his arms he pushed him roughly away, falling back against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. His breathing was ragged, but with anger rather than frailty. "Who do you think you are?"

Cassyon gave a derisive snort of laughter and crossed his arms across his chest. He seemed utterly oblivious to the fact that he wasn't wearing anything and Gerald cursed himself for making himself aware of it again. He looked away, another wave of heat shooting up his neck and face.

"I'm not… I don't… I don't go `round kissing naked blokes!" he stuttered angrily and glared up at Cassyon's smirking face, anger exploded in him, who did he think he was? "I don't… you… you… you twatfaced piss goblin!"

A fist hit the wall a few inches from his head and he found himself trapped in Cassyon's ominous shadow, the green eyes above him flashing dangerously. The fist unfolded like a flower and the knuckles stroke his jaw ever so softly, tracing the line down his chin and then, as sudden as a snake biting, the hand shot forward to his shoulder and turned him aside – the other hand landed on his upper thigh.

His eyes watered with the sting. That wasn't like the swats his mother had given him on her worst days, that was a blow meant to take his breath away and it did indeed leave him gasping. He suppressed a whimper and kept his eyes averted.

"Suit yourself, you ungrateful brat!" Gerald flinched and stared up into the hard eyes glaring at him. "If you would rather I did not aid you, then I shan't and be glad to rid myself of the obligation! But do not dare to insult me with foul names!"

He let him go and moved away. Gerald slumped against the wall, not quite comprehending what had just happened. Then it dawned on him.

"You hit me!" he cried in astonishment. "You hit me!"

"And if you wish that to be the last time I suggest you improve your manners. I shan't be so kind another time!" Cassyon spoke flatly, leaving no room for complaint, but Gerald felt like giving it a go all the same.

"Kind? It bloody hurt!" he objected outraged and took a step forward, regretting it immediately when the other man turned around and fettered him with flaming eyes.

"Then be certain that the next time will be agony!"

Gerald stared after him in shock. He'd never been threatened so coldly or so ruthlessly before. He sat down where he was by the wall, despite the strength Cassyon's strange kiss had given him he was still not feeling well.

He drew his knees up, wrapping his arms about them and let his head sink down. What a pathetic wretch he was. He'd always been bullied, always picked on and tormented for his weakness and his lack of stamina. From the time he started school he had always been the odd one, the strange kid with too many fantasies who disappeared into his own head when something didn't suit him.

Dillon and Tyler had not been the first to pester him, but they had been the worst, from the time he was thirteen they'd been as constant a scourge as P.E. or math tests during school hours. It had not been a pleasant surprise to find them so nearby when he moved away from his mother. They were no better than him, no good layabouts the pair of them, with nothing better to do than find their old school mate and give him a hard time.

They would even give Janice a go if she was with him, but she was never speechless. Her tongue could spit acid when she was under attack, and just lie her RPG characters would reflect a brutal sarcasm against people she wanted to put in their place she could wield her words like a sword in real life.

He missed her suddenly with a pang of guilt. He hadn't even thought about her this morning and she'd been sleeping so hard when he left her.

He rose and picked up the receiver, dialling her number with shaky hands. The signals went on and on with no reply, finally he hung up with a sigh. Perhaps he was worrying too much, perhaps she was just in the shower or something.

Turning around towards the coat hanger he decided that he wouldn't let this be. He sat down and began putting his shoes on. A noise alerted him to Cassyon coming back out of the bedroom, he'd ripped a hole in Gerald's sheets and draped himself in white – it gave the vague impression of someone dressing up as a ghost. Somehow Gerald couldn't imagine laughing at him, though.

"Where are you headed?" he asked, his voice a disturbing rumbling.

"To Janice, she didn't pick up," Gerald said over his shoulder, his voice far steadier than he would've dared to hoped. He rose again and came face to face with his reflection in the mirror.

Staring at himself he came to the conclusion he looked like a vampire. Pale and miserable. Well, that's how he pictured vampires anyway. He touched his neck and with sudden insight he realised that the pendant was missing.

It was missing. The strange little sword with the dragon and that inscription… Cassyon!

"Um… you… did you take that pendant thing?" he asked, swallowing.

"It did not belong to you," came the careless reply.

"I know that… I just…" he didn't know what else to say, it was obvious that the pendant belonged to Cassyon himself, his name was on it, wasn't it?

"You cannot go to your woman!" Cassyon resumed the conversation.

"Try and stop me!" Gerald snapped and flinched when Cassyon's eyes narrowed to angry slits. Of course he could stop him! What kind of idiot was he really?

He wasn't given the chance to shift ground, though, before Cassyon spoke again, his words chilling Gerald to the core.

"You cannot go to her! She's gone, you little fool!"  

To be continued...