Cloths of Heaven
(i)
Crawford awoke to an empty bed. He had a campaign cot that the king of Eressea had forced on him, and had gone to sleep with Ran, no he corrected himself, Aya, clinging to his shirt like a baby monkey. Aya’s hair had smelt of violets and his breath was sweet. He had simply removed his duster and boots and climbed into bed with him. Now he was gone.
It wasn’t even nearly dawn and as he sat up he saw Aya beside the brazier, boiling water for tea. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He looked genuinely contrite, “I don’t sleep to well any more.”
“You were never a heavy sleeper.” Crawford said patiently.
Aya offered him a wary smile, “would you like some tea? I found some in one of the chests, I was going to make some for Free and Farfarello, I,” he stopped, “I’m at odds and ends, even with myself.” He apologised.
Crawford pulled the blanket about his shoulders and moved over beside him, the floor of the tent was covered in thick wool rugs and Aya was kneeling on them in front of the brazier. “You don’t need to be.” He said, “You’re home now.”
Aya obviously wanted to say something to that but there were no words. Instead he started preparing the bowls for tea. “I,” he paused, “in the Seraglio I made tea to calm myself, most of the girls had to acquire a taste for it,” he was reminiscing over something amusing, “half the time I was shaking as I boiled the water, I was so scared of what I was trying to do, and then when I got the opportunity I couldn’t do it.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Crawford said quietly, kissing Aya on the temple, “you’re home now.” It looked for an instant that Aya would dissolve into tears, and Crawford knew that if he was Ran he would have, but he closed himself up like a fan. Instead let out a deep slow breath that sounded like glass breaking.
“I’m tired,” he said quietly, “not go to bed tired but soul weary,” he said, “I don’t sleep because of the nightmares, Chloe gave me poppy wine but it didn’t help, I thought,” he looked into the fire as if it held the mysteries of heaven, “I hoped that seeing you might stop them. I’m selfish and terrible.”
“No,” Crawford corrected, “you’re just human.”
“I’m the blessed son of a fallen kingdom, the golden bride of a wise man, and the chosen favourite of a nation’s leader.” He said ruefully, the tone was sarcastic and dark. “I’m a soldier who was not there when my country fell, I am a bride who abandoned his husband, and a favourite who tried to assassinate his lord.”
“Why couldn’t you?” Crawford asked.
“I can’t forgive him,” he said quietly pouring the water over the leaves and staring into the swirling water for long moments. “But he did his duty. I could kill the Nemesis,” he stopped again, “but I couldn’t kill Chloe.”
“Aya,” Crawford found the word awkward to say and odd to his mouth, he expected Ran to come back but Aya was certainly not him.
“Don’t say anything,” he said, “I have said it all at one time or another.”
“You don’t love yourself.” Crawford said, wrapping his arms about Aya.
“Not for a long time,” Aya answered, melting into the embrace, “not, I think, since Aya died.” He tilted his face to look at Crawford, “your need was enough for me then, I thought I could love you enough for the two of us.”
“But I do love you.” Crawford answered.
“I didn’t know that. I thought you used me because you thought I was beautiful, to show me off to your friends, Lady Redgrove told me that you were once rivals in seduction, I thought I might be part of that.”
Crawford kissed Aya’s temple again, softly, reverently, “no,” he said, “not that, never that.”
“Crawford,” Aya said softly, his voice breaking under the strain, “I’m so scared.”
“I know you are, love,” Crawford answered, “I know you are.”
(ii)
Free turned the card on the frozen ground before him. In the night a tall man with shaggy blonde hair had given him a blanket that he had chose to sat on rather than wrap about his shoulders, but now he trusted to the cards. The shrouded figure of death sat on a bloody throne. It was a common misconception that the death card did not necessarily mean death, because it always did, but it was what the death was that changed. On the eve of such a battle death was inevitable.
The second card showed a woman falling from a burning tower. He frowned looking at the picture, the tower suggested pride becoming ones undoing.
The third card of the simple three-card spread showed a man hanging by his ankle with his arms crossed and his eyes bound. The hanged man. He gathered the cards up and shuffled them again. “I made you some tea.” Aya said from behind him. Free took the bowl, “I do not like the turn of these cards,” Free said quietly, inhaling the hot steam, “let me take you to safety.”
“My place is here,” Aya said sitting beside him on the blanket, “for now, if the battle becomes too heated I’ll let you take me to safety.”
“Farfarello said you were here.” A blonde man said approaching, “but,”
“we didn’t believe him,” the redhead at his side agreed.
“Yotan,” Aya said standing up and offering them a smile that was a shadow of Ran’s, “Schu.”
“You look,” Yohji began.
“Different, harsher,” Schuldig finished.
“You look exactly the same,” Aya said, “This is Free,” he said introducing them, “he,”
“Is his guardian,” Free interrupted, “despite Aya being able to best me in a fight.”
“Ran,” Schuldig said, “why is he calling you Aya?”
“Because Ran died with Inabayama,” he said quietly lowering his eyes, “Crawford’s already awake if you want to speak to him.” He went to stand up, “I’ll go get him for you.”
“No,” Yohji said, “we came to speak to Free, to impress on him that he needed to protect you no matter what or we’d kill him.”
“Slowly,” Schuldig finished.
“Have they always finished each other’s sentences?” Free asked dryly. “It is strange, even among lovers.”
Schuldig blushed bright red, his fairer complexion betraying him. “It’s new.” He stuttered, “I mean the finishing each other’s sentences thing.”
“I missed you both,” Aya said with a wan smile. “I,” he lowered his eyes to the weave of the blanket; it was a gesture that was more Ran than Aya.
“You could have taken us with you.” Schuldig said softly.
“Sometimes, especially in the first six months in the hills of Herensea I wished I had.” He reached into his duster and pulled out a piece of paper, “this,” he clutched it fiercely, “this is my safe passage through the forces of the Nemesis, take it and go to Chloe, tell him I sent you. Ken will be guarding the main encampment of generals, he has brown hair and wears silver claws, give him this letter, he will take you to Chloe.”
“Aya,” Free said shocked.
“Free can take me to safety and I can meet you later, but,” he sighed, “I can save you both, let me.”
“And what about Crawford, you broke his heart you know.” Schuldig said softly, “he has been a tyrant without you.”
“So he said,” Aya said, “he wouldn’t go, even if I drugged his tea and threw him over my shoulder and carried him away.” Yohji nodded, knowing it was true. “And I want to, I will stay and try to convince him. I promised Chloe I wouldn’t linger once the fighting started that Free would take me to safety.” It was an outright lie, “but he will take you to Atzara where the battle is a distant threat, he’ll take you with him.”
“Who is this Chloe?” Yohji asked.
“My lover,” Aya answered without pause, “the Nemesis.”
Both Yohji and Schuldig paused at that confession and Free leant in to whisper in Aya’s ear, “if you plan to use this battle as a form of suicide I will save you,” he told him, “and I will bring you back to Chloe, stay to save your husband if you must but you will not take the field.”
Aya smiled at him and took a mouthful of the tea, “I’m doing what I can, Free, I just hope it’s enough.”
(iii)
Crawford sipped the tea that Aya had made for him and looked across the table to Farfarello. “Are you sure it’s not poisoned?” The one eyed man asked quietly.
“Yes,” Crawford answered, “I watched him make it.” It was only then Farfarello drank from his own bowl.
“He is a weakness.” Farfarello said, “one you couldn’t afford then, and one you certainly can’t afford now.”
“I know,” Crawford said, “but,”
“he is beautiful,” Farfarello offered, “he is no longer Ran, that much is obvious, his guard did not say a single word to me all night.”
“He is Free.” Crawford said, “the ancestral guard of the Nemesis, he told me everything, you know.” He poured more tea into the bowl from the pot that Aya had made. “About why he left.”
“And you believe him?” Farfarello asked.
“He convinced me, you are right, he is not Ran any more.” Crawford was rueful, most people overlooked Farfarello as anything other than a torturer that enjoyed his job, Crawford knew he was more than that; he was the devil that sat on his shoulder when he needed counsel. Where Crawford dreaded the battle that would come, at latest, mid morning, Farfarello was excited at the prospect.
“I did not see the advantages of such a wedding in the first place, you have found yourself fighting Inabayama’s war.” Farfarello said calmly.
“I thought you’d find such a war interesting.”
Farfarello’s laugh was entirely without humour, “I do, but this is not our war, Crawford, this is his, and he is worthless.”
“Nevertheless,” Crawford argued, “he is my bride.”
“He left you.” Farfarello repeated, “he made you brittle.”
“He went to kill the Nemesis.” Crawford corrected him.
“They do call it the little death.” Farfarello told him wryly.
“He hates himself,” Crawford told his manservant. “Even more than you hate him.”
“That I find difficult to believe.” Farfarello said calmly, “in the upcoming battle, do you wish me to,” he paused, “rid you of the problem?”
“No,” Crawford said bluntly, “but don’t let him leave.” He put down the bowl, “he is mine and he would do well to remember that, now help me with my armour. I can’t imagine that Esset’s generals are waiting on me.”
“But,” Farfarello said, “They will expect you to wait on them.”
“If you get the opportunity,” Crawford told him, “You can enjoy yourself with the Silk Queen.”
Farfarello’s grin showed his teeth. “You know me so well, my lord, I’ll do my best to make it linger.”
“We must make sure that her kindness is repaid.” Crawford said returning his smile, “after all, Eressea is known for its hospitality.”
(iv)
Chloe looked at the maps that his generals laid before him with a bored eye. “So,” he said, “the short of it is that Esset outnumbers us by half again, and with Eressea against us we don’t stand much of a chance.”
Yuushi sat back and prepared himself, “that’s pretty much the gist of it.” He said.
“Open negotiations with Eressea, we might be able to bring them to our side against a mutual foe, and it will be profitable enough to place the boy king as viceroy of his own state.” Reiichi said, “we can always renege later.”
Chloe looked as if he was contemplating it, even momentarily.
“It’s what your father would do.” Masato said, “and I know you are not him, and unlike your brothers you’re not trained in warfare, but,”
“Rockets,” Naru said, “aimed here,” he pointed at the map, “and here, they might break up the majority of Geisel’s forces, we might be able to cast a retreat which will even up the odds.” He said. “I have rockets.”
“You always have rockets,” Masato said, “It’s one of the great givens of life.”
Chloe snickered, “if Eressea is to join our side, Aya will achieve it.” He said then, “and the forces of Layla and Berger.” He said, “are the cavalry in position?” Yuushi nodded, “and the infantry?” Ken smiled. “Is there anything else you need?” Chloe asked softly.
“You on the first boat back to Atzara.” Reiichi said calmly, “we are expendable but you are not, unless you wish to place Michel on the throne in your place.” It was a chide from a man who had served as Chloe’s father as much as anyone really had, he didn’t’ want the throne but he wouldn’t wish it on Michel either.
“I can’t.” Chloe said, “not yet, and I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself, Free made sure of that.” He stopped, “and I have the terrible feeling that Esset is planning something, they’ve been too quiet.”
“Of course they’re planning something,” Ken said, “they always are, it’s like saying the sun will rise in the east tomorrow.” It was wry and jaded. “But we will do our best to work around that. Do you think Aya will be able to convince Lord Crawford?”
“They have a history,” Reiichi said, as spymaster he always knew these things, usually before anyone else, and he only mentioned them when they were pertinent, he was a spy and a master of information but he wasn’t a gossip. “If anyone can, Aya can.”
“You’re putting a lot of faith in him,” Yuushi said, “I mean he’s in the Seraglio.”
“He has bested Free in fair combat.” Masato offered from the side.
“He is incredibly well read.” Naru said, “and he knows about chemicals.”
“He was to be a captain of the Heaven guard.” Chloe said, “and he has his reasons to champion Inabayama.”
“It’s just a lot of responsibility to put on a love-slave, is all.” Yuushi said.
Chloe just laughed.
(v)
Layla knew that the most powerful weapon she had in her arsenal was that she was attractive, she knew she was not beautiful, but that she had her own charm, which made men flock to her. They called her the silk queen because she maintained a web of influence that rivalled that of the elders of Esset. Her armour was made of red lacquered strips of bamboo that clung to her figure without weighing as much as that of her counterparts who had had theirs crafted in cherry red steel. Her hair had been dyed a merciless pink but was gathered into a topknot away from her face. A long white overskirt hung about her thighs, emblazoned with flame detailing that matched the etched red on her sword. Her only concession to her rank, as one of the three most powerful generals in the world, was a pair of golden bamboo wings on her back, they were not large, barely standing as tall as her head, and could prevent blows being landed to the head. Nevertheless every man on the field knew who she was and like all the other armies that they had faced, they would back down before her.
Berger wore little armour, just a gauntlet that rolled up over one shoulder and a skirt of bamboo over his silk trousers. They called him the black general for his treatment of the enemy, but he had dyed his hair into a streaming black tail. Later he would come to her tent streaked in the blood of the enemy and she would amuse him. She was only interested in him when he was covered in blood.
Geisel was the smallest of the three of them, the Horned King. He had been named for a helmet that had been smashed years before. Now he wore white silk and silvery grey steel embossed with his family crests. Everything was trimmed in red.
Esset’s generals always wore white, it showed the blood so beautifully. After Berger had been sated the first time Geisel would come to her and the three of them would celebrate until dawn, but only after Berger was quieted in his lust, he would not share her before then.
Layla couldn’t care less either way.
Now Geisel stood beside a giant crossbow pointing it at a grey palanquin next to a copse of trees, inside an armoured figure was silhouetted against the dawn. “The nemesis is over there.” She told him calmly.
“I know,” Geisel answered her with a smile, “but to catch a big fish,” he said pulling back the bolt, which was more like a spear, “you need to use the right bait.” He let loose the bolt and watched with a satisfied smirk as it collapsed the tent and who ever was inside.
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