To Please The Wind

Many, many thanks to Rin-Chan for being such a loyal reader! Your lovely feedback makes it all worthwhile.


Chapter 3 (Part One)

\"When Life Begins
With Needles And Pins
It Ends With Swords and Knives\"
-- Tears For Fears

“Oh! Oh yeah, baby. That’s it.”

Lethe felt Baruch’s grip tighten on the back of his head, and he braced himself for the inevitable rush of cum. Over the last few days, he’d learned to reduce a blowjob to its most basic elements -- a series of steps that his body could perform while his mind watched from a safe distance. If he didn’t think about it, if he didn’t allow himself to feel anything while he was doing it, then it wasn’t really him, was it? It wasn’t anyone at all. At least, that’s what Lethe told himself.

Grunting, Baruch came. Lethe swallowed. It wasn’t so awful. When they weren’t fuelled by wine or group frenzy, most of the bandits didn’t treat him particularly badly. With the unfortunate exception of Kaj.

After he recovered from his orgasm, Baruch readjusted his clothing. And Lethe recognized his cue. Rising, he busied himself with brushing the dirt off his knees, too ashamed to meet the bandit’s gaze. But before he could slip away, Baruch caught his arm. As the large man’s fingers dug into a patch of bruised flesh, Lethe let out a yelp of pain, and Baruch quickly released him. “Sorry. Kaj has been knocking you around again, hasn’t he?”

Lethe didn’t answer. Kaj’s fits of temper were hardly a secret. The bandits slept in the open, with never less than two of them standing watch. That made secrets hard to keep. Especially if those secrets involved shouts, thuds, and muffled cries. The most privacy Lethe could hope for was if Kaj had the courtesy to drag him behind a cluster of rocks before shoving his face in the mud and fucking him. So, all the bandits knew about Kaj’s abuse. But, as of yet, none of them had made any move to intervene. And Lethe hadn’t asked them to. He might not understand all the rules that defined honor among thieves, but he knew one thing for sure -- he needed to solve this on his own. And, until he could figure out some way to do that, suffering in silence was his only option.

Baruch grunted. “Kaj is my brother, but he’s one cruel bastard. Here.” Baruch reached into the pouch hanging from his belt and pulled out a few small coins. “I already paid Kaj for your services. But keep these for yourself. Hesperos says we’ll reach the city of Taran in a few days. Maybe you can buy something.”

“Thanks,” Lethe whispered, as Baruch pressed the money into his hands. He so rarely spoke these days, his voice sounded strange. Like it belonged to someone else. Like it belonged to no one at all.

For a moment, Baruch hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more. But instead, he walked away. Lethe waited until he could no longer hear the larger man’s footsteps. Then he drew a deep breath, pushed the coins into a pouch Melanthe had given him, and forced himself to look up. He stood to one side of the camp, separated from it by a group of tethered horses. On the horizon, a jagged range of mountains pierced the sun, forcing it to spill fiery blood across the plains. Morning. Another day. Lethe’s fingers caressed the sharp edges of his broken vial. “Give me strength,” he pleaded, before moving to join the other bandits.

As Lethe drew nearer, he could see that most of the men and women were gathered in a loose ring. Hesperos and Kaj dominated the circle’s center, their blades raised as they dodged around each other, every movement marked by commentary on the part of Hesperos. Some sort of swordsmanship demonstration, Lethe guessed. Careful not to call attention to his presence, he insinuated himself into the crowd.

“Brute strength is a good thing,” Hesperos lectured. “You should never underestimate it.”
The bandit leader was stripped to his waist, and the slight sheen of sweat on his skin trapped the morning light, painting his body in shades of gold. He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. Conversely, Kaj’s expression betrayed growing frustration, his scowl deepening each time Hesperos repelled one of his attacks. Finally, Kaj released a bellow of rage and charged Hesperos, slamming his sword against Hesperos’s blade. Lethe caught his breath, expecting to see Hesperos thrown backward. But the bandit leader merely twisted his wrist, deflecting Kaj’s sword so skillfully that Kaj lurched off balance, the force of his attack suddenly directed at air rather than a solid opponent. Taking advantage of Kaj’s disorientation, Hesperos kicked one of Kaj’s feet out from under him. And Kaj hit the ground with a thud.

“But brute strength isn’t everything. Skill and brains will beat it every time.”

Delighted to see Kaj humiliated, Lethe couldn’t hold back a giggle. But that proved to be a mistake. Instantly, Hesperos’s eyes locked onto him. “Lethe. It’s so good of you to join us. Considering the combat abilities displayed by the priests who raised you, I’m sure there’s a great deal you could add to my lesson. Why don’t you come here and show us how a Bride fights?”

Laughter rippled through the assembled outlaws. Looking at Hesperos, Lethe could tell that the bandit leader didn’t expect him to do any such thing. The comment was simply intended to rebuke him for snickering at Kaj’s defeat. But, whatever Hesperos expected, Lethe knew that backing down would make him appear weak. If he was going to win Hesperos’s admiration, he had to start now. Even if it scared the hell out of him. Trying to ignore the block of ice that seemed to have formed inside his stomach, Lethe stepped into the ring. “I fight with a weapon in each hand. Short swords or daggers.”

Hesperos cocked his eyebrow. “I see. Well, someone get the boy a pair of blades.”

For a few minutes, the bandits scrambled about, attempting to comply. Finally, Melanthe came forward with two daggers -- one of which Lethe recognized as being her own. “If you’re bluffing...” she whispered, when she handed the weapons to him.

“I’m not,” Lethe assured, sounding more confident than he felt. Carefully, he weighed the blades. They seemed well balanced. Especially Melanthe’s, which possessed a handle worked with ivory and gold. After shifting the heavier dagger to his right hand, which he favored, Lethe tightened his grip on the lighter weapon, now clenched in his left. Then he turned to face Hesperos. “Alright. This is how a Bride fights.”

Even in their most terrible nightmares, the priests of Aeolus never imagined that a Bride might need to defend himself. But everyone agreed that swordplay was unmatched when it came to perfecting both body and mind. How could they offer their god anything less than perfection? So, they brought in an expert. From the time he was old enough to hold anything, Lethe learned how to place his fingers on a jai -- a weapon similar to a dagger, favored in the East. As with all his lessons, he took it seriously. He practiced. He got very good. Unfortunately, until this moment, he’d never actually fought anyone.

Clearly unsure how he should regard his opponent, Hesperos tested Lethe’s skill with a straightforward attack to Lethe’s chest. And, for one terrifying instant, Lethe froze. But then the moves came back to him, their ritual carved as deeply into his psyche as the words of his prayers. Using the heavier dagger to parry Hesperos’s sword, he thrust his left hand under the arc of the bandit’s attack, nearly nicking Hesperos’s hip with the lighter dagger.

Laughing, Hesperos jumped out of range. “Very good! It seems that the priests of Aeolus intended to slip a serpent into their god’s bridal bed. Come on, snake. Show me your bite.”

Comforted by the familiar moves, Lethe no longer saw the bandits gathered around him. He didn’t hear their catcalls. He was back in the chime maze, each clang of blade against blade adding another note to its endless song. With growing confidence, Lethe continued to block Hesperos’s blows, and even managed to press a few assaults of his own.

“Pay attention,” Hesperos instructed his followers, as Lethe’s blade once more passed within an inch of his skin. “This is the power of skill and brains. See how it outlasts brute force? But there’s still one thing that it lacks. One thing that can defeat it.”

Lethe’s muscles began to ache, and he could feel his strength waning. Hesperos, on the other hand, seemed to grow more invigorated with each skirmish. Lethe knew he had to do something drastic. He had to risk it all, or Hesperos would simply wear him down. Striking at Hesperos with his left hand, Lethe waited until Hesperos raised his sword to block the blow. Then Lethe dropped the lighter dagger, and snatched Hesperos’s sword arm, shoving down on it with all his strength. At the same time, he twisted his body inward, Melanthe’s blade clenched in his free hand.

The world vanished. Lethe existed in a blur of motion, tasting nothing but his sweat, hearing nothing but his rasping breath. Then everything snapped back into place. And Lethe discovered, to his tremendous surprise, that he had Melanthe’s dagger pressed against Hesperos’s throat.

Hesperos’s eyes flashed, and for a moment, Lethe felt the bandit leader’s desire pierce him like a fiery blade. Startled by the terrifying intensity of the emotion, Lethe started to lower his dagger. Instantly, Hesperos grabbed him, spun him around, and trapped him in a headlock. Lethe could feel the bandit leader’s sword brush against his cheek like a deadly kiss. “Bloodlust, my friends. Passion for the kill. That’s the final ingredient. Without it, you might as well go back to your ivory towers and practice gyms.”

Then, with the most subtle of movements, Hesperos pressed his lips to Lethe’s ear and whispered. “Never hold back, Lethe. And never retreat.”

A second later, Lethe found himself standing alone, while the bandits began prepare for the day’s ride as if nothing had occurred. Still somewhat dazed, he wandered over to Melanthe. “Here,” he murmured, relinquishing her dagger. “Thanks for loaning it to me. I think it brought me good luck.”

Melanthe shook her head. “You keep it. I have my sword. And in any case...” She trailed off, while her eyes searched the crowd for her ex-lover. Upon finding him, her gaze seemed to darken, like the storm clouds that had pursued them across the plains on the first day of Lethe’s abduction. “Whatever luck it brought you, I’m not sure it was good.”


Chapter Three (Part 2)

Allowing Lethe to mount before her, Melanthe swung herself up behind him. Then, as he gathered the reigns into his hands, she scooted her body forward and wrapped her arms around his waist -- a gesture which always awakened the slightest twinge of guilt. She was a skilled rider, more so than even Hesperos. If the situation called for it, she could ride while standing up, and she certainly didn’t need to cling to Lethe to keep her balance. But it had been months since Hesperos last touched her. Her body ached for comfort, and pressed up against Lethe, she found some small remembrance of it.

The last of the bandits clambered onto their horses. For a moment, stillness filled the air, like a breath waiting to be exhaled. Then Hesperos shouted his command to ride. Lethe tapped his foot against her horse’s flank, and the beast shot forward, joining its brethren as they charged across the plain, chasing the morning’s receding shadows.

Despite the ribbon she’d given him, Lethe’s hair flared out on the wind, and Melanthe found herself looking at the world through a veil of gold. The slight shimmer made everything appear hazy and unreal, like desert mirages. Like landscapes set on the surface of the sun. Slightly startled by the unearthly beauty, Melanthe raised her hand, intending to push enough of Lethe’s hair aside to see clearly. But when she did, soft strands tangled around her fingers. And she froze. As neatly trapped as a fly in a spider’s web.

It had been so long. So long since she’d run her fingers through a lover’s hair. And she wanted it so badly. “Lethe,” she whispered.

But he didn’t hear her. His instincts were focused on guiding her horse, and every other part of him was farther away than she could imagine.

Melanthe moved her hand, bringing the golden strands to her mouth, where she kissed them over and over. Tried to catch some hint of their ghostly taste. Hesperos had told her stories about people who took the dead as lovers. Until this moment, she’d always thought it sounded sick and perverse. But now she understood the need to love something that couldn’t accept or reject her. That couldn’t make her weak or break her heart.

I’m a coward, she told herself. Why can’t I just take what I want? Why can’t I be like Hesperos?

She would never be like Hesperos. Thinking that she could be had been her great mistake. When she first saw him, she saw freedom. He made it look so easy. She thought that if she had a sword, and a horse, and a bandit’s life, then she would be free, too. But it wasn’t his sword, or his horse, or his life that made Hesperos free. It was just the way he was. He didn’t care about the things that blistered inside her soul. And, because of that, she would never be free like he was.

With a touch of sadness, Melanthe untangled her fingers, releasing the strands of Lethe’s hair. You don’t belong to me. Even your god couldn’t keep you. What chance do I have?

Lethe stirred, and Melanthe felt her heart twitch, afraid that he’d sensed her actions. But Lethe only whispered one of the prayers that occasionally dropped from his lips like strange jewels. “Foam carries the wind’s breath across the ocean. Wings trace the wind’s shape in the sky. The wind is all things, past and done. The wind is all things, until the day we die.”

Tightening her embrace, Melanthe bowed her head. And, for the first time in her life, meditated on a few silent prayers of her own.


Chapter Three (Part 3)

As the day progressed, the terrain grew hillier, forcing the bandits to moderate their pace. By evening, they had slowed to a brisk trot. No longer able to loose himself in the reassuring blur of speed, Lethe glanced from side to side, unnerved by dark shapes that seemed to form and dissolve in the corners of his vision. Other than the steady clip-clop of horse hooves, no other sound came to his ears.

“Where are we?”

Melanthe shook her head. “Somewhere bad.”

That seemed to be her final word on the subject, so Lethe fell silent. Led by Hesperos, the bandits guided their mounts downward, between two hills that blocked out the sun’s fading rays. The further they descended, the more the darkness thickened, as if all the night’s shadows were trickling into the valley like dirty water into a clogged drain. Lethe fought the urge to hold his breath, unable to shake the feeling that inhaling might bring something foul rushing into his lungs.

Then he saw the city.

Several broken towers stabbed upward, like ancient sentries standing guard over the smaller buildings huddled around them, and a stone wall separated the city from the surrounding valley. But Lethe barely noticed such mundane details. Instead, he gawked at the objects of varying shapes and sizes that had been embedded in the exteriors of all the city’s structures -- objects made of some unimaginable material which trapped the moon’s pale light and glittered as if the buildings were constructed from stone and stars.

“Is that Taran?” he asked, remembering Baruch’s words.

“No. Taran is still two days from here.”

“Then what is it?”

“Wise people don’t speak its name. When I last traveled in this region, my parents went fifty miles out of their way to avoid it.” Melanthe released a puff of bitter laughter. “But you know Hesperos. No belief in gods or curses.”

Lethe stared at the towers, nearly hypnotized by the way they sparkled. “Will we spend the night in the city?”

“No. Even our beloved leader isn’t that crazy. We’ll sleep outside the wall.” Gently, Melanthe placed her hand over his eyes. “Don’t look, Lethe. You’ll see things man wasn’t meant to see.”

Obligingly, Lethe lowered his gaze. But he couldn’t quite suppress his curiosity. “Do people live there?”

“Nothing lives there. But that doesn’t mean the city is empty. Now, hush. It’s bad luck to speak of such things.”

A few more minutes brought them to the edge of the wall. Such close proximity to the city appeared to make most of the bandits nervous, and reluctant to dismount. But Hesperos’s voiced boomed cheerfully through the stillness as he swung himself off his horse. “Well! Here we are. Who wants to come exploring with me?”

Various murmurs rippled through the assembled bandits. But no one seemed eager to join their leader. “Idiot,” Melanthe muttered.

“Anyone?” Hesperos challenged. And, for the briefest of moments, his gaze rested on Lethe.

Lethe’s grip tightened on the reigns. Melanthe was right. There were things man wasn’t meant to see -- and every single one of them lay in Hesperos’s eyes. Almost against his will, the words slipped from Lethe’s lips. “I’ll come with you.”

“Idiots,” Melanthe amended, changing her initial evaluation to be plural. But she didn’t try to stop him. While Hesperos barked a few orders about setting up camp, Lethe hopped off Melanthe’s horse. Then Hesperos lit a pair of torches, handed one to Lethe, and the two of them began to walk along the city wall, searching for a break that might allow them entry.

It seemed that none of the bright shapes Lethe had glimpsed from horseback were built into the city’s exterior wall. Instead, light from their torches flickered against grey stone, creating a dance of fire and darkness. “So,” Hesperos began, as soon as the other bandits were out of earshot. “Did Melanthe tell you any particularly spectacular ghost stories?”

“She wouldn’t tell me much of anything,” Lethe admitted, hurrying to keep up with Hesperos’s long, confident strides.

“Really? Then I suppose it’s up to me. This, Lethe, is the ancient city of Kynthia. Except it’s not a city. According to most legends, it’s a graveyard.”

“A graveyard?”

“Of sorts. The stories say that an ancient people once lived here. Instead of burying their dead, they trapped their spirits pieces of glass. Now, the people are long gone, but the spirits remain.”

Lethe shivered. There had been a graveyard near the chime maze, but he wasn’t allowed to enter it. That sort of death, the priests assured him, would never be his fate. When his soul ascended to Aeolus, his body would be burned, and his ashes scattered on the wind, so that he could be with his god in every aspect. But now? Now that his god had forsaken him, where would his spirit rest?

A few more steps brought them to a gap in the wall. “Ah!” Hesperos exclaimed, raising his torch to reveal a pile of rubble and the darkness beyond it. “Now we find out for ourselves.” Then, without further hesitation, Hesperos plunged into the dead city.

Left behind, Lethe brushed his fingers across the hilt of the dagger Melanthe had given him. He wasn’t Hesperos. He believed in curses and vengeful ghosts. But he’d been willing to drink poison to please Aeolus, so how much harder could it be to follow Hesperos into haunted ruins? Devotion kept leading him strange places. And if, perhaps, Hesperos was more demon than god, it was a distinction Lethe no longer cared about. Drawing a deep breath, he scrambled over the remains of the fallen wall.

Once inside, Lethe could see Hesperos peering into the window of a nearby building. But, before he could join the bandit leader, the light from Lethe’s torch rippled across something that shimmered in the darkness. One of the silvery shapes he’d seen from so far away. Cautiously, Lethe approached the object, which seemed to be built into the stone wall, and stood a little taller than his own height.

A shadow moved across the silver surface and Lethe froze, remembering what Hesperos had said about spirits trapped in glass. Were they really in there? Waiting for him to get close enough – close enough to seize with cold hands and drain the life from his body? Forcing himself, Lethe thrust his torch forward, and took another step. The shadows fluttered again. Then, to Lethe’s horror, they pulled together into a definite shape. The shape of a young man. Staring out at him from that flat, silver grave. Unable to repress a scream, Lethe dropped his torch.

“Lethe?!” The sound of running feet, and then Hesperos was at his side. “Lethe? What is it?”

“In there.” Despite his best efforts, Lethe couldn’t keep his arm from shaking as he raised it and pointed. “A spirit...”

Except now, there were two spirits. Hesperos reached out, touching the silver surface, and one of the spirits raised its hand to meet his. Lethe’s body tensed, ready to yank Hesperos away from danger. But then he realized something. The second spirit looked exactly like Hesperos. Somehow, the bandit leader seemed to exist on both sides of the glass.

“Amazing,” Hesperos murmured. “I’ve seen mirrors made from polished metal. But never a reflection this clear. No wonder people thought there were spirits trapped here.”

“Mirrors?” Lethe felt hopelessly lost. “I don’t understand. What is that thing? Why are you in there with it?”

Hesperos glanced back at him, his expression a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “You really don’t know?”

“No. I really don’t know.”

“Let me show you something.” Taking hold of Lethe’s hand, Hesperos led him back to the building he’d been examining when Lethe first entered Kynthia. It didn’t seem any different from the other structures near it. But before Lethe could ask any questions, Hesperos dragged him inside.

Bracing himself for some fresh horror, Lethe glanced around the room. Circular in form, its stone walls were covered with more silver shapes, which burned with images of fire like windows into hell. And in each one that Lethe looked at, he saw the same spirit gazing back out at him. Only his determination to remain strong in front of Hesperos kept him from bolting. “I still don’t understand.”

“Look closer.”

Unconsciously, Lethe raised his hand, tracing the jagged edges of his broken vial. And every spirit did the same thing. They all wore the same piece of glass, suspended from a leather necklace cord. And they all had blue silk ribbons holding back their golden hair. Slowly, as he remembered stars reflected on the lake’s vast surface, Lethe began to understand. “It’s me...isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Hesperos slipped his torch into a wall holder, and Lethe recognized its light as the fire he had seen in the silver shapes. “They’re called mirrors. Although, as I said, I’ve never seen any so clear. I can’t imagine what they’re made from.”

For a moment, Lethe couldn’t take his eyes off the reflections. As terrible as they had seemed moments before, they now struck him as strange and beautiful. But then he heard the voices of his teachers, warning him about the sin of vanity, and he quickly lowered his gaze. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“No. I suppose the priests didn’t show you mirrors. Didn’t want to turn you petty and proud.” Standing behind Lethe, Hesperos placed two fingers under Lethe’s chin, and slowly raised his gaze back to the mirrors. “But we’re a long way from the chime maze. Your face is destined to start wars, inspire epics, drive men to madness. That is your blessing, and that is your curse. You should see it. Understand it. Learn how to use it to get what you want.”

As Hesperos touched him, the ground seemed to lurch under Lethe’s feet. “And getting what I want? Is that what matters?”

Hesperos didn’t answer. Instead, he brushed Lethe’s hair to one side, letting it fall through his fingers like sunlight. Then he bowed his head, and pressed his mouth to the back of Lethe’s neck.

Lethe gasped. Hesperos’s kiss felt like fire against his skin, and in the mirrors, Lethe could see his own body surrendering to desire. Color flushed his cheeks. His lips darkened, beginning to tremble as his uneven breath shuddered between them. “Oh god...”

“Gods have nothing to do with this.” Hesperos’s kiss turned to a bite, and he dragged his teeth down to the spot where Lethe’s flesh disappeared beneath the neckline of his tunic. “This is between you and me.”

Pulled down by the weight of his lust, Lethe’s eyelids started to droop, but he forced them to remain open, unable to look away from the reflection of his body revealing itself as Hesperos undressed him. Like a rare, delicate fruit being torn from the husk that had always protected it. When the last bit of his clothing dropped to the ground, Lethe felt unbearably vulnerable, his nakedness reflected in a hundred mirrors as if being viewed by a hundred eyes.

Hesperos’s fingers flickered across Lethe’s chest, forcing a shiver of anticipation. Then Hesperos took one of Lethe’s hands in each of his, and spread them apart, displaying Lethe to the mirrors. “Look at yourself. Bride. Martyr. Saint. Whore. All those names can only scratch the surface of what you are.”

Lethe looked. And, as he did so, other images flickered to life in the surrounding mirrors. Some were from the past -- he and Rasmus, back in the chime maze, making love so gently that a butterfly had come to rest on Lethe’s hand. And the more recent picture of Kaj throwing him down on an inn table and raping him. Yet, other mirrors showed him visions of places he’d never been, people he hadn’t met. He saw himself and Melanthe locked in a rooftop kiss. He saw himself tied to a bed, his face twisted into a look of feral madness, an unfamiliar man standing over him. He saw himself having sex in a vegetable garden, with a pair of crutches lying on the ground beside him.

Don’t look, Lethe. You’ll see things man wasn’t meant to see. Lethe tried to open his mouth, tried to tell Hesperos that Kynthia’s people really had trapped something inside those slices of silver glass, but the words wouldn’t come. They were all drowned by the storm of desire raging within him. He wanted Hesperos more than he feared ghosts, more than he feared death itself.

Slowly, Hesperos began to kiss his way along Lethe’s raised arm, starting with his shoulder blade and not stopping until he had reached the very tip of Lethe’s longest finger. Each brush of mouth against flesh coaxed a moan from Lethe. His muscles were pulled so tight that his entire body ached, and he wasn’t sure how long he could last before exploding. But Hesperos refused to be rushed. Only after completing a leisurely pass down the other arm did he release Lethe, allowing him to sink to his knees.

Leaning forward, Lethe pressed his palms against the cold stone floor. No more memories or premonitions revealed themselves in the mirrors. Only shadowy hands, caressing his reflection. Overwhelmed, Lethe closed his eyes, no longer able to separate reality from illusion. One by one, his other senses seemed to shut down, until he heard nothing, smelled nothing, tasted nothing. Only felt. Felt with the strength of all four other senses as Hesperos slipped two oiled fingers up inside him.

“Oh!” Lethe arched his ass back against Hesperos’s hand. “Oh god. Fuck me. Please. Fuck me now.”

Hesperos laughed. “Such language. Did the priests teach you to talk like that?”

No. You did. You taught me everything I’m becoming, god help me. God help us both. “Please...”

The fingers withdrew. Gasping like a blind, beached fish, Lethe bowed his head and braced himself. Then it came. A burst of pleasure and pain so intense it obliterated everything else. Lethe shrieked, fully expecting his scream to bring the ancient building crashing down on them. But it didn’t. Instead, ecstasy burned through him, brighter than holy fire.

Dimly, Lethe became aware of fingers on his face. Caressing him. Tracing the shape of his lips. Driven nearly mad by the fierceness of the sensations filling him, Lethe bit down, sinking his teeth into flesh. A brief yelp of surprise jumped into the air like a startled bird. Then the fucking got harder, faster, and Lethe felt his body struggling to hold itself together. Until, finally, it no longer could, and everything exploded into a thousand pieces as he came.

Drained of all strength, Lethe slumped backward. But, before he could hit the floor, a pair of strong arms caught him. For a moment, Lethe struggled to open his eyes. But he was too tired. And, in any case, it didn’t matter. He knew who was holding him. Drifting off to sleep in Hesperos’s embrace, Lethe felt safe for the first time since he’d been stolen from the chime maze.


Chapter Three (Part Four)

When awakened for her turn standing watch, the first thing Melanthe did was to scan the campsite for Hesperos and Lethe. Spotting the former, asleep on his bedroll over by the wall, Melanthe felt a rush of relief. But her luck didn’t hold. No matter how many times she looked, she couldn’t find any trace of Lethe.

It figured. Stepping carefully between the bodies of her dozing comrades, Melanthe made her way over to Hesperos. Then, aiming her bare foot at the space between his shoulder blades, she gave him a well deserved kick. “Get up! What the hell have you done with him?”

Melanthe didn’t see movement. She didn’t see any transition between rest and waking. It was as if two disparate pieces of time had been spliced together. One moment, Hesperos slept. The next instant, he lay on his back, his sword gripped in one hand, and her ankle suspended in midair by his other.

Anyone else would have lost their foot. But, seeing who had kicked him, Hesperos’s mouth curved into one of his most roguish smiles. “Melanthe. It’s been too long since you last came to my bed.”

A soft intake of breath hissed past Melanthe’s lips. The feel of Hesperos’s fingers on her skin unbalanced her more than her precarious position, one foot still held suspended. He had been her first, her last, the sum total of everything she’d ever thought a lover could be. When he’d held her in his arms, she’d truly believed that no harm could ever reach her. But harm didn’t always come in the form of swords and knives. A far greater threat lay inside of him, in the places he kept hidden from her, or in the places which simply didn’t exist. Back then, he would have died to save her life. She knew that. She knew that he still would. But it wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t nearly enough.

“Lethe,” she insisted, pulling her foot free. “Where the hell is Lethe?”

“Relax. He’s fine.”

As so often happened when talking with Hesperos, Melanthe began to feel like she was sinking in quicksand. “Where? Is? He?”

“He fell asleep, and I didn’t want to disturb him. So I left him in Kynthia.”

“You did what?!”

“I made sure he has a torch. He can find his way back whenever he wakes up.”

Throwing her arms skyward, Melanthe signaled that she was ready for the gods to pluck her from this miserable, infuriating existence. “A torch? You think a torch is going to protect him from what’s in there?”

“Listen to me.” Hesperos sat up and tucked his sword back under the bedroll. “There are no ghosts -- only mirrors. He’s safe.”

Melanthe shook her head. “You don’t have the slightest idea what ‘safe’ is.”

Then, without another word, she turned and ran toward the wall. In her haste, it was understandable that she didn’t notice another person missing from the campsite.


Chapter Three (Part 5)

“Slut!”

Sharp pain jolted Lethe awake. Too groggy to resist the grip on his hair, he allowed himself to be dragged to his feet, even as his mind fumbled for context. Where was he? And with who?

The back of someone’s hand hit Lethe’s face, knocking his eyes open. For an instant, the fog of sleep obscured everything, before a single fragment pulled itself into focus -- a mouth, twisted into a sneer, belching putrid breath. Demon, Lethe thought. One of the mirror’s evil spirits come to claim me. Then Lethe’s vision cleared, and he found himself in the grips of something worse than any demon.

Kaj.

“You conniving little whore,” Kaj slurred, obviously drunk. “How dare you run off without my permission?”

Swallowing his fear, Lethe tried to protest. “You told me. You told me to give Hesperos whatever he wanted.”

But another blow reminded Lethe that reason seldom swayed Kaj. “I didn’t tell you to chase after him like a bitch in heat. Did you think that he’d take pity on you if you offered him your ass? Did you think that he’d protect you?”

Kaj hurled Lethe backward and Lethe crashed against one of the room’s many mirrors, cracking its smooth, silver surface. Pain. And then a shrill scream, sounding inside Lethe’s head. All around him, torchlight writhed in the remaining mirrors, seeming to blaze with fresh frenzy, like some monstrous creature coming to life.

Still sneering, Kaj advanced on Lethe. “No one is going to protect you. No one at all.”

Lethe shrank back against the mirror. He wanted to run. But how could he get past all the reflections of Kaj? Everywhere he looked, they surrounded him, each one eager to take their turn, like a gruesome reenactment of his gang rape. Aware of what was coming, Lethe held his breath. Tried to brace himself.

Kaj took hold of Lethe’s shoulders, jerked him forward, and then shoved him back against the mirror. This time, the glass shattered, dropping several large fragments onto the stone floor, where they lay like sharp, silver leaves. At the same instant, agony splintered through Lethe’s mind. It felt like someone had cracked his skull open. Then, for a moment, his whole world went black. Unable to help himself, Lethe sank to the floor.

Fire. Fire everywhere. Inside his head, or inside the mirrors, he could no longer be sure. But he knew it was fire. Licking his skin. Crackling in his ears. Scorching his heart. For the first time in his life, Lethe truly felt the burning kiss of hatred, fury, and bloodlust. And his fingers brushed against a shard of fallen glass.

Standing over Lethe, Kaj began to unfasten his belt. “You don’t belong to Hesperos. You don’t belong to that bitch, Melanthe. You belong to me. And I’m going to make sure that you never forget it.”

Clenching his eyes shut, Lethe tried to remember everything the priests had taught him. Life was beautiful, life was sacred, life was everything he believed in. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t. But life didn’t exist anymore. Nothing existed except his hatred of Kaj, and the voice of the flames echoing Hesperos’s words. Never hold back, Lethe. And never retreat.

Somewhere, deep within Lethe, something finally snapped. Pain and terror vanished. Instead, he felt nothing at all as he looked up at Kaj, allowing a cruel, seductive smile to twist across his lips. “Kiss me.”

Taken aback, Kaj hesitated. “What?”

“Kiss me,” Lethe repeated. Tilting his head, he watched in the mirrors as strands of his hair spilled across his bare shoulder, like gold melting on an ivory forge. You should see it. Understand it. Learn how to use it to get what you want. Yes. He saw it, now. He understood it. And he would damn well use it to get what he wanted. “Come here and kiss me.”

Caught in some trap he’d never imagined, Kaj crouched down in front of Lethe. Carefully, almost gently, he reached out and touched Lethe’s face. But it was too late for tenderness. With a hiss, Lethe snatched the dagger-shaped shard of broken mirror and drove it through Kaj’s eye, deep into the bandit’s brain.

Kaj didn’t cry out. He didn’t struggle. He just looked slightly surprised as he slumped over onto the stone floor. In the surrounding mirrors, reflections of fire exploded into a final brightness, before dimming back to normal. And suddenly, Lethe could hear the sound of his own breath.

Dazed, Lethe struggled to his feet. The world seemed shaky, distant, and unreal. When he looked down at his hand, he could see that it was bleeding. But he felt no pain. He didn’t feel anything. “Blessed are the chosen, for they shall walk in the wind’s garden, and they shall rejoice upon hearing its song...”

As if summoned by his words, a nearby mirror conjured up an image of the chime maze. But when Lethe reached out to touch it, blood dripped down across the reflection, staining the hedges, tainting the prayer flags. And he knew. He knew he could never go back home.

Slowly, Lethe started to laugh.