This fanfiction is an ensemble piece. A/N will be posted in the footers. I am sorry to all the purest out there—I do not use Japanese suffixes unless it's "sempai." As a writer (not a reader), I find them jarring.
If this is your first time reading this story, please proceed. However, if you have read this story before, I need to update you on its status. Do read the following A/N. Perhaps, even before you read the prologue. It is imperative.
Enjoy!
The night was full, a black cowl over the world. As if to hide herself from these events, the new moon was invisible.
Only the stars braved the horror, reflected tenfold in the ice that covered all things.
In every direction, the land wore frost skin. The nearby lake mirrored the sequined sky, a black sheet of glass studded with celestial diamonds. The frozen leaves, reduced to petrified sculpture, were wind chimes. With the merest breeze, they brushed against one another, producing the subtle clang of mourning.
Though the wind refused, time stood still. And a boy, appearing no older the ten, red eyes glittering with malice, turned in a slow circle, searching. His feet slid across the ice so smoothly he might have been skating. As his breath fogged, he was keenly silent. He rotated, his predatory glare flitting to and from every pocket of darkness.
Crouching defensively, the boy could not help but wince. His wounds, while not lethal, bled profusely despite the frigid temperature. His blood oozed from every limb, and a gash above his brow ran down his face like hot tears.
The sudden change in the atmosphere, the shift of smell in the air, unsettled him. The deficiency of movement caused him to pause.
Standing slowly, the Iceboy frowned in confusion.
Only moments earlier he had battled to the death, his mind armored by glaciers—so cold no one would dare trespass. He had danced with a hellion bent on his destruction.
His foe had fought with desperate cunning, sustaining grievous injury through her efforts but continuing with reckless fury. She commanded Shadow, had moved like a black wraith. Thus, he had been unable to see her.
The bleeding boy had been hard-pressed to catch her because he could not freeze her darkness. Only by chance, striking out in sweeping motions, he had landed the initial blows.
Luckily, the Shadowwoman could not hide her seeping wounds. He had only to follow the hot liquid, sensing it as it fell upon his ice.
Then, the Iceboy had attacked in earnest. However, she had moved too fast for the boy to defend himself completely. The deadly shadow had harassed him, darting forward to stab him then out of reach almost as fast.
The tide of battle had oscillated wildly.
The Iceboy had wanted to bite her—to ripe her apart.
But, now, the Shadowwoman's smoky, sultry scent eluded him. The void was complete, as if the blood from which the smell originated had disappeared all together. Her unnatural shadow, a denser darkness than night, was nowhere.
The fury in the air had dissipated.
Even as his glowing eyes began to dim to their natural sapphire blue, his gold hair no longer standing on end, this sudden peace—the relative calm—unnerved him.
His labored breath began to slow and deepen. Still, the boy remained tense, his mind still protected by sheets of ice against the unfathomable.
"Yukidiachi!"
The Iceboy turned abruptly, stupidly; the desperate call was of the mind, not a true sound at all. The only person capable of reaching beyond his barriers was his Mistress.
The ice bellow his feet hardened as his eyes flickered red again. "Mistress? Where are you? I come," he replied into the In-Between.
Raising his head to the sky, Yuki inhaled with purpose. On the breeze, he caught the tang of fear, metal, and disuse from beyond the treeline on the far bank. His Mistress must be there.
Without pausing to consider the situation further, Yuki made his way to her with all possible speed. He glided across the frozen water, a blur leaving only drops of blood as proof he had not simply reappeared on the other side of the lake.
There the Iceboy found a gruesome scene. The landscape here was dyed black, blood dark without moonlight. Everything was draped in hot wet—the grass, the trees, the rocks, and bits of detritus no longer distinguishable. It hung in the air, a sweet cloying mist.
Overpowered by the smell, Yuki struggled to find his Mistress.
Then he saw her, her unbound locks midnight in the darkness, saturated and glistening dully as the liquid caught the starlight. She was barefoot on her knees, her forehead pressed to the ground. Her dress hung, tattered and soaked, immodestly on her frame. She bled from every appendage, her ruined arms wrapped around her midriff where blood seeped between her fingers.
Yuki wished his Mistress would lift her head but feared what he would find in her face. Her body, a body he was born—made—to protect, was unrecognizable, a rent disaster.
And her sole instrument of death, a silver dagger, lay dolefully at her side.
Yuki felt a wave of horror and guilt as he stared. Both the dagger and he had failed her. His Mistress's life was slipping away from beneath her hands.
"Mistress. I…" he cried in dismay. Yuki ripped his torn shirt from his body and knelt before the woman, the Queen, who ruled his world—who was his world.
"I cannot speak, Yukidiachi. I am blocking my pain from you, but I don't know how much longer… " Her thought was soft, yielding, receding. Even the strength of her mind, once unfaltering, could not persist as her body failed.
"Drink," the Iceboy pleaded, grasping her quaking shoulders and dragging her head from the ground. As gently as he could, Yuki pressed her face into the crock of his neck. Using the full force of his mind, he urged her to bite him.
But his Mistress demurred. She merely huddled into him, unable to shield him any longer, guiding his thoughts—merging them with hers to an extent Yuki had never experienced. Her memories began to flood his mind—her bonds of friendship, love, and hope crushed him. The intensity of her devotion to his Master, her brother and husband, and to their children crippled him. Her gratitude for and trust in her Guardian--for him--was suffocating. And her hope… the picture of the world she envisioned—one of coexistence, tolerance, and community—diminished him.
But her pain, their shared pain, was the most damning. Sublime, terrible, timeless, it obliterated the world; it became the world.
Unknowingly, he wept for the first time in his life.
"Mistress, please drink," Yuki begged. The pounding of his heart began to slow as his mind dulled with hers. His fingers began to tingle oddly as his ears began to ring.
Again his Mistress refused, saying only, "You were right. It was a trap. I'm sure Brother will find solace in that at least. He knew it all along. But I had hoped…"
Yuki, his mind intimate with hers, did not need to object. His disregard for her attempt at sarcasm or humor or comfort reverberated through them both.
"Yukidiachi, we are dying," she mourned, speaking past their agony. With immortal fortitude, some of which she borrowed from him, his Mistress lifted her head from his shoulder.
The Iceboy recoiled as he saw her face. Not even a Pureblood could heal the damage she had sustained. The left side of her face was slit from hairline to chin. One of her eyes was reduced to a gaping hole.
Then, she flinched. From her mind, he sensed her sudden alarm. "Yukidiachi, the humans—the ones who hunt us—their scent is near. We will be discovered!"
"Then I will kill them," retorted the guardian vainly, but they both knew that his threat was idle. They were too weak, paralyzed by blood loss and pain, to outrun the enemy, and even if they tried, the trail of blood would easily lead the hunters to them.
His Mistress tried to keep her head up but failed. "No. You will need your strength," she rejoined. Hope flickered in their minds—the hope was hers. "You might be able to run."
Yuki could not understand; he lacked the stability to try. Their pain was unbearable.
How could he run? They were connected by more then loyalty or love; they shared one life, or rather his Mistress shared her life with him. If she died, Yuki would perish.
'Stay with me," he implored as his Mistress retreat still further from his mind, leaving only an echo of her presence to direct him. As the differentiation of self and other became opaque, panic joined the Iceboy's anguish.
Yuki clung to her presence as if in keeping her soul close he could stay death a little longer. The boy would take her pain over her silence. "Mistress, the Shadow—the Guardian—she disappeared. You killed your opponent and her Guardian disappeared. That is the nature of The Stigmata. I cannot run."
Yuki could not feel her emotion anymore. In the In-Between, his Mistress caged her consciousness in silver, and across the great divide she Compelled him. 'Hand me, my dagger."
Yuki could not refuse. Yuki did as he was bidden without question, the alien power of Compulsion convincing his broken body to retrieve the dagger beside them. As he did, his Mistress opened her mangled left hand slowly.
Even as her soul began to fade into the Distance, the silver flowing over her mindvoice, her words pierced him, spoken in the timbre of a god, "You are my Guardian, bound to me as is my right hand. You claim history as evidence, but I will not condemn you whom I love as I do my children. Yukidiachi, you are my right hand."
"My right hand…" she repeated softly.
Her final demands reached him like a vague whisper, a more an apparition than words, "Do not waste this gift… don't stay to battle futility. Run and tell no one of this… that would implicate the entire Clan, when only one was guilt. Justice has been served. My Brother… my children cannot begin a blood feud… Live honorably, Yuki… and protect my kindred if you can."
His Mistress's demands were only requests. She did not Compel him—her gift to him was freedom.
The Iceboy only nodded, dying too quickly to find meaning, to fully comprehend.
"My right hand," she ghost-whispered.
His Mistress lifted her dagger with her left hand, ignoring the way it quaked, and cut off her right hand with a single stoke. Then, she crumpled pathetically.
The indefinable link—the union of his life to his Mistress's—snapped instantly. The anticlimax, a single moment encapsulating his life's work, cut through him. The remainder, true meaninglessness, descended upon him. The implications of his severed existence would not come—after the end, there could only be nothing.
Yukidiachi simply was.
Contrary to his fractured mind, the Iceboy's strength—the strength his Mistress had borrowed to maintain her life long enough to spare his—returned to him.
And he screamed out in frustration, shaking her roughly, willing her to repair the breech. Terror, unrelated to death or pain, seized him. Yuki was lost.
What was his life now? She was everything. She was his reason to live, his creator and purpose.
"Mistress!" the Iceboy whaled, incoherent in his grief. "Mistress! Mistress! Mistress!" He would not abide her absence.
But she was beyond his reach in every way. His Mistress had surrendered to deepest sleep, surely a painless death.
And Yuki rocked back and forth, holding her, kissing her ruined face, murmuring pleas for her guidance which would never come.
Distantly, Yuki heard the group of humans stumbling blindly through the trees; they were closer than he would have thought.
An alien instinct, self preservation—the antithesis of his duty—tried to pull him away from his Mistress's unconscious body, but he resisted a moment longer. Yuki felt blind rage; he couldn't even keep vigil until she passed into the Distance.
But the Iceboy knew he had to leave her, his Mistress's last gift too precious to squander.
His eyes overbright, sparkling with frozen tears, Yuki promised, "Benihime Kuran. All that you ask will be done."
Then, Yukidiachi ran away into black Night.
A/N: Welcome (back) reader to "Bits of Relevant Information Corner," (info I think is relevant, at least). For those of you who are new, this space is devoted to answering any reviewer questions deserving of a general response and little tidbits about the preceding material. Please review because it is both inspirational and informative. Judging from the rewrites, you can obviously tell I take your reviews seriously.
Benihime means Red Princess
Yukidiachi means cold, great wisdom
PAST READER: This story has been overhauled in every sense of the word. Though some of the original content and nearly all of the plot remain, the structure, speed, and a few key elements have been altered entirely. I have posted these three chapters and the prologue together because they are the most important rereads, and understanding the fundamentals is key to understanding future action. Much of the flashbacks have been removed, so you—original reader—have an edge, but the proceeding chapters will take a serious turn. Many of the events are reordered, combined, or done away with all together. Please reread, and pay close attention to the prologue.
If you want to know why I edited this piece to the degree I have, I must start by telling you that I died a little with each deletion. However, the ending I had envisioned took a radical turn (for the better, I hope). I needed—had to—rewrite this story completely. And because I believe exposition is the bedrock of resolution, I would not be satisfied until I corrected every bit of it. Additionally, a few of my most prized reviewers (you know who you are) pointed out some serious flaws. I was sloppy in spelling and grammar, gratuitous in description, and digressing rapidly. I take valid criticism seriously. I make an effort to correct my mistakes with haste. Because of this, I took dramatic action.
In closing, I assure you that (aside from any spelling or grammatical errors) this piece will not change again, nor will the span between updates equal months instead of weeks. I am dedicated to this story's completion. The story lives in me, and I need to finish it as much for your enjoyment as my growth as a writer.
Thank you for your patience and understanding. Those of you who have stuck with me, especially those who reviewed, asked for updates, and/or added it to their favorites, will forever be my favorites. Cliché though it sounds, you have a special place in my heart.
Mare
R&R