To Please The Wind

Again, many thanks to everyone who has taken the time and effort to review this. Your words mean a great deal to me, and really help keep me inspired!

Love,
Falcon

Chapter 2 (Part 1)

“As Far From God
As Heaven Is Wide
As Far From God
As Angels Can Fly”
-- Garbage

Lethe groaned. His head throbbed. His body felt as if it had spent the night rolling down a mountainside. And every time he took a breath, nausea sent warning ripples through the contents of his stomach. All in all, this was exactly what he’d expected death to be like. So maybe--? A ray of hope penetrated Lethe’s foggy thoughts. Maybe the poison had worked after all. Maybe the events of the previous day were just some sort of dying dream.

With a surge of effort, Lethe pried open his eyes. Immediately, bright white light burst against them, blinding him. But Lethe refused to give up. Blinking, he forced his pupils to accept small doses of illumination, until they finally adjusted. Unfortunately, no good news rewarded his efforts. The wonders of Aeolus’s realm remained beyond his reach. Instead, he lay on the floor of a simple room, with a blanket draped over his body. Someone else seemed to be asleep in the room’s only bed.

Biting his lip, Lethe pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. The sudden motion aggravated his nausea, and the contents of his stomach lurched sideways, but he ignored his body’s objections. Without any clear destination in mind, he began to crawl forward. All he knew was that he had to get away. Away from this place. Away from everything that had happened in it.

Lethe’s body, however, refused to be bullied. His stomach twisted, squeezing the taste of bile up into his mouth. Then, before he could stop himself, Lethe curled forward and retched, spilling last night’s dinner onto the wooden floor.

The noise of his vomiting seemed to awaken the person on the bed. Rolling onto his side, the man peered over the edge of the mattress, and Lethe recognized Hesperos. “Oh for god’s sake,” the bandit grumbled. “Didn’t those priests teach you to hold your alcohol?”

Lethe sank back on his knees, pressing his hands to the sides of his head. “I don’t understand. What’s wrong with me?”

“You’ve been afflicted the cruelest curse the gods ever cast down on mankind. A disease that taints one of the few genuine pleasures we poor mortals can enjoy. In short, you have a hangover.” Hesperos got up, stepped over Lethe’s mess with exaggerated care, and walked to the door. “Melanthe!”

Wincing, Lethe gripped his head more tightly. “Please. Don’t shout.”

After a few minutes, Melanthe appeared. “What?” she demanded. “I spent all morning heating water for a bath, and if one of those selfish bastards gets to it first, I’ll bathe in your blood instead.”

Hesperos gestured at Lethe, apparently unfazed by Melanthe’s temper. “I just wanted to share the charming sight that greeted me this morning”

“I don’t--?” Melanthe’s gaze settled on Lethe, and he saw her annoyance soften to compassion. “Oh.”

“You gave him the wine. You deal with him.”

For a moment, Melanthe looked like she intended to tell Hesperos where he could stick it. But instead, she shook her head and crossed over to Lethe, helping him to his feet. “Can you walk?”

Leaning against her, Lethe managed a few shaky steps. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Come on, then. I think you need that bath more than I do.”

Slowly, Melanthe led him downstairs. In the main room, the bandits were busy gathering up the remaining food and packing it into leather saddle bags. However, as Lethe passed among them, they paused in their tasks long enough to wink and blow kisses. Ashamed, Lethe tried to keep his eyes fixed straight ahead. But he could feel his cheeks start to burn. The way the bandits looked at his body made him itch, made him want to scratch and scrape, until he’d torn away every piece of flesh any of them had touched. And then he’d be -- what? Clean? No, not clean. Not ever again.

Fortunately, the gantlet didn’t last long. Still leaning against Melanthe, Lethe followed her through the inn’s rear door, to a small courtyard where stunted trees cast emaciated shadows on the rocky ground. Above them, the sky shone brilliant shades of blue. But for once, when Lethe looked up, he found no comfort there. The heavens no longer held his promised home. Instead, they were a dream to which he could never return. Lethe stopped walking. The sunlight burned his eyes, making them water. But he couldn’t force himself to look away. Slowly, tears began to fall down his upturned face, each one reflecting the sky above it. Each one carrying a tiny piece of his lost paradise.

“Lethe.” Melanthe’s voice was soft and gentle. “There are plenty of us who weren’t born to marry gods. We still find our way in the world. Somehow.”

Lethe glanced at her, but failed to think of any reply. Instead, he rubbed his hand across his face, smearing away the tears, and resumed walking.

A stone path led them to a wooden shed built beside a stone well. Without pausing, Melanthe pushed open the shed door, revealing a metal tub full of water. Steam rose from the tub, as well as from a large copper bowl placed on a nearby hearth. The hearth’s coals glowed brightly beneath the metal vessel. As Lethe and Melanthe stepped inside, one of the female bandits stood over the tub, swirling her hand in its waters.

“Oria!” Melanthe abandoned Lethe as she lunged at her compatriot. “Don’t even think it!”

Startled, Oria gave Melanthe a guilty smile, before darting out of the shed.

Melanthe cursed under her breath. Then she gestured at Lethe. “Well, go on. Get in.”

Longingly, Lethe gazed at the warm water. “I couldn’t take your bath…”

“Oh, go ahead.” Melanthe ran her fingers across her face, lingering on the rough shape of her scar. “Who am I kidding, anyway? Trying to make myself beautiful?”

Lethe thought she did look beautiful, in a dark, jagged way. Like the silhouette of a mountain standing against a bleak sky. But he sensed that this wasn’t the time to mention such things. “And me? Is it important that I look pleasing for the slave trader?”

Melanthe’s eyes met his, piercing him to the core with their understanding. “You’re not going to be a slave. We both know that.”

“But you said--“

“Get in the bath, Lethe. I’m going to see if I can find you some clothes.”

After Melanthe had gone, Lethe stood for a long moment, staring at the door through which she’d departed. Was this really what people were like outside the chime maze? So broken, and shadowy, and sad? Lethe wished he could lead Melanthe through the twisting hedges of his former home. Let her listen to its sweet, tinkling music, and rejoice in the tranquility given to all things that loved Aeolus. But he suspected Melanthe had slipped beyond the reach of gods a long time ago. And now, so had he.

Crossing to the tub, Lethe climbed into it. The hot water welcomed him like a lover’s embrace -- cleansing impurities, caressing the pain from his body. Even his memories seemed less sharp. “Oh Rasmus,” he sighed, his breath stirring slight currents in the rising steam. “You didn’t know how it would turn out. I realize that. But how could you? God. How could you?”

Coaxed by the bath’s warm comfort, Lethe sunk lower, until water lapped at the sides of his cheeks. He’d been too young to remember when the priests first hung the vial of poison around his throat. But he recalled, in vivid detail, the afternoon when he’d realized the vial’s true significance. The afternoon when he’d realized that he was going to die. Not in some distant, blurry future. But at a specific time, in a specific way, for a specific reason. It didn’t scare him. Not exactly. But he felt this terrible sense of loss. His whole world was the chime maze, and the chime maze was paradise. What could Aeolus offer him that could be any compensation for the loss of it?

Rasmus had found him that afternoon. Kneeling beneath the prayer flags, unable to explain why he couldn’t stop crying. Rasmus had sat beside him. Talked to him. Told him about corruption, and disease, and decay. Told him about the pain of losing things that you loved. All of which Lethe would never have to face, because he would ascend to his god, young and perfect forever. At the time, Lethe lacked the years to fully understand such concepts. But he could feel the belief that filled Rasmus. The absolute conviction that this was good, that it was the right thing to do. And that belief was what he’d clung to all his life.

Except Rasmus hadn’t believed. Not in the end. And if Rasmus -- wise and gentle, the very embodiment of faith -- hadn’t believed, then how could anyone claim to believe? And if no one really believed in anything, then how could anything worthy of belief exist?

Drawing a deep breath, Lethe closed his eyes and let the water flow over his face. He could end it. Now. He could open his lungs and return to a watery version of the womb that had brought him into this world. The womb of the mother he’d never known. For the first time in his entire life, Lethe tried to imagine his mother, but all his mind could conjure was Melanthe, gazing at him with troubled eyes. Answering the question he’d asked her the previous night:

And once you escaped your trap? How did you like world beyond it?

Freedom was not the pleasure that I expected it to be.

Lethe exhaled, feeling his breath bubble upwards like unheard prayers. Yes. He could die. He could escape from a life which seemed destined contain all the corruption and pain that Rasmus had warned him about. And if his god no longer cared to receive him, he could at least have the peace of eternal oblivion. But one thing kept Lethe from breathing water. If he died now, it would be a meaningless death. A sacrifice to nothing. For as long as he could remember, Lethe had been taught that his demise was more important than any other part of him, and if it came to nothing, then what was the point? What was the point of anything?

So. This was not the time for surrender. Although he held no hope of finding something to live for, perhaps he could still find something worthy of his death.

Thrusting his face back up through the water, Lethe sucked air deep into his lungs. Blindly, he groped for the edges of the tub, and when he found them, managed to pull himself into a sitting position. For a moment, cascading liquid kept him from seeing his surroundings. Then, as he finally blinked the last traces of moisture from his eyes, he noticed that he was no longer alone. And his companion was not Melanthe.

It was the man she’d called Kaj. The first one of the bandits who had... Unable to finish the thought, Lethe shrank back, overcome by fear and revulsion. But the tub didn’t allow him much room for escape. Smiling, Kaj approached the bath. “You clean up nicely, temple boy.”

“My name isn’t temple boy,” Lethe hissed, surprised by his own defiance. “It’s Lethe.”

“Lethe, then.” Kaj took a ladle from beside the hearth and dipped it into the copper bowl set atop the hearth’s glowing coals. “Did you have a good time last night, Lethe?”

Lethe lowered his eyes, staring into the dirty water. Echoes of memory crawled across his skin like gruesome insects. He could feel each mocking caress. Each bruising kiss. Each thrust that had defiled him, making him unfit for anything. And he knew, with terrible certainty, that he would never forget. “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Kaj shrugged. “I think a lot of things. Most of them don’t concern you.”

Carrying the ladle of boiling water, Kaj crossed over to the tub. “But, since you asked so nicely, I’ll share the thoughts that do. I think that you got a bit more than you bargained for last night. I think that most of my fellow thieves now consider you to be their new piece of ass. I think that you’re counting on Melanthe to protect you.”

“Melanthe--“

“Melanthe is a pampered brat from a noble family. Granted, loving Hesperos turned her into a fierce bitch, and hating him has only made her fiercer. But she’s not one of us common types. When her back is turned, her orders mean exactly nothing. So, unless you plan on stitching your flesh to hers, I wouldn’t depend on her for your shelter.”

Absently, Kaj began to swirl the ladle, drizzling scalding water into the bath so that it just barely missed Lethe’s exposed skin. And Lethe held his breath. Tried not to move. Tried not to imagine how this could get any worse.

“You seem like a bright kid,” Kaj continued. “I’m sure you can see your dilemma. Every time Melanthe looks the other way, one of my associates if going to have some fun with you, and their idea of fun isn’t always gentle.”

As if to illustrate his point, Kaj moved the ladle closer to Lethe, and Lethe shuddered as drops of pain fell against shoulders, burning briefly before they ran into the bath.

“What you need is someone to take charge of you. Someone whose word means something to most of this bunch.” Without warning, Kaj tossed the ladle aside and dropped into a crouch behind the bath. Then, before Lethe could react, the bandit seized a handful of golden hair and yanked, pulling Lethe’s head so far back that the edge of the tub dug into the back of his neck. “So this is how it’s going to work, temple boy. You give Hesperos and Melanthe whatever they want. Other than that, I tell you when, and I tell you who. In return for your cooperation, I’ll make sure they don’t hurt you...too much. Understand?”

Lethe made a squeaking noise, and Kaj tightened his grip, until Lethe could feel the bones in his neck threatening to snap.

“Understand?!”

Anything. Anything to make the pain stop. Fighting back a whimper, Lethe managed to rasp out his reply. “...understood...”

“Good.” Kaj released Lethe’s hair and stood. “Incidentally, if you tell Melanthe or Hesperos about our new partnership, I’ll send you to your wind god in small pieces. And you’ll feel every cut I make.”


Chapter 2 (Part 2)

When Melanthe opened the shed door and saw Kaj standing beside the bath, feelings of hostility made her skin prickle. If her hands hadn’t been full, one of them would have moved toward her sword. But, as things were, she could only snarl at him. “Kaj. What the hell are you doing here?”

Kaj grinned at her. “What do you think, Mel? When the word got out that you were planning a bath, I had to come over and handle crowd control. Everyone is dying to see your ugly body naked. No, wait, I have that wrong -- everyone is dying after seeing your ugly body naked.”

“Get. Out.”

“As you wish.” After banging his fist against his chest in a mock salute, Kaj marched out the shed door. And Melanthe just barely managed to keep herself from hurling something after him. Shaking her head, she turned her attention to Lethe.

“Making friends?”

But the young man‘s expression showed that he considered Kaj to be anything except a friend. Again, Melanthe regretted her harsh words. Why couldn’t she say anything right around Lethe? And, more importantly, why did she care? Setting down the pile of items she’d carried over from the inn, Melanthe took a towel from among them and offered it to Lethe. “Here. Dry yourself off. We’re getting ready to leave.”

Lethe stood, and as the water cascaded down his naked body, Melanthe felt her breath catch in her throat. Even after all the abuse he’d suffered, he was still unspeakably beautiful. Oh, Hesperos. The priests were right. He doesn’t belong to mortals. We’re not ready for him. No good is going to come of this, no good at all...

“Melanthe?”

Too late, Melanthe realized she was clutching the towel and gawking. A rough grunt covered her embarrassment. Tearing her gaze away from Lethe, she thrust the towel in his general direction. But even when she wasn’t looking at him, his shape lingered, like an afterimage burned into her eyes by blinding light.

When Melanthe judged that enough time had passed for Lethe to get dried off, she handed him the clothes she’d “borrowed” from one of her fellow bandits, careful to keep her eyes averted. Afraid of things she couldn’t quite name. Listening to the rustle of fabric as Lethe got dressed, Melanthe thought of the first time she and Hesperos had made love. She’d snuck out of her parents’ house and met him beneath an ancient olive tree, its leaves as golden as the memory of childhood summers. All night the wind had whispered through those leaves. All night it had echoed cries of surprise, murmurs of delight. And then, in the morning, Melanthe awoke to find the leaves fallen all around her -- all her childhood summers, already beginning to blow beyond her reach.

Slipping out of her reverie, Melanthe became aware that the rustles had stopped. So then, finally, she returned her gaze to Lethe. Dressed in a simple brown tunic, his golden hair wet and disheveled, he looked more like a young man, and less like some sort of divine spirit rising up out of the sea. Smiling, Melanthe reached into the pouch hanging off her belt and pulled out comb. “Here, let me. You’re a mess.”

Bowing his head slightly, Lethe allowed her to work out the various knots and tangles. When she’d finished, Melanthe returned the comb to its resting place, before carefully gathering up the long strands of Lethe’s hair and pulling them back behind his neck. “If you let it hang loose, it will blow everywhere when we ride. So I’m going to tie it. Alright?”

“Alright,” Lethe acquiesced.

From the same pouch that held the comb, Melanthe pulled a blue ribbon. For a moment, as the thin silk slid across her fingers, she could almost hear her father’s voice again. Then the sound was gone, lost to distance and years. “Here,” she informed, tying Lethe’s hair into a loose ponytail. “You can keep the ribbon. It used to belong to someone I knew, who got it from her father. But she doesn’t need it anymore.”

Lethe reached up, lightly touching the blue silk. “She must have looked very beautiful when she wore it.”

“Yes,” Melanthe whispered. “Yes, she did.”

“Melanthe?”

“Yes?”

“Kaj is wrong, isn’t he? About you hating Hesperos?”

Melanthe laughed, bitter and sad. “Kaj doesn’t understand complexity, and because of that, he’ll always be wrong.”

“I don’t think that I’ve ever truly hated someone.”

“Then you’ve never truly loved anyone, either.”

Melanthe bent over and picked up the final item she’d brought from the inn. “They found this, in the room you and Hesperos were sharing. I don’t know if you still want it--?”

Lethe stared at the glass vial hanging from its leather cord. Then, with a crooked smile, he took it from Melanthe.

“Are you going to--?”

But before she could finish, Lethe turned back toward the bath. Still grinning, he lifted the vial and slammed it against the edge of the tub, so that the bottom half shattered into jagged fragments. Only the neck of the vial remained whole, the leather cord still tied tightly around it. This, Lethe hung back around his throat, seemingly oblivious to the blood that dripped from his hand and from the broken vial’s sharp edges. “Alright. I’m ready to go.”


Chapter 2 (Part 3)

Hesperos glanced at the pouch of gold Rasmus had given him, and then surveyed the inn’s main room. Broken furniture, shattered plates, and wine spilled in puddles on the floor. Sighing, he dropped the pouch down on one of the few remaining tables. Easy come, easy go. “Alright. We’re leaving. Make sure someone lets our gracious hosts out of the back room.”

With that, Hesperos strode outside, where his followers were preparing their horses for the day’s ride. Toward the far side of the courtyard, he could see Melanthe adjusting the straps on her mount’s bridle, while Lethe stood beside her, stroking the horse’s dark mane. A bath and fresh clothes seemed to have restored some dignity to the young man, reducing his resemblance to an abused puppy. Telling himself that he just wanted to give Melanthe a few last minute instructions about their planned route, Hesperos joined them.

“So, no ropes today?”

He expected Melanthe to lash back with some stinging comment. But instead, it was Lethe who responded, his eyes as barren as the desert sands that were their destination. “Why restrain me? Where do I have left to run to?”

Where, indeed? When even death had been taken from him? Hesperos let his gaze travel over Lethe, taking in the shattered vial around his neck, and the cuts on his hands, still oozing blood. Interesting. Very interesting. “It’s not enough to stop running. Now you have to make a stand.”

Then, before either Lethe or Melanthe could respond, Hesperos gave them a few curt travel instructions, and went in search of his own horse.

The first hours of morning were hot and humid. Beneath a blazing sun, the previous night’s rain evaporated into steam, wafting back up toward the heavens that had so casually cast it out. But by noon, a breeze arose from the west, blowing away the sticky haze and replacing it with a pleasant freshness. Hesperos’s fellow bandits leaned down against their horses, racing them toward imaginary finish lines where the winners were rewarded with shouts and cheers. But Hesperos didn’t join in their competitions. Instead, he rode at a steadier pace, dreaming of maps, southern plunder, and the look of unimaginable beauty on a bruised and broken face.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the horse carrying Melanthe and Lethe came abreast of him. Melanthe had relinquished the reigns to Lethe, who guided the horse with skilled ease, his head held high and his golden hair flapping in the air behind him like a banner. The boy actually looked exhilarated, his pain momentarily stripped away by wind and speed. Melanthe rode behind Lethe, her arms wrapped around his waist, and her cheek resting lightly on his shoulder. Shock struck Hesperos as he recognized the peacefulness of her expression. It was a peacefulness he hadn’t seen for a long time.

Anger whispered through Hesperos, until even the summer air tasted sour. How could she be at peace? How could she give her trust to a Bride who had never seen the world beyond his sacred maze? Hesperos was a warrior, renowned for his skill in battle. How could it take a child to make his ex-lover feel safe? Something twitched inside Hesperos -- some memory of tenderness, some premonition of pain. But whether he felt jealousy or fear, even he couldn’t say for sure.

Grunting, Hesperos prepared to spur his horse forward. But before he had a chance, Kaj rode up to Melanthe and Lethe, exchanging words with them. Kaj gestured at the rise of a distant hill, and Melanthe nodded. Then, set off by some inaudible signal, they began to race toward the horizon.

Kaj seemed to have the initial advantage, since his horse carried one rider instead of two. But Lethe soon lessened the gap between them, his touch on the reigns as light and quick as a skillful caress. It made Hesperos wonder -- had the priests taught Lethe to ride like that? What other talents lay beneath his youthful exterior? And how could they be put to good use? Melanthe had been right to save the boy from the slave market, he was far too valuable for that. But could Lethe survive life as an outlaw?

Slowly, inevitably, Lethe began to catch up with Kaj. Slamming her fist into the air, Melanthe released a howl of triumph. But as their horse started to pass his, Kaj reached out and caught hold of Lethe’s trailing hair. Yanked off balance, Lethe lurched sideways, the reigns still gripped tightly in his hands. Beneath him, Melanthe’s mare screeched its confusion as it struggled to obey the sudden and unexpected command. Kaj tugged again. And, rather than risk bringing down the horse, Lethe released the reigns, allowing Kaj to pull him off.

Shaking with laughter, Kaj let go of Lethe’s hair, and Lethe hit the ground. Then, still bellowing his mirth, Kaj raced toward the hill, while Melanthe screeched obscenities in his wake. Grabbing the reigns, she brought her mare back under control. But it was too late. The race was already lost. Beaten, she had no choice but to halt her mount, and ride back to where Lethe had fallen, allowing him to climb back on.

Interesting, Hesperos repeated to himself as he thundered past the pair. Very interesting indeed.


Chapter 2 (Part 4)

That night, they stopped beside a lake. While the bandits made camp, Lethe slipped away, and crept down to the shore. He’d never been this close to a lake. He’d never seen the sky trapped in such a vast mirror. Kneeling on the muddy ground, he trailed his fingers across the dark water, sending tiny ripples through the stars reflected on its surface, as if entire galaxies danced at his command.

“That’s what they tried to steal from you, Lethe.”

Startled, Lethe hopped to his feet and spun around, nearly bumping into Hesperos. The shock of finding himself face to face with the imposing outlaw made him jump back, and he would have toppled into the lake if Hesperos hadn’t caught hold of his shirt. “Careful. You’ve had enough falls for one day.”

Emotions flashed through Lethe, blinding and disjointed. He remembered what had happened the previous night. He remembered Hesperos caressing his body, making it hurt, making it heaven. He remembered praying for it to stop. He remembered praying for it to never stop. And he remembered the moment, the only moment in his entire life, when the prayers had simply refused to come. “What--?” Lethe stammered, struggling to catch his balance. “What do you mean?”

“The world.” When it became clear that Lethe was no longer in danger of tumbling, Hesperos released his grip on Lethe’s shirt. “That’s what those priests tried to steal from you. The entire world.”

Lethe shook his head. “I would have gone on to something better.” But the words no longer sounded as convincing as they once had.

“Better? Better than the mountains? Better than the sky? Better than the taste of the wind? I saw the look on your face when you rode today. What could be better than the way you felt then?”

Lethe didn’t answer. Attachment to the material world had always been his weakness. He loved the chime maze -- loved each leaf in its hedges, loved each tiny insect that sought shelter beneath those leaves. When Rasmus told him that the realm of Aeolus was even grander, he believed him. But he could never manage to imagine what “grander” would actually be.

With surprising gentleness, Hesperos touched Lethe’s face. “Still, you shouldn’t think too harshly of your priests. They’re not alone. There are many, many others who would sacrifice us all to gods much crueler than a wind deity. Gods like Family, Duty, Conformity, and Law. Gods that steal the world from all who worship them.”

Hearing Hesperos’s words, Lethe tried to listen to them. Tried to understand their wisdom. But all he could really concentrate on were Hesperos’s fingers, lingering against his skin. Desire fluttered through Lethe’s body like a butterfly with burning wings. He’d never felt this way before. True, he’d loved Rasmus, but it was a love born of affection and gratitude. This was different. Stronger and more terrible. Just as the lake dwarfed every puddle he’d ever seen, the feelings bursting inside of him made his old emotions seem quaint and charming. “I,” he whispered, then found himself with nothing else to say.

The stars reflected in Hesperos’s eyes like pinpricks in black silk. “Yes?”

“I--I’ve been thinking. About what you said. When you told me that it wasn’t enough to stop running.” The words poured out of Lethe, carrying the truth he could no longer hold back. “You were right. I do need to make a stand. And I’ve decided what it’s going to be.”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to stand by you. Last night, you took me as a possession. And people grow tired of their possessions. But I’ll prove my worth to you. I’ll make you admire me. In time, I’ll make you love me.”

Hesperos smiled. Starlight lingered on his lips, making them appear silver and frozen, but when he pressed them against Lethe’s mouth, Lethe felt nothing except fire. He longed to throw his arms around Hesperos, to hold on and never let go. But he was beginning to gain some understanding of the bandit leader. He knew that any display of neediness would not be appreciated. So Lethe kissed back with passion, but moved no other part of his body.

After far too short a time, Hesperos broke away. “We’ll see,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “We’ll see.” Then he walked back toward the encampment.

Left behind, Lethe realized that he’d once again found something worthy of his death