lost soul
by Lockehart
Death. Not so oddly, the prospect didn't frighten him in the least. After having caused so much, the mage was finally ready a accept it. He would receive it anyway, like it or not, judging from the set features of the three facing him. The other mage, the princess, the one he had known once a long long time ago, whom he had even been friends with in a fashion, wielding her staff determinedly, calling upon the same powers he did, but with none of the corruption that tainted him. The ninja, twin daggers like extensions of himself, whirling like a dervish. The female warrior--spear flashing in the sunlight like a light lance--fighting gracefully, her style an elegant dance of death.
Death, again. He'd always known he couldn't stand against them in his heart of hearts, the part that was still him, that he'd recovered slowly after so long without it. He was still incomplete, he knew, but as he fell it seemed that that part came rushing back, and he knew what to do.
Time slowed, stilled, twisted even as his spell twisted the world around him, surrounding him in darkness both of soul and body. Breath was ripped from his lungs even as the old memories started to return along with the part of him that had been missing, and perhaps he could at least die whole.
Remember...
* * *
"Mom! Koren's in the garden!"
As the call rang through the house, a small child scrambled down a tree and set off across the spacious garden, running like fury. Blond hair streamed behind his small head, exposing finely-chiseled features, the mark of the nobility. Feet pumping, he raced for the small gate out of the garden--out into freedom. He almost did make it. Almost.
Mid-run, a pair of arms swooped seemingly out of nowhere, scooping him up and carrying him at a brisk trot back towards the house. The little boy trashed and squirmed, but his eight-year-old strength wasn't enough to overwhelm his captor.
At the door to the house, an older boy stood, leaning against the wall and grinning maliciously at his sibling. The younger child stuck out his tongue rudely, but the other boy deliberately summoned a spark of fire and toyed with it, all but waving it under his brother's nose. Predictably, the eight-year-old scrambled backwards to avoid it, not so much for fear of being burnt, but for the fear of the memory of being burnt, and burst into tears.
"That's enough, Karin. There's no need to bother your brother." The woman who'd caught the child set him down and gave him a light pat on the bottom. "Off you go, Koren. Jose will get impatient if you're any later. Why, anyone would be proud to be studying with the best teacher in Altena. And with the princess, as your partner, no less! Now go!"
If anything, the speech only made the child cry louder.
* * *
"Boring."
In the hushed stillness of the library, the word carried with ease. The few other readers in the place mostly sighed and applied themselves to their books. They were used to the occasional outbursts of boredom. The voice that had spoken was a high childish timbre, easily soprano range, and ringing with indignation.
Fourteen-year-old Koren derShinia hung his head and sighed in defeat. Assigned as a partner to the young princess of Altena because he was 'the youngest son of a long line of mages', and also 'able to understand out Angela's problems and you're quite close to her age too', Koren was practically the young child's minder rather than partner.
"I know it's boring, Princess, but you're supposed to study it. You don't want Master Jose to get angry at you, now."
The ten-year-old princess (brat, a fed-up corner of Koren's mind supplied rudely) frowned, secure in her rank. "Jose is an old fart. He's boring too." She folded her arms, glaring up at him. "Don't wanna study."
"But you want to learn magic, don't you?" he tried in desperation.
"Jose won't teach me. He says I'm too young. An' you can't teach me. That's what all the others say."
"You have to study before he'll teach you magic. Theory before practical, Princess." He faltered, blinking. "They said what about me?"
Angela grinned snottily. "They said you're useless 'cause you can't cast magic. You know? Your brother said that, really. Said your dad an' your mom were 'shamed of you 'cos you're the only one in the family who isn't a mage and that you're a dis- dis-something to your anshestors." Koren clamped down on his anger and suppressed a strong urge to grab the young princess and strangle the life out of her. Princess, he reminded himself. She's the princess of Altena.
Yeah. The goddess-damned princess of damned magic-using damned Altena.
"Whatever they say about me is none of your concern. Princess." He managed to control his voice sufficiently to sound calm. 'You need to apply yourself to your studies so you don't end up unable to use magic as well." That was a lie, of course. Jose had tested her for magic, was still testing her for magic lesson after lesson, albeit in ways that the young princess didn't recognize. Just like he tested Koren. The talk about Angela being too young to learn magic was balderdash, as well. She couldn't cast magic, just like him. In that respect, the two were the same. The old tutor had had quite a few choice words to say about the pair's magic blocks.
"Princess Angela doesn't have the heart for casting magic," the old mage had complained to him in times past. "Perhaps because she was bereft of the love of a mother, she doesn't feel she has somebody to cast for. That's what most mages do when they cast: they're not just casting, they're casting for somebody--a friend, a relative, people they love and care for. Angela doesn't appear to have such a person, therefore she can't summon the emotion necessary for spellcasting." Jose had stopped and regarded Koren irritably, almost glaring at his apprentice.
"And you, Koren. You're weak! You have plenty to cast for and a true wanting to cast, but you cannot make yourself do it. In the depths of your soul you fear the magic, fear what it can do, fear what you can do with it, fear what it can do to you. You are weak because you cannot conquer your fear of magic, even though you truly want to be able to cast it. And that is the reason, my young magic-fearing weak apprentice, that you cannot, and will never spellcast." He paused dramatically.
Jose really likes to make speeches, a much younger Koren had thought.
Older now, Koren watched the princess and made sure she was really studying before he left the small library and headed out across the overhead bridge. He couldn't really blame Angela for her rudeness, he supposed, because it was her way of striking back at the world. Practically ignored by Queen Valda, her mother, Angela had resorted to playing tricks and making snide comments to gain attention, never mind that the attention she got was usually of the bad sort (dammit Angela what did you do?!).
Koren knew he was weak, like Jose had said so long ago. Weak because he couldn't put the memory behind him, weak because he still couldn't forget the ashen face of his brother Karin as he lay on the ground, the left leg he still couldn't use charred black and stinking. Because of him. Of him.
Eight years ago, a six-year-old Koren and a ten-year-old Karin had raced for the large old tree in the back garden. Koren had been the star of the family, a source of pride since he had almost set a tree on fire with a spell. At the age of four, no less! Genius, some had called him. His father had positively glowed at the very mention of his name. All this, of course, had very much irritated his older brother Karin, who until then had been in the star position. Whether it was because of this or not, no one knew, but Karin had developed a very real and growing hatred towards his younger brother that only increased whenever somebody told him that he should be 'proud of that brother of yours'.
As little Koren scramble up the tree--being smaller, lighter and fast on his feet, he'd easily won the race to the tree--his brother started to climb up. Karin was though stronger, slower, and the younger boy reached the top first, settled himself on a branch and started good-naturedly teasing his brother in the way children did.
It was then that Karin's temper snapped. In a mad fury, Karin Cerles derShinia had drawn on his magic and hurled fire up into the tree, barely missing his brother. The shocked child sat disbelievingly on the branch even as Karin hurled another firebolt up, the fire sizzling over his shoulder and burning him. The pain had shot through the young Koren like a bolt of lightning, and at six he had realized something that still held true: his brother hated him, and wouldn't care if he died. The next bolt scorched the skin off his cheek and half-blinded him in a blast of light. Half-blind, in pain and hurting, Koren had retaliated with a flight of lightning arrows, created instinctively although he was supposedly too young to know how to make them. The next thing he saw when his vision cleared was his brother lying crumpled on the ground, his leg a charred mass.
Koren Carlan derShinia never cast magic again.
His family covered up the whole incident, unwilling to let all Altena know that one of their sons had tried to murder the other, and gotten crippled in return. They claimed that a rival mage had attacked the children as they played, scorching Koren and crippling Karin. Mage Cerlen, their father, gave Karin a good talking-to (yelling-to, actually) later, but considered the crippling punishment enough. But when it became apparent that Koren had been shocked into losing every bit of talent he had, Cerlen turned all his attention back to his first son, and so the former black sheep of the family had become their pride and joy.
The thud of the closing door sounded like a clap of doom as Koren strode silently to one side o the main staircase, slipping in through the servants' door to the warren of rooms at the back. He dared not use the main staircase anymore. Dared not, when at dinner Karin would stare directly at him and grin, and say something about the stairs being 'fit to be walked only by mages'. Again. And his parents would ignore him and ply his brother with questions while Karin preened and basked in his glory. Koren was coming close to hating his brother, but the burden of shame he carried--he had done that, made his brother a cripple hobbling around on a stick--would not allow that.
Padding lightly up the small stairway used by the servants, Koren headed for his room, feeling oddly like a thief, creeping through a stranger's house hoping nobody would catch him.
"Going somewhere, little-one?" The cold feeling in his stomach solidified into a knot of ice. Turning, Koren faced his brother like a prisoner facing the headsman, almost cringing.
Karin stepped out through the door of his room, dangling something from his hand like a prize. "How pitiful. Lookie the diary of the poor 'ittle boy born of a noble mage's lineage, who can't cast magic." As Koren froze, staring at his diary in Karin's hands--his diary, the only precious object he'd ever had in his room--the smugly grinning young man flipped the book open and shook it practically under Koren's nose. "I never knew you could write trite stuff like this. It's almost poetic. Your hopes, your dreams..."
"Well, let me tell you something. You're useless. All this stuff is useless." He smiled suddenly. "And I know just what to do with useless stuff."
It happened too quickly for him to stop it. In a moment, Karin brought forth fire from his fingers, the fire he was so adept at summoning, and in seconds, Koren's treasured diary was nothing but burning paper. Burning.
The smoke seemed to choke him, rising along the corridor with Karin's laughs. The older boy enjoyed tormenting his younger brother, but this was the first time he'd done something like this. Koren flushed red, then white, frozen in his position as if the goddess herself had pinned him there even as his brother waved the burning book around, heat searing his cheek as a flaming page brushed him lightly.
"Poor, poor brother of mine." His voice made a mockery of everything Koren had ever done, ever was. "Who would have ever known you now for the sparkling genius of your childhood, Koren the great mage-to-be. Mage-to-be, hah! You're nothing but a weak, spineless, kid, who can't even call fire!"
Inside him, something snapped. Maybe it was his mind. White fire surged across his brain, red mist swept across his eyes, and his body froze. Time splintered as his hand came up in slow motion as if in a dream, a dream he had many times dreamt, of standing up to his brother, flinging magic in his face, showing them all that he could conquer his fear of magic, overcome his weakness. He could!
And the magic answered in the fire surging through his nerves, in the song keening through his eardrums in a continuous high howl. Fire exploded from his fingers, catching his brother's dream-figure up and bearing it away, clothing bursting into flame, clawed fingers scrabbling at empty air. Koren threw back his head and laughed. In the dream, he reigned. In the dream, he won!
Slowly the white fire faded form his mind, the red form his fingers. The keening howl cut off, replaced by gurgling--the gurgling of a man dying, unable to accept his fate. Koren smelled burning flesh and gagged. His dreams were never like this! Turning, he ran away from the wreck that had once been a human body without looking at it, already knowing that it wasn't a dream, that he'd done something--terrible--
It seemed he would run forever.
Rain was falling on Altena, snow transmuted into drops of rain by the Queen's magic, yet it did nothing to quench the gossip that was spreading like wildfire through the inhabitants. Koren derShinia had murdered his brother. No, Karin had attacked him, and Koren killed him in self-defense. I heard Koren laughing from the window--he must have gone insane, killed his brother. That's not it, I'm sure that the boy planned to murder his brother: he must have had an accomplice because he couldn't have cast magic, could he? He's a renegade now, he must be hunted down... can't let him be loose out there. The brothers must have had some kind of argument... maybe over magic or girls...
In the castle, Angela dasTere Altena regretted her sarcastic words.
Out in the Sub-Zero Snowfields, there was no transmuting magic to turn snow into rain, and it fell thickly among the trees, coating them with a blanket of white. The snow was the first thing he felt in a long time, the first thing he allowed himself to feel. Snowflakes were landing on him, turning his blond hair white, melting on his face and body and wetting his clothing. In time he felt he might turn into a snowman like some the children built in the snowfields and left there, never melting because of the arctic temperatures. The face that he was actually feeling things might have been good, but at the moment Koren didn't want to feel anything. He wanted--as he always wanted--to be left along, lost in a deep black oblivion where nothing existed but him.
And now, the snow.
He didn't want it there, but the softly falling snowflakes intruded into his thoughts and cleared his mind of the fear- and rage-induced fog. Slowly his surroundings began to make sense. He was lying in snow, somewhere, lost in the Sub-Zero Snowfield. He was half-covered in snow, chilled, shaking and in shock. He had no food, no way of getting back to Altena (no wish to get back to Altena) and he wasn't dressed for the cold. The mere thought of casting magic made him shiver, and brought visions of charred legs and bodies that he wasn't ready to face. Already the cold was seeping into his bones, lulling him with the promise of warm sleep. His brain, with startling clarity, put all of these facts together and came up with one conclusion.
He was going to die. How ironic, he thought calmly, that one son dies in fire and the other in ice. Some other part of his mind was less accepting.
"I don't want to die." What started as a thought made it to his lips, coming out unbidden. "I don't want to die." But all he could do was move one hand weakly, and that warm soothing darkness was beckoning...
"You don't have to die."
The voice seemed to be emanating from the same soothing darkness, but it woke him up better than any call.
"You don't have to die, Koren derShinia. You want to live, don't you?"
"..."
"You want to live on, to show them all what you can really do, what Koren, the great mage, can do."
"Yes..."
"Pay them back for their arrogance: Jose, for his contempt; Angela for her rudeness; your family, for ignoring you; the people, for looking down at you. Pay them all back for their idiotic arrogance."
"Yes." Yes!
"I can give you that, Koren. I can gift you with the ability to cast magic unhaunted by your brother. Would you like that?--To be able to spellcast without having to face your fear? You are weak, Koren, and I can make you strong. All it will require, all I will need, is one piece of your soul. Just a little piece. You won't even miss it."
With every sweet word a shadow seemed to thicken in front of him, until the fallen boy found himself looking up at a tall man wearing what looked to be a dragon helm. The words seemed to creep into his brain, until he felt like he was wrapped in a warm blanket, looking out at the world through a haze.
"Will you take it, Koren derShinia? Will you trade just a piece of your soul for greatness? Or will you die here like a child, frozen in the snow?"
The words were solid now, along with the figure. He felt like he could reach out and grasp them, touch and feel them and the promise they gave him. Images wheeled in his mind insanely--Karin laughing; Angela sneering; Jose grimacing; his father ignoring; his mother sighing; his former friends leaving. They had wronged him--it was their fault! Their fault Karin died, not his. Their fault he couldn't cast magic. And he still did--not--want--to--die!
Lying in a forgotten corner of the Sub-Zero Snowfields, half-buried in snow, his body frozen and his mind spinning, one young boy made the decision that, years later, would catapult Altena into war.
"Very well."
* * *
It had been so simple. With the loss of that part of his soul he lost all fear, but also all compassion, love, and kindness. What was left was simply a burning anger to get even with the world. Armed with that anger he swept through his house--his house no longer--and swiftly ensorcelled his parents, making them believe Karin had attacked him (which he had, in a way). Almost before the magic had settled into their minds, he was on the way to the palace, to carry out the Dragon Emperor's orders--control the Queen of Altena.
Koren-that-was had been a weak, pathetic individual deserving of nothing but contempt. The Koren that he became then considered him dead and gone. He'd seized his destiny untroubled by conscience or second thoughts. Nobody had suspected him after one of the other inhabitants had confessed--encouraged by Koren's magic--that he'd heard Karin screaming that he wanted to kill the young boy. And that had been it.
Now, with darkness closing around him, Koren let his eyes fall closed. Angela's screaming seemed to come from far away, and time splintered again. The darkness was the darkness of Karin's charred body, the cold was the cold of the Sub-Zero Snowfield on a night years ago, the screams was the keening howl of magic and a dying man, ringing in his ears. Fourteen again, Koren smiled and stepped backwards, into darkness that bore him into its depths and then up into light.
And then there was nothing.
Forgive me for my temporary fascination with Koren of Seiken Densetsu III. ^__ I think that after a Koren wallpaper, a Koren fanart, and finally this angst-filled Koren fanfic in the style of Mercedes Lackey--it's time to let the mage rest. Well, yeah, Koren's last words seemed more to suggest that he never was able to cast magic in the first place ("all I wanted to do was to cast magic!"), but hell, for the sake of more angst, and... more angst? By the way, does anyone know his Japanese name? I just want to know. (hope it's not something shitty like hawk's [hawkeye, ugh])
Extra note: I've just got back from blinking at something at fanfiction.net--yay for all you other Hawk and Koren lovers out there! Dark-haired ninjas and blond-haired mages rule forever, bwahahahaha!
Yes, of course, I still love you, Soujiro. Don't get jealous.
-lockehart (6-11-2001)