On another plane, in darkness, a man's body hung suspended in midair. Writhing. All over his body, runes written in a tongue unspoken for ages blazed with light, working their way into him, translucent now beneath his skin. Changing him.
Had he been aware, he would have been in unbearable agony. He was conscious; the runes held him so, because it was essential that his mind remain active while its pathways were redrawn and its connections rearranged. The runes, despite their temporary magically-imbued life, were not sentient. They did not care that the pain they caused was beyond the capacity of most human beings to endure. They were not malicious in their actions. They simply had a task to perform, which they did with little regard for the well-being of the canvas on which they worked.
He was doing well, so far. His mind had made the transition into the dreamstate successfully. There, his consciousness, that spark that made him Marron Glaces, could be preserved against the inevitable pain and confusion that the changing provoked, until the process was complete.
Then, of course, came the real danger. For what mind, held safe in a place of pleasant memory and gentle dreams, would willingly rejoin itself to a weakened, tormented fleshly form?
Unaware, Marron dreamed on.
He watches from above, seeing all, understanding at last what was unclear then.
He sees the boy he once was, afraid and unhappy, brought to this place of magic by parents who suspect the destiny that awaits him, and who fear for his future. The boy knows only that he has left behind everything that has meaning to him: his friends, the relative safety of his village and family, his brother. Secretly, within his heart, the boy is certain that this is his parents' way of getting rid of him. The weakling younger child, the strange one. Already, realizes the watching, dreaming Marron, the boy is aware that he is... different.
But the first glimpse of the school stirs tremors of fascination in the boy's heart. He is young, but already sensitive, already a dreamer, and the gleaming walls and magical promise of the place touch something within him that only his mother has sensed, to date. Here, the walls whisper, he can become a part of something vast and arcane. Here, he can be what he was always meant to be.
And here he is welcomed, by the headmaster of the Mizu school himself, a man named Zeii. Known also as the Lord of Water, an adept of the highest order, one of the most powerful magicians on the planet. Once upon a time, he turned down a commission to join the Haz Knights when Zaha Torte, then-Lord of Fire, broke from their ranks. With more magic than a thousand Sorcerers, Zeii could---if he wished---rule the world. Or destroy it.
The boy knows none of this. He sees only that the man has kind eyes, and a gentle manner that somehow eases the pain the boy feels at being alone and in a strange place. Even later, after he learns the truth about Zeii, this ancient wizard hidden within the body of an ordinary-seeming man of perhaps thirty-five, it is Zeii's kindness on his first day at the school that he remembers most. First impressions do not fade easily.
He begins the training, and discovers a world of wonder. He has a unique talent for magic, almost unheard of in recent years, and he is hungry, so hungry. He craves power, not for any evil purpose but solely for the joy of having it; for the first time he begins to see himself as something more than a weakling or a burden. The dreaming Marron smiles, remembering.
He discovers the delights of flexing the formerly untested muscles of his mind, and exults in the precision and unpredictability of the powers that begin, slowly, to come under his command. Now he can speak a word, and his voice summons the elements. He can wave a hand and lightning leaps to do his bidding. A simple piece of rice paper, inscribed with symbols of power and wielded by the tips of his fingers, becomes a blade as precise as a sculptor's knife---or a living thing, leaping to the commands of his will. It is like water, the boy thinks to himself, containable and yet untamable, like poetry, limitless and yet constrained by words, and gestures, and thoughts. He is a young artist a-borning, and the world waits to hear his songs of creation.
So enraptured is the boy with his new world that he misses what his older self, with the omniscience of the dreamstate, sees. Many eyes are upon the boy, waiting to see what flowers in the sweet soil of magic, under the steady light of learning. Not the least among these is the Lord of Water himself, in his white-walled tower. Through the boy's teachers, Zeii observes, surreptitiously guides. He stopped teaching centuries earlier, but this child is a special case. There is great potential here, and it must be carefully nurtured, for a new Mage comes into the world only rarely, and then at great peril. Zeii knows; he remembers his own youth, so long ago that the memories are pale and faded. He remembers the dangers he faced, known and unknown, and his own difficult path to power. And if he watches the boy more carefully than is strictly necessary, Zeii tells himself, it is only out of nostalgia.
The boy Marron is oblivious. For the first time, he finds himself with friends that his brother and parents did not procure for him. The other students of the school are also the strange ones of their families. They all know something of what he has felt his whole life; they like him and accept him for who he is. It is a heady thing. He passes his first two years at the school swiftly, in a state of near-constant euphoria. For the first time in his life, he is truly content, truly happy. The school has become his home.
And yet... maturity, approaching swiftly and early, brings new challenges. His friends begin to pair off in the first tentative waltzes of courtship, and he again finds himself isolated, curiously. He has no lack of potential partners, with all of the schoolgirls enchanted by his dark waterfall of hair, eyes like pools at midnight, and diffident demeanor. He accepts their giggling worship without really noticing. He is aware that he is beautiful to them, but thinks nothing of it.
It does not occur to him to wonder if this is another kind of difference. In the dark of his dreams he is assaulted by formless, unfocused desires, images and thoughts that confuse him. Disturbed by their intensity and his inability to interpret them, he develops the habit of taking a walk in the small hours, when the dreams are at their most sly.
Most times he is alone in his nocturnal expeditions, sharing his thoughts only with silence. But one night, hearing a sound, seeing light and movement, he goes to a window to investigate. What he sees shocks---and enraptures---him to his core.
In one of the high-ceilinged practice halls, two people are dancing. Their movements are slow, shockingly graceful, devastatingly precise in their syncopation---and yet somehow spontaneous, free. They float in midair, each surrounded by a glowing, living, lazily lashing nimbus of light and variegated color. The boy watches in wonder as the dancers move: circling one another, dipping, ascending, touching and drawing apart. No matter how far apart their bodies move, their magificent auras remain in intimate contact, swirling together and flaring at times and rippling with new hues and unimaginable forms that only hint at specific shapes. If there is music, only they hear it, despite the harmony and rhythm of their gyrations. When he listens carefully, he feels, almost hears... something. The music of the soul, perhaps.
It is beautiful, it is ethereal, it is magic made manifest, joy given tangible form, and the boy can only think, as he watches and marvels, that he must somehow learn this aerial ballet for himself. It is a yearning as keen as lust.
He watches until they land, two anonymous teachers, waits until they leave, and then slips into the chamber. He has always been a quick study, but this art eludes him; he tries and manages to achieve levitation, but his movements are grotesque compared to the beauty he recalls, and he can produce nothing like their marevelous swirls of power. He drops to the ground, panting, in despair. Only to be startled out of his anguish by a hand on his shoulder.
"I'll teach you, if you want," Zeii says softly. The boy, not daring to question his good fortune or the headmaster's sudden generosity, accepts.
The dreaming Marron understands.
It becomes an obsession. Every night, the boy rises without alerting his bunkmates. He goes to the practice hall. There, Zeii instructs him in the forms of the dance which has no name. It is far, far more complex than it first appears. The boy must learn the few set-steps of the dance, develop finer control of his chi and his growing, pubescent body. He must practice magical abilities that are not taught to mere apprentices. Zeii is both an encouraging and a firm teacher. He pushes the boy to perform to his full potential. There is no need to push hard. The fever to learn is in the boy. Gradually, he grows more graceful, more practiced.
And gradually, he realizes that the dance is no longer his main obsession.
There is no specific incident to trigger it. It is simply there, suddenly. One night after practice the boy goes to sleep with the eerie psychic melodies of the dance playing in his mind. The next morning he awakens consumed with altogether different thoughts. Thoughts of Zeii.
The turbulent throes of adolescence, which so far have left the boy largely untouched, strike at last with the full gale force of a hurricane. The next few weeks are a nightmare of confusion, fear, and desperately concealed longing, clashing and warring constantly in the boy's mind.
Wait, the dreaming Marron urges his younger self, silently. All will be well.
In the past, the boy suffers. This cannot be, he tries to tell himself. He does not want another man. He does not want a man old enough to be a distant ancestor. He does not want an ancient man who also happens to be the headmaster of the Mizu school, and his highest superior. It is beyond inappropriate. It is insane.
But he cannot stop thinking about Zeii.
Zeii's unfailing gentleness. Zeii's soft voice, and knowing eyes. Zeii's ageless beauty, and grace.
It is madness, he is certain. And yet he is helpless against the realization that this is a madness he craves.
His friends notice his distraction, but he cannot, will not, share his feelings with them. His fear of being alone and friendless again is too great for him to risk their almost certain censure. His teachers notice small slips, lapses of concentration, that are unusual in their finest pupil, but they can determine no cause for this.
Zeii notices, notes the dreamer. Zeii has been the recipient of such affections from students before, on occasion throughout his long past. He has dealt with each, in those past instances, with the quiet wisdom and firmness which he knows is needed to distance himself from adolescent fantasy. He could do so now, and reduce the boy's growing yearning to a harmless infatuation, a passing boyhood crush, with only a few well-chosen words.
But he says nothing. He is ancient, but still human. He still makes mistakes. Still has weaknesses.
They meet every night, continuing their practice, never speaking of the boy's uncomfortable silences, his stammering shyness, his sudden awkwardness where before there had been only a driving determination to succeed. But there are no lies, in the dance. It is a baring of souls, a sharing of selves, and when their auras mingle, the boy can hide nothing. Nor does he want to, by the time they finally put lesson into practice. Zeii's image has haunted his dreams for months now, and his longing has become painful. He would rather risk rejection and humiliation than continue in this torment.
So they dance. Their souls reach, blend, soar together; their bodies move to the musics of their emotions. Hands touch. Eyes flicker in surprise, and then acceptance. Lips touch, hungry and aching and sweet. The dance ends. Their feet touch the ground. And the communion between them is shattered when Zeii realizes what he has done.
Outwardly, the mage does nothing more than draw breath sharply. But the links between them are slow to fade, and Zeii's shock and shame resonate to the boy, hurting him. The boy flees, overcome with misery and fear and need. Zeii flees in his own fashion, retreating to the garden and meditation, trying to fathom what has possessed him to desire this exquisite child of a mere fourteen years.
The dreaming Marron watches the boy curl, fighting tears, in his bed. He remembers that night, how it felt when to be that boy: the constriction in his chest, the dull ache of frustration in his body, the despair. He has reached too high, and burned his fingers on the cool, moon-touched blue of Zeii's eyes.
But... the dreamer watches his boy self open his eyes. The spiral of misery suddenly stops; a single spark of hope shines at the bottom of the well. Yes, urges the dreamer. Remember. The dance does not lie. The dance cannot lie.
The boy finally recalls, and understands. His own had been only half of the longing that swirled between them, in the miasma of the dance.
He tosses. He turns. And just before dawn, he makes his decision.
He floats up to Zeii's tower, through the window. Zeii has not yet returned. He prepares himself, feeling only a cold certainty in his belly; this is his only remaining chance. If he is refused, he will be humiliated and heartbroken---but better to risk all for the sake of what might be. He does not consider what will happen if he is accepted. Beyond the moment is of no concern to him.
The dreamer watches as Zeii returns, so absorbed in his troubles that he does not sense the presence in his quarters before he enters. An amazing lapse. The mage walks into his room and finds an angel in his bed: raven's-wing hair and ethereally innocent eyes, which lock onto him in desperate hope. He stares, stunned beyond speech or thought, as the boy rises, holding the sheet about himself to cover his nakedness.
Bare feet pad across the room, and then abruptly those eyes---so much deeper than they should be at his age, so much more intense---are gazing into Zeii's. "I love you," the boy whispers, letting the sheet fall open, and before he can stop it, Zeii feels his heart leap as it has not in centuries. Stirred to new life by this strange, beautiful child.
He could sample that youth and beauty, Zeii thinks, deliriously. The boy has made an offering of himself, and it would be a simple matter to accept. He lifts a shaking hand to the boy's face, remembers the frightful intensity of emotion that the boy flung at him, at the height of the dance. The even more shocking intensity of his own response. This is not infatuation.
And yet... and yet.
He caresses the smooth cheek, draws fingers down the long neck, out over the pale shoulders, lean young muscles held tense with anxiety. Desire is a living thing inside the ancient mage, clawing, demanding, but he has already been too much a slave to his emotions, over this boy. He reaches out.
And gathers the sheet to close it around the boy's slim frame. To the stricken face, he offers the only explanation that he can. "Not like this," he says, hearing the ache in his own voice. "Later. As an equal. Then, if you come back to me, if you still want me... but not now. Not like this."
The boy's face crumples, and Zeii thinks to himself, I have broken him. But then the boy looks up, and he is startled by the determination he sees in those young eyes.
"All right," murmurs the boy. "I will."
And the dreaming Marron knows: Zeii prays that the boy will keep his promise.
They are both conscious of propriety. The sun has risen. The school has awakened, so the boy stays in the tower with him that day. To talk. They speak of many things, learning about one another. When the sun sets again, they are no longer simply mentor and student; there is something new between them. When the moon rises and the school sleeps, they return to the practice hall. And dance. That much, at least, they may have.
Until now.
The dream ended. An instant later, his consciousness slammed back into his body.
The return of flesh brought agony; he twisted, feeling a hard surface beneath him, cold air on sweat-dampened skin. Through a roaring in his ears, he could hear his own throat working, trying to scream or gasp or both, managing only a weak gargle instead. He flailed, his limbs feeling strange and not his own, and contacted something. His eyes would not open.
"Marron. Marron!" The voice was unfamiliar; he whimpered when it echoed in his ears, too loudly.
"Don't worry. This is normal."
He tried to reach toward the voices in his confusion. "He's struggling--- hold him, Nashi---"
Hands took hold of his limbs, held them still; he moaned because his skin was sensitive and his whole body ached and the hands hurt. There were more voices, but they blurred together in his mind, meaningless. He was so tired... why? What had he been doing? It didn't matter. Fingers touched his brow, and another voice told him to sleep. Gratefully, he obeyed.
The next awakening came slowly, intruding only delicately into the darkness around his mind.
He became aware, first, of tremendous warmth and comfort, enveloping. It was almost enough to coax him back into sleep. But something tugged at his awareness, penetrating the soft warm darkness: sound. Liquid splashing and dripping. Something touched his brow, and the warm wetness ran down his face in rivulets, tickling the corners of his eyes. Water. He was floating in water. And someone was holding him. He opened his eyes.
It took a moment for him to focus; for an instant he saw a pale, shivering aura around everything, most brilliant around a person-shaped form nearby. He blinked, and the auras were gone. He was staring at the ceiling of a room. Turning his head, he saw that he lay, half-floating, in a wide, deep pool of steaming water. His head was the only part of him still above the surface. He turned his head again. Zeii, sitting in the bath with him and bathing his face gently with a sponge, was supporting his head in the crook of one arm.
Marron stared at him, his mind sluggish for an instant, and then shock rang through him, clearing away the last of the haze surrounding his memories. The school--- the ritual--- this was Zeii's tower room---
Zeii smiled in that gentle way of his and lifted the sponge again, washing stray strands of Marron's hair away from his face to swirl among the rest floating in the pool. "Welcome back."
Oh, gods... He couldn't believe it. He was still dreaming. Fearful that the face would vanish, he tried to lift a hand to touch. He managed to get his arm halfway out of the water before a wave of dizziness swamped him, and he let the hand fall, frowning in confusion. "What---?"
"Easy." Zeii let the sponge float, and caught his hand. "You're still weak and disoriented. Give yourself time to recover."
The hand on his own was warm, solid, completely real; he closed his eyes again, almost weeping in relief. "I thought I'd never see you again..."
The soft chuckle was just like he remembered it: amused and faintly teasing. "Did you really?"
He opened his eyes again, drinking in the sight of Zeii's face. "Yes. A hundred times, during my journeys... "
"Ah. The journeyman years can be difficult. Yours more than most." Zeii released Marron's hand and placed his own on Marron's chest, lightly; Marron felt his stomach constrict. "And now that your journeying is done, and you've seen me again...?"
Marron frowned, focusing on him. The question had been carefully indifferent---but already he could feel the old resonance between them, renewing itself as if seven years had been mere minutes. Zeii was nowhere near as nonchalant as he seemed.
He smiled, feeling years of insecurity and fear suddenly evaporate, and answered the unspoken question within the spoken. "Now? Now I'm not too young. Now I'm not your student anymore. What do you think I want?"
He had the satisfaction of seeing Zeii start, look swiftly at him, and---wonder of wonders---blush. After a moment, the Lord of Water smiled.
"I... had wondered. Whether you'd remember. Whether you'd... still want me."
"Whether I---" Marron tried to sit up, splashing water as he discovered, to his dismay, that he was as feeble as an infant. Sinking back into Zeii's arms, he exhaled and found himself out of breath from the effort. "What's happened to me? Why am I so weak?"
"The ritual. Do you remember?" Zeii lifted his hand again, stroking Marron's hair back with a wet hand. "You're a Mage now. Magic is part of your flesh and blood, for as long as you live. Which, if you're careful, should be an incredibly long time." He smiled a little, trailing fingers down Marron's throat; Marron could only shiver helplessly at the touch. "You've grown so much more beautiful, now," Zeii added, wonderingly. "I can hardly believe it. You were beautiful before, but now..."
Self-consciously, Marron twitched a hand toward his face. "I can't believe you thought I'd forget."
"It was a possibility. I needed to prepare myself for the worst." Zeii shrugged a little and half-smiled, gazing down at him. Marron was amazed to see a lingering shadow of anxiety in his ocean-blue eyes. "Years pass like moments for me, sometimes... but I've felt every moment of these last seven." He sighed, and shook his head, snow-pale hair falling into his eyes and sticking to his forehead in the humid chamber. "Gomen nasai. I'm getting melodramatic on you."
Before Marron could reply, Zeii lifted him out of the water, kneeling on the rug to wrap him in a thick, plush towel for a moment, rubbing him briskly dry. Marron started to speak but shuddered instead as the little bit of strength he'd had left him, gravity quickly reasserting its power over his limbs; they dangled helplessly. Zeii nodded to himself, noticing, and carried Marron out of the bathroom, into the cooler air of the main chamber. The blankets and sheets of the bed lifted and moved aside as they approached; Zeii tucked him in and carelessly waved the sheets back into place, without so much as a glance at Marron's nudity.
"You'll recover relatively quickly," he said. "The same magic that preserves you now will restore your strength faster than normal. By tomorrow, you should be completely back up to speed."
He straightened, and Marron found his own eyes wandering over Zeii's body. Feeling a sudden stirring in his groin that belied his weakness, he swallowed, looking up into Zeii's eyes, questioning.
Zeii blinked, then blushed again, glancing down at himself with a hint of self-consciousness. Then he grinned, noting the flush in Marron's cheeks. "Or maybe you'll recover sooner than I thought."
Marron looked away, embarassed. Zeii leaned over him, touching lips to his forehead affectionately. "Sleep, Marron. Save your energy for something more useful. We'll talk after you've had another nap, and maybe you can eat something then."
He made as if to turn away, but Marron, on impulse, reached out quickly, groping for his arm with an unsteady hand. "Don't go---"
Zeii paused, blinking down at Marron's hand, then at his face; the flush on his own cheeks deepened a little. Regarding Marron silently for a long moment, expression unreadable, he slowly lifted the covers and slipped between the sheets himself.
For a long, awkward moment, there was silence, as they simply lay side by side, not touching. Unease was an almost palpable presence in the room, stirred only a little by the light breeze blowing aside the curtains of the tower window. The moment stretched on. Until finally, fearfully, Marron managed to compel his arm to move, to brush Zeii's hand with his fingertips.
With a groan, Zeii rolled over, taking Marron into his arms and pressing against him. Marron gasped and then lay still, unable to stop himself from trembling---whether from weakness or eagerness, he didn't know. Zeii's mouth found his, hungry and intent and yet hesitant, all at once. He didn't like the hesitancy. Managing to flop one arm around Zeii's neck, Marron kissed him back with all of the pent-up longing he could muster, trying to somehow project his willingness.
It was as if a match had been struck, somewhere. Suddenly Zeii's hands were everywhere on him, deftly exploring his body, stroking and caressing, and Marron let his head fall back. Zeii's lips ruthlessly covered his throat, his collarbones, his shoulders; Marron thought that he moaned. Murmuring against his skin, Zeii moved lower and touched his tongue to a nipple, circling. Marron arched instinctively, startled and thrilled by the ripple of pure pleasure that shot through him. His erection, standing sentinel, pressing an alarm urgently into Zeii's hip, and when Zeii's fingers found and then expertly stroked it, he clenched his teeth to keep himself from crying out, and failed. "Z-Zeii-sama---"
It was a mistake. The spell of lust rising between them shattered, and Zeii flinched, lifting his head and going pale. Marron groaned in frustration and dismay.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called you that. You're not my teacher any more."
Zeii nodded, sighing. "No, I'm not. But it brought back all the old feelings." He shifted onto his side, propping his head on one arm, and Marron missed his weight already, his whole body aching and demanding. He looked at Zeii, mutely pleading.
As if hearing his frustrated thoughts, Zeii chuckled and laid a finger on his lips, stroking lightly. "You don't know what a torment you were to me, Marron. So beautiful, so eager... and practically a child..."
"I was fourteen. In some parts of the world, people get married at that age. Or younger."
"I know, I know." He sighed again, finger trailing lightly over Marron's chin. "But it was more than just your age. It was... your innocence, I suppose. I couldn't imagine that anyone as... pure as you could feel as intensely as you seemed to feel, for me. And yet... I could tell that your feeling was genuine. It scared me, I must admit. I kept you at arm's length because of that fear. And because you were my student."
Marron concentrated and caught Zeii's hand, holding it as tightly as he could. "It hasn't changed. I still feel the same. More. It's had seven years to grow."
"So I see." Zeii's smile was at once amazed and bashful; he suddenly ducked his eyes. "I want you to understand, Marron. Before now, there hasn't been anyone for me in... a very long time. I don't take lovers easily."
Marron felt something inside him clench painfully, mingling joy and tension. "Well, now there's me."
"Aa." Zeii looked up at him again, eyes darker than usual; he spoke more softly. "Now there's you."
Silence fell for a long moment, and then Marron closed his eyes, exhaling. "Then... if you're not afraid of me anymore..."
Raising an eyebrow, Zeii chuckled, reaching out to stroke the ever-recalcitrant strands of hair away from his face. "Marron, you can barely move."
Marron lowered his eyes shyly. "I... I don't have to move much."
Zeii's laughter set Marron's cheeks aflame; he looked away in embarassment. Zeii tapped his nose with a finger, chiding. "Those seven years of abstinence must have been terribly hard for you, my dancer. No..." and he leaned down to plant a light kiss on Marron's lips, "...you can wait a little longer, I think. It'll do you no harm to rest. Besides..." His smile grew lascivious. "I want you strong."
Marron could feel the blush cover most of his face, this time.
"Now. Sleep." Zeii sat up, tucking him in. "When you wake, we'll catch up. I want to know all about your journeyman period, and these Sorcerer Hunter friends of yours, and your family and everything else. And later we'll begin your instruction; you have new abilities now, and you'll need to start exploring them to get control of them. It seems I must be your teacher again after all, if only for a short time. Mostly, from here on, you will teach yourself." He abruptly paused, watching him, his eyes softening. "And perhaps, after that, we shall dance together again. Ne?"
Marron smiled back, shyly, suppressing a surge of pure avarice. "Uhn."
The need for sleep caught him then. He felt himself begin to drift, lulled by the warmth and Zeii's presence. But a last thought passed fleetingly through his mind, its edges blunted by sleep---
What do I tell him... about Gateau?
**End Ch. 4