Disclaimer: I do not own an island or any choirboys. This is not for lack of trying. William Golding, for some reason, is quite a stickler for keeping them to himself. But I'm still hoping. If you have or know of any islands or choirboys for sale, please contact me.
Author's Note: The end is changed. In the hunt, Ralph was caught fairly quickly. The fire was never started and there was no rescue. However, instead of killing Ralph, Jack decided to keep him as a trophy. Now, three years have passed and the island world is starting to crumble away.
Warnings: You know as well as I that you can't write a serious LotF fic without violence. So, plenty of that ^__^ Also, there's gonna be slash… Lots and lots of slash ^____^ Consider yourself warned… or enticed…
One
Twilight was just filtering from the sky when Jack returned. He gave a brief wave to the boys guarding his cave before slipping through the narrow entrance. Samneric, now gangling preteens, nodded and saluted with their spears as their leader passed. Inside, Jack's sharp eyes picked out the scattered debris on the dark floor – bones and scraps of fur, a fruit-shell gourd used to hold water. He padded to the back, completely silent, and crouched before a small fire that flickered and smoldered without smoke, a trick learned by the boys when they had used a certain type of tree as firewood. In a pigskin pouch at his side were several chunks of meat; he pulled them out, skewered them on sharpened sticks lying ready, and held them over the bright embers. A moment later and the warm, mouth-watering scent of cooking meat filled the room.
"You shouldn't feed me any more, Merridew." Jack glanced up from his sizzling meal, glaring into the shadows until a shock of white emerged. "You gonna keep me in here and you may as well kill me now." Ralph shook off the pig-hide covering, kicking out his pale legs and arching his back in a stretch. His white skin glowed in the fire's dim light, the result of being confined for nearly all of three years.
Jack grunted and gave a half-hearted shrug. He flipped the meat over, staring resolutely at the fire. Across from him, Ralph knelt and drank from a bowl of water that lay nearby. He held it out to Jack when he was finished and the redhead exchanged the bowl for the cooked meat. Ralph spent no time before gnawing on the burnt pig-flesh.
"You ain't havin' a problem with it," Jack observed dryly after taking a long draught. The other boy didn't bother to reply. Jack smirked and pulled out another strip of meat to cook. Then, in the silent chasm that stretched between them, he dropped his words. "Roger's a problem," he began, hunched over the fire. "He's gettin' loud… doesn't respect the hunt anymore. I'd exile 'im if the other big'uns didn't love 'im." The island's leader growled and punched the floor. "That slimy git is headin' for some real trouble."
"I heard him talking to Samneric," Ralph suddenly broke in. Jack's wide blue eyes flashed up, but Ralph took this moment to meticulously lick and suck the grease from his fingers. Just as Jack began to grit his teeth with impatience, Ralph finished and spoke again. "He was coming to see me, I think, but the twins stopped him. I heard them talking. Roger wanted to come in."
"See you? Why?" Jack tore a hunk of juicy, salty meat off of his stick. Ralph's moon-white shoulders moved in a shrug.
"I dunno. He didn't say nothin.'"
"He must be up to something…" Jack threw his stick into the fire with an angry flick of his wrist. He glared at Ralph, who looked at him calmly, one brow raised. "But what in bloody hells would he want with you?" Ralph shrugged again and lay back.
"What do I know?" he asked the ceiling, folding his arms behind his head. "I'm just your little pet."
"Don't gimme that." Jack's searching fingers found a small pebble and he tossed it onto Ralph's stomach. "We all know you're more than that. You're the bloody brains on this damned island."
"It's too bad no one ever listened to me." Ralph brushed the stone off and rolled onto his side, watching Jack from over his shoulder. Jack snorted.
"Like holdin' a grudge, don'tcha?"
"If it weren't for you and your blood-thirsty ways, Merridew, we'd've been off this island years ago." Ralph's voice was tired as they followed the worn track of three years of these conversations. He flopped over onto his stomach and rested his head on his arms.
Jack stared at Ralph's feet, twitching by the fire, before he spoke. "We haven't been too badly off… We've a home here." On one heel was a long gash – it looked deep and painful.
"A home, eh?" Ralph's voice was muffled. "A home where three more boys have died?" Jack glared at the fair head as Ralph continued. "This isn't a home, it's a death trap."
Jack scrambled, spider-like, around the fire, hissing, "Be silent! This is our island!" He shoved at the unresponsive boy, rolling him over onto his back. "This is our island and no one else's! Have some respect for that."
"Merridew." One brow lifted, Ralph stared down the hunter. "You know as well as I," he said, "that we can't survive like this. We're losing boys and they won't come back."
"Feh!" Jack sat back on his heels. "A couple of little'uns… No matter." Ralph's reply was to stretch his arms, sigh, and relax, closing his eyes as though Jack was no longer present. The choirboy glared before slinking back to his original spot by the fire. "We survived," he muttered sullenly, "we're men now."
There was a long silence, Jack irritably flicking twigs and shards of wood into the fire, before Ralph spoke. "We haven't survived, Merridew, we're surviving. This isn't a real life." He sat up, eerily pale as his blue eyes burned with the reflected firelight. An unwilling shiver trickled up Jack's spine at the ghostly spectre before him. "We're hanging here, Jack--" he spit out the name "--with no way forward and no way back." He held up one arm and Jack flinched at the sight of a jagged, red tear that reached from the inner wrist to elbow. "We can only die."
Jack lunged forward and grabbed Ralph's wrist, dragging the smaller boy closer so he could inspect the wound. "What did you do?" he demanded, running a finger close to the dry and scabby ridge. The inflamed flesh was hot under his touch.
"Three years in this cave, Merridew, and I was bound to snap." Ralph's lidded eyes glittered with wry humor. "But then, my stick did, too. They don't make the best razors." He shifted closer on his knees until only a small space was between the two boys. "Could you imagine it?" he breathed, eyes now lit by more than just the fire. A nearly hysterical expression twisted his mouth and widened his eyes. "What would it be like for you, Jack--" once again the name was spat like a vile curse "--to come home to your little cave and find me dead and rotting with the bones and scraps of hide? Then would you realize that this is no island?" His voice, growing louder and higher as the boy became more agitated, broke on the last word. "This is no island, Merridew, this is hell!" He made to wrench his arm out of Jack's grasp, but cried out when Jack held on and the wound tore. Then he seemed to crumple in on himself, going limp and covering his face with his other hand.
Jack watched Ralph's blood creep sluggishly around the fingers he'd pressed into the soft, white skin. He felt in a daze and shook his head to clear it. The fair-haired boy shivered before him, tremors of madness shaking the bony ridge of his spine. He blinked and reached out with his other hand to nudge a pale shoulder. Ralph was unresponsive, so Jack reached his arm around and pulled the boy to his feet. When dull, glazed eyes met his own, he shrugged.
"It's bloody well time for you to see the stars," he muttered, "and we may as well clean your arm." They started towards the entrance, ducking under a rounded, shallow stalactite. "Let's go outside."