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Even after escaping Leá Monde, Ashley was in the company of the dead who had not yet ceased to move. At least, it seemed that way to him. The man sitting across the table was wasting away before his eyes.
It would not be long before he was gone completely, Ashley was certain. In fact, upon first breaking free of the crumbling city into the light of dawn, he'd thought with frustration that he'd ended up rescuing nothing more than a corpse. A few moments later, though, that corpse had lifted his head a little, groggily, and regarded him with glittering, pain-filled eyes.
-----
After spending a day in Leá Monde, Ashley had eyed Sydney warily - he could very well be dead regardless of his movement... But no, after setting the cultist down gingerly upon the ground, taking care to mind the terrible wound on his back, Ashley found that there was still a pulse, and the lungs still contracted and expanded slightly, drawing hissing breaths into lungs so choked with dust and exhaustion that they could not so much as cough to clear themselves. Sydney was alive, though injured badly enough that he fell back into unconsciousness again as soon as he was left to rest, and he could probably be saved - particularly if the burning sensation on Ashley's back and the strange whispers at the edges of his hearing meant what he thought they did... what they'd told him they did.
Regarding his unlikely companion bitterly, Ashley wondered if he should bother trying to heal Sydney at all. After all, his mission had simply been to pursue Sydney, to bring him back for judgment if possible. It had not been to save his life. And after all the cultist had put him through, he'd inflicted this upon him.
Honestly, Ashley was so weary and so lacking for patience that he would have happily ended Sydney's misery with his own hands - even if he had apologized back in the cathedral. Ashley had accepted the apology at that time, but he'd had no idea that Sydney had plotted even more for him than he'd already suffered. Now here he was, stuck with this... thing... and he had no idea what he was supposed to do with it.
Which, of course, was precisely why he had to keep the cultist alive.
With a resigned sigh, he began to look through the satchel at his waist, filled with some of the more useful items he'd come across during his time in Leá Monde. There were the roots of some plant, apparently imbued with curative properties after so many years growing amidst the stones of Leá Monde, a city founded by and filled with magical energy... but being unconscious, Sydney was likely unable to swallow, much less chew. And after his battle with Guildenstern and the flight to escape the crumbling city - not to mention having had no sleep since he'd been awakened to go to the Bardorba residence a day and a half ago - Ashley couldn't seem to concentrate enough to cast a spell of healing, even if the faint murmurs seemed to tell him that his magic was much more powerful now that he was the sole heir of Leá Monde's power.
He still wasn't even sure how he knew that.
His questions would be answered, though, if he could just get Sydney awake and talking - and Sydney would talk, Ashley thought grimly, or he would put him in even worse shape than this until he did. Fortunately, he found upon closer examination of his satchel that he still carried a bulb from the mana plant, which he chewed and swallowed quickly. Extracts of the mana plant were known to clear the mind, but he'd had to make do with the raw material during his mission. Sure enough, he found his scattered thoughts returning to proper order within moments, and he focused upon a healing spell, drawing the magic to him with the incantation. Or perhaps not to him, precisely - this time it felt as though the energy flowed out from somewhere deep inside himself, and far more powerful and insistent than it had ever been before. It was certainly a disturbing sensation, but he would worry about it later, he decided, firmly finishing the spell.
He could feel the elements entering Sydney's body just as he'd felt it entering his own when he'd cast the spell on himself so many times within the city, and their soft touch rushed foremost to the injury on the cultist's back, calming the nerves and knitting skin and tissue together. Though it healed much more than Ashley had expected, it still spent its power long before the injury was healed, and so he cast again. Once more, the power was not sufficient to heal Sydney completely, and so again he cast the spell. Something was not right, he began to realize, for the spell's energy was not going just to Sydney's physical wounds, but spreading out through his entire body, and much of it seemed to vanish without having had any effect at all, as if absorbed.
The reserve of magic that the mana bulb had given him was running low already, and it was obvious that this was not going to fix the problem. Kneeling on the grass over the cultist, Ashley found himself swaying with weariness and the overwhelming power flowing through him. He was going to black out soon, he realized. Thinking quickly, he used the last of his energy to murmur a different spell, one that would heal an injury slowly, over a period of time. Perhaps the constant flow of magic would be more effective than the sudden jolt of his usual healing spell, as it perpetuated and applied itself repeatedly...
...And also, he did not have to remain conscious for it to work, he thought faintly as he pitched forward onto the grass beside Sydney.
-----
But when he'd awakened, he'd found Sydney still in terrible shape. The skin had healed, mostly, though his back would be scarred horribly... but that was the least of his problems. Even after Sydney had awoken, he still seemed only half there, somewhat able to comprehend things, but unable to react to them with the grace and speed he'd once had. With the Blood-Sin, a great deal of his magic had vanished, including the ability to control his metal limbs as fluidly as he used to. Neither could Sydney speak, he drifted in and out of consciousness, and at first Ashley thought the mage might have lost his mind. Merlose had stumbled across them with Joshua in tow not long after Ashley woke, while Sydney was unconscious again, and one look at the teary-eyed boy through the eyes of the Keeper made it clear what the problem truly was.
It was going to be difficult to do what needed to be done, but Ashley knew that he had little time, and he'd dutifully carried Sydney some distance from the city before more investigators arrived; he was unable to walk on his own for long. In the time they'd spent thus far in the small stone lodge Sydney had mentally directed him to, the cultist had regained enough will and control to stumble across the single room and back, but not much further. And as for his hands...
Ashley was eating dinner at the moment - just a thin stew and some bread, nothing fancy. He'd have shared it with Sydney despite their current shortage of rations, but Sydney had refused. Not that Ashley was surprised. The mage's health was growing worse every day, and he'd not been able to keep food down even from the first. Three days later, it was a struggle to get him to drink even the soothing tea Ashley had acquired simply to keep him hydrated.
He was as stubborn as ever, though, and now his stubbornness was directed at the steaming mug set before him. Slowly, painfully, he maneuvered his artificial limbs, now stiff and mostly unresponsive, so that his metal palms were on either side of the mug. It was without grace that they slid together around the vessel, bladed fingers trying again and again to slide between the handle and the mug itself, and finally press together tightly enough to lift it to his lips. It was a slow, excruciating process to have to go through for a drink, enough to make even a man who couldn't care less about his companion's wellbeing offer him assistance. Sydney's pride would not let him accept it, however, and so Ashley had been forced to watch the mage repeat this ritual over and over for three days. It had resulted in many broken dishes, until Sydney had finally given in and allowed Ashley to set a wooden one before him instead of clay. Even that, though, was a concession, and Sydney had turned his face to the wall for the rest of that night.
It irritated Ashley beyond belief that Sydney could be so selfish. Here he was, full of the knowledge of the Dark, aware of all its powers and limitations, and he was wasting both of their time by refusing to share that knowledge. Even a day was too long to be squandered on foolish pride, and they both knew it. One of the first things Ashley had been taught was that without the Blood-Sin, Sydney was no longer immortal.
With Sydney's flesh colorless and drawn tight, his face haggard and weary, Ashley knew he was still in the company of the dead who had not yet ceased to move, for Sydney's will was the only thing keeping him alive now. Will, and sheer frustration - his inability to accept or yield to his weakness. Regardless of his hollow ribs and unresponsive limbs, Ashley thought sometimes that Sydney might well go on living forever simply out of spite.
Sydney's pale lips slid apart in a smirk as he stared down with bitter satisfaction at the mug held awkwardly between his trembling palms. If anyone could be immortal simply by willing it so, Ashley thought, it would be Sydney.
-----
Sydney was smirking for an entirely different reason than Ashley assumed. So often his successor forgot that his many talents had been inherent, rather than a result of the Blood-Sin. The mark had amplified them, of course, but he could still assume a glamour if he chose, and he could still read hearts as easily as ever. Yes, even the heart of the Keeper of the Dark, for Ashley's strangely developed emotional barriers were still standing in the way of his creating more useful mental ones. He'd managed to erode some of those walls during the time they'd played their game of hart and hunter throughout Leá Monde, and even now Sydney continued to provoke his unwilling apprentice, to wear them away entirely.
But this amused him: the Riskbreaker actually thought he wanted to remain alive. In his present state, nothing would have pleased him more than death, but he had things to do before his time came. Many of these things had to do with Agent Riot.
Rosencrantz had been right, he thought idly as he took a careful sip of his tea, swallowing against the everpresent nausea. Ashley did have "the unquestioning faith of a child in his morality," and that had been both the primary motivation and the primary concern when it had come to choosing him as the successor. He was so firm and unwavering about doing the right thing, but so willing to go along with things as they happened... so willing to accept things as they presented themselves to him. The Dark liked to play games just as Sydney had - perhaps it was why the two of them got along so well - and so often what seemed to be 'the right thing' was precisely the wrong thing. Guildenstern had fallen victim to its darker urges for precisely that reason, and had Ashley not possessed so keen a sense of justice, the same fate would have befallen him not long after assuming the Blood-Sin. The Dark was, after all, unfettered in a way that none of the other elements were, since the fall of the dark god Balam so many centuries before, and it was up to the Keeper to keep it in check.
His father had been too uncertain, too fearful. He himself might have been a better option after all, had he not come to it so young. Of course, Joshua would have been an ideal choice... but that had been exactly what his father did not want now, despite all their careful planning and plotting. It was strange how a man's desire could change so completely when he found his days growing short. Sydney's certainly had, though he'd done his best to ignore it.
-----
"Sydney...? I beg your pardon for the intrusion, but..."
The mage lifted his head from the books, blinking slightly at the sudden adjustment of distance from the words a few inches before his eyes to Hardin's face, several paces away at the door. Hardin took on a look of concern as their eyes met. "You look exhausted, Sydney. Won't you come to bed?"
Sydney shook his head, once more looking down over the texts he was reading. "There are things I'd like to do tonight."
"They will still be there to do tomorrow," Hardin reminded him. "Is this really so important?"
"Well, yes," Sydney murmured absently. "When a man finds his days are numbered, he does his best to fit in all the things he can."
Though he hadn't been looking at Hardin, his friend's shock was almost tangible, and Sydney realized his mistake immediately. Forcing a light smile, he looked up at Hardin once more, before he could ask the question that was burning in his mind. "Guildenstern is thirsty for my blood after last night's little excursion, and you know how he can be."
Hardin's face relaxed somewhat, and he gave a nervous, relieved chuckle. "Indeed. He may simply climb over the walls of Leá Monde on the bodies of his own men just to put a sword through you, considering how you outsmarted him."
"And I'm terribly frightened, you can be certain," Sydney commented dryly. "My immortality and my minions dragged from the netherworld are no match for a fanatic and his sabre. I fear I may faint from the terror."
Hardin laughed softly, the last of his anxiety fading. "At least then you would sleep. Sydney, come to bed soon," he urged again. "You've barely slept for days, and with your health as it is... you could use some rest."
Sydney almost said precisely the wrong thing - There will be plenty of time for rest when I am dead - but he refrained from making the same mistake twice in one night. "In a bit," was all he said. "Go on back to bed yourself, John."
Hardin was obedient, as usual, and after he'd gone, Sydney let the smile vanish as he returned to looking down at the books. Come to think of it, he was too tired to concentrate properly, as if his words to his friend hadn't been enough to tell him that already. He'd slipped, and rather badly at that - it was fortunate that he had such a convenient excuse as Guildenstern to fall back upon.
With a sigh, he closed the book. To be honest, the idea of going to bed was rather an appealing one, particularly with Hardin there waiting. Despite all the things he wished to do before his day arrived, there was another day to come before that. All that he really wanted to do was lie in Hardin's arms, warm and protective, and pretend that neither day would come.
-----
Sydney's eyes half-closed at the bittersweet memory. Had that really been only twelve days past? So much had happened since then... so much that he'd planned, and so much that had taken him by surprise. And of course, the last three days had been nothing short of torment. The body is a vessel for the soul, had said the philosopher Durai, but Sydney's soul had been relinquished in part for many, many years. Now very little of it remained, and with the Dark not curling through every inch of his being to fill the empty spaces, the vessel was falling apart.
It was almost enough to make him forget that John had died thinking he'd been lied to. Almost.
...No, that was a lie too - it didn't even come close.
-----
Lost within his own thoughts again, Ashley noted. The sharp pain now emanating from Sydney like an aura was now emotional as well as physical, and Ashley wished that the cultist would rein himself in better, for it was thoroughly disturbing. It was as if he'd given up any effort at being the heartless villain Ashley had once thought him to be, and the former Riskbreaker couldn't help but pity him. He didn't want to pity the man responsible for all this nonsense, and he was rather certain that Sydney would not want his pity anyhow.
It came regardless, though, particularly when Sydney's suddenly transparent thoughts drifted to his former companion. They revealed many things that Ashley really, truly would rather have not known - particularly when Sydney was lying awake in bed at night - yet Ashley could sympathize. He was still not entirely sure if Tia had been his wife or his prey, but whether Ashley was a victim of loss or guilt, he knew that Sydney felt both for Hardin.
Besides, it was that much easier to pity Sydney when his inner being revealed itself. It came not in the form of the shrewd, manipulative man he now was, but took on the unthreatening appearance of a small child. The Dark had revealed to him that it was no trick of Sydney's to make himself appear guileless - in fact, Ashley knew by now that that was the last thing Sydney would have wanted - but his most honest form, the truth that lay underneath the thick veneer. The cultist may have seemed to all the world to be dauntless and uncaring, but deep down there was a little boy who was sick and unhappy, who felt miserable over his best friend's death and his father's illness and all those who had been misled and betrayed by what he'd had to do; who was frightened of the visions he'd seen nightly for years, and the certainty of his imminent demise.
Having once been a father (Or was I? he reminded himself grimly), Ashley had the urge sometimes to wrap his arms around that ghostly little boy, to hold him and whisper to him that it was all right to cry, but he knew perfectly well that he would be embracing nothing of substance. And Sydney would not cry anyhow, in flesh or in spirit, for he was too stubborn.
Instead, as his body lacked a voice, it was this same unhappy child who effortlessly directed Ashley in his lessons as he learned about the new powers he possessed and the gods who gave them. The boy's mouth opened, and a small voice poured forth words of wisdom and knowledge that surpassed what most adults could manage. It was nothing short of eerie, but eerie was not anything to speak of next to the things Ashley had seen in Leá Monde, and he still possessed the detachment Sydney had spoken of at their first meeting; he simply took in the instructions on their own basis rather than that of the instructor, checking the things he learned now against the things he'd already been taught, and examining it for truth and untruth. The whisperings of the mark on his back told him that all the things Sydney taught him were truths - but then, he trusted the Dark exactly as much as he trusted Sydney, which was not much. In fact, he was not sure there was that much difference between Sydney and the Dark.
Even so, the things Sydney told him seemed to add up, and Ashley was beginning to accept the cultist's words to be pure after all. They conflicted strongly with what he'd learned from the priests of Iocus, but he'd never truly believed in that saint of theirs anyhow, and he certainly hadn't been fond of the way they treated those who did not agree with them. Tia had been a believer, though, and for the sake of her memory (Whoever she might have been, he again reminded himself), Ashley found it difficult to divest himself of the teachings he'd taken in for so many years. And as for her pendant which he still wore... it was fortunate that the Rood was an older symbol than the religion of Iocus, for he would not have discarded the pendant even if it had been the symbol of a devil. Which, if the followers of Iocus had heard and believed the things Sydney told him, it could very well have been denounced as, despite their current use of it.
But for now, the lessons had ceased while they took their meal, or what passed as one. Rather than regarding him with an unearthly wisdom, the boy's eyes were squeezed shut miserably, his small fists clenched and his jaw set as he sat weightlessly on the floor a short distance from the table, against the cold stone wall of the cottage. John... I miss you. I... I don't feel well... I wish you were here with me... your kindness...
Ashley did his best to ignore the words, for they were not meant for his ears. Instead, he focused on the physical body on the opposite side of the table from him. Blonde head was bowed, and dark, colorless eyes were closed beneath pale lashes in a picture of serenity, lightly veiled by traces of steam rising from the puddle of hot tea upon the table's surface; the unresponsive hands had dropped Sydney's mug in one of the spasms that often came upon them when Sydney was distracted.
"You look tired."
Sydney looked up at the sudden audible words. As always when he spoke, Ashley felt slightly self-conscious for breaking the silence that had been nearly a constant since they'd arrived at the lodge, and slightly relieved. In the last several days, he'd been host to so many ghostly whispers and words heard only inside the mind that it was both alien and comforting to hear a human voice speak aloud again, even if it was his own. "Why don't you lie down and rest for a while before we go on with our discussions?" he continued.
After a moment's pause, Sydney nodded, pushing himself stiffly up from the table, noticing apparently for the first time that he'd spilled his drink. He half-heartedly frowned at the overturned mug and the puddle for a moment before turning away and hobbling towards his bed. Ashley had quietly placed the spare chairs that were not needed at the table at seemingly random but strategic points around the room during the night after they'd arrived, while Sydney was asleep. Whether or not Sydney knew they'd been placed there specifically so he would have something to aid him as he moved around, he made use of them just as Ashley had intended, gripping the backs clumsily and leaning his weight upon them as he slowly made his way across the room. It was painful and pitiful to watch, but Ashley knew by now that Sydney would not accept any assistance he might have offered, and so he watched in silence.
As he watched to see that Sydney reached the mattress safely, Ashley wordlessly brushed a rag over the table, wiping up the spilled tea, then took their dishes to the well outside for washing. Despite the season, there was a chill in the air due to the north wind and the overcast night, and once he had finished, he opened the door to the small building that stood beside the lodge, stepping gladly into the warmth.
Whoever had once lived here had made a hobby of blacksmithing apparently, for which Ashley was grateful. The workshop was small and dingy, and the tools not of the finest quality, but there was a hot forge and a flat anvil, and that was far more than he'd expected. A large bin of coal against one wall had been half-full when he'd arrived, and he'd taken pains to conserve it as he worked, repairing the weapons and armor that had been damaged throughout his time in Leá Monde, and even improving them little by little.
It was a welcome task to him; it gave his mind something to think about that was tangible, not subjective or fleeting. The hammer and the tongs were solid in his hands, unlike the elemental tools Sydney instructed him in. When he was finished, and the hissing steam had ceased to spill forth, he could remove the metal from the cooling water and hold it in his hands, seeing the light of the forge glint off sharp edges and angles in a perfectly logical and normal manner, unlike the things he saw in his jumbled memories.
One memory he could be sure of was that he'd been apprenticed to a blacksmith for a time when he was young, and he recalled that he'd taken to the job with remarkable quickness. The same endurance, persistance, and attention to detail that caused him to excel as a Riskbreaker had served him well in his apprenticeship, and the smith had kept him on for some time before Ashley left to...
...Why did I leave?
That was where the memories began to turn in upon themselves, obscuring truths and revealing contradictions, but Ashley chose not to think about it now - this had become his refuge from such things. Working the bellows, slightly stiff with disuse, he fanned the smoldering coals he'd left in the forge the night before, until they were red hot once more and he could begin.
Blacksmithing was a job that begged patience and attentiveness, and as he went through the steps he knew by heart, he remained aware of the more troubling things in his life, but not overly so. In the rhythm of hammer upon anvil, his thoughts were never allowed to stray too far from the task at hand, and everything seemed more a puzzle to solve than a problem to be preoccupied with. By the time he'd tempered and replaced the blade on a broadsword he'd been working on over the past day, Sydney had been restored in his mind to the enigmatic mage he was, perfectly dangerous despite his current weakness. He was someone to be wary of, not sympathetic towards.
The next task on Ashley's list was to repair an articulated damascus gauntlet, half of a set he'd forged from scraps found in Leá Monde; some of the small plates over the knuckles had been dented by a vicious blow that Guildenstern had dealt him during their rooftop battle. He frowned as he lifted it to eye level before him, peering at two fingers that remained stiff and straight even when he tried to bend them manually. It would be time-consuming, painstaking work to smooth and realign those plates upon the leather glove that served as their base, and he opted to leave it until the next day.
After spreading out the coals within the forge to let them cool, he removed the smith's apron and began to clean the workshop up, putting aside the tools and gathering his own weapons and armor together. Finally the coals' red hot glow had faded to ashy grey, and he returned to the lodge.
At first glance, he thought Sydney had fallen asleep, but dark eyes flickered open at the slight sound of the door being carefully closed. The little boy who suddenly appeared standing beside the bed greeted him with a faint frown of disapproval. What need does the Keeper of the Dark have for armor of metal and leather?
"The need for diversion," Ashley answered. "Or did the previous Keeper relinquish everything he once enjoyed when he came to power?"
The boy's face grew darker, but Sydney's lips drew together in a cynical smile as he sat up. So, shall we resume our studies?
Ashley nodded as he turned a chair to sit down across from Sydney. The cultist's thoughts were well-hidden once more, and it was back to business.
-----
The Dark is drawn to many things.
The eerie vision of the young boy was perched upon the edge of the bed in the evening's sunlight, specks of dust drifting oddly through him as he sat with hands folded primly in his lap. Ashley was reminded once more of the child he'd mistaken that spectre for at first glance - the younger Bardorba, Joshua. The two were identical, as far as he could tell, and that was saying a great deal; one did not become a Riskbreaker without sharp observational skills. He wondered vaguely if anyone but himself realized just how identical the two truly were - the duke, most likely, and Sydney himself of course, but perhaps none besides.
There are certain lines of power for all the elements, spreading through Valendia and abroad, the boy continued, in a tone that would have suited a lecturer far more than a little boy. The Dark flows in the same manner as Air, Earth, Fire, Water, and Light, though my Lady altered those lines of power to converge upon Leá Monde - and as well, the Dark seeks its own. Father Grissom's anger caught its interest, enough to grant him an ability few living can withstand - and that anger was strong enough that the Dark remained with him, sustaining him beyond the limits of mortal flesh as he summoned his creature. With Guildenstern, it was his delusions of grandeur, a fanatical madness, that caused him to become strong in the Dark even before he was consumed; with Hardin it was suffering that made him strong, but he respected the Dark, and was thus left unharmed. It is the negative energy of the soul that the Dark finds most alluring, and when it finds a soul overflowing with this energy, it becomes quite fond. To such a person, the greatest power is granted.
Ashley nodded slightly, and Sydney smiled. Your heart tells me that you wish to ask a question.
"It is not important, I imagine."
No - but you are curious nonetheless.
They had been through similar discussions often enough that Ashley knew he would not be able to evade the cultist's interest - though Ashley was the one who was curious, Sydney wanted to provide the answer every bit as much as he wanted to hear it. "I do not suffer," Ashley stated, opting to give in gracefully, "and I do not feel angry. Nor am I mad, to my knowledge."
Sydney nodded. Your mind may be marred, Riskbreaker, but it is still sound.
"So then." Ashley did not feel a need to elaborate more, as Sydney undoubtedly knew exactly what he intended to ask.
It is not only the destruction of the soul that the Dark fancies, but that of the body. Within the walls of our city, you saw how it craves the flesh - an empty vessel waiting to be filled. It craves death.
Ashley snorted, folding his arms across his chest. "I am alive, Sydney."
Yes, you are, Sydney agreed with a smirk. But it appreciates someone who can provide it with what it desires most.
A sudden chill ran down Ashley's spine, and he suppressed the urge to shudder as the mark on his back tingled strangely. "...I am not a killer."
Aren't you? The little boy spectre mirrored Sydney's curious, knowing expression.
"I am not." Ashley's answer was firm. "On the rooftop of the cathedral, I was given a vision. Tia told me she knew happiness with me - she urged me to trust in my heart."
Then what does your heart tell you?
Ashley considered for a moment, and opted not to answer.
I see - you have your doubts. The little boy's lips twitched, as if he found something humorous. But does it matter whether you were an assassin who slaughtered peasants in cold blood, or the innocent victim of a tragic crime? Years have passed, and you are no longer either. As a Riskbreaker, you used what skills you possess in the name of justice. The Dark does not consume you when you call upon it - this proves you are neither selfish nor cruel. Though the Dark may seem to be a wild thing, it is an unfailing judge of character.
The smile had faded from the little boy's face, and Ashley found himself being regarded with almost a sympathetic expression, though Sydney's remained aloof. Taken slightly off guard, he nodded. "...Thank you."
My words are no compliment, but merely a statement of fact, the child told him with a dismissive shrug. Besides, he added more coldly, how many creatures did you dispatch as you passed through Leá Monde? How many of Guildenstern's knights? You killed two of my brethren at the duke's manor. Sydney's penetrating stare, coming from the eyes of a boy, held him fast. And this was only one of many missions during your career as Riskbreaker. Though you are no murderer, you are still a killer. And a talented one, for you kill very well.
Ashley's eyes narrowed as he came to a sudden realization. "You summoned those things so that I would kill them - so that the Dark would see it."
Sydney smiled. Very perceptive, Riskbreaker. Now... your question has been answered - let us return to our lessons.
"I think not." Ashley rose from his chair, turning it back to the table on his way to the door. "Our lessons stop here for now, or I may be tempted to add one more kill to my record."
Mentally, he heard the sound of an irritable sigh. We have no time for such nonsense as your blacksmithing.
"Then perhaps you should cut back on the time you spend provoking me," Ashley replied easily, closing the door behind him.
-----
He'd left the gauntlets in the workshop the night before, as well as a few other pieces he meant to work on, and now he looked them over again, debating whether he had the patience for such a detailed task tonight. He decided that he did, and removed the rivets holding the small plates together while the forge's fire slowly warmed to the necessary temperature.
Working with the smallest hammer present, he carefully reshaped the metal to its proper form, and decided that he had indeed chosen the right task for this evening - such work required enough attention and finesse that his mind was kept occupied. Sydney's mocking was nearly forgotten.
Between steps, however, as the metal alternately heated or cooled, his mind did drift to the subject of that mocking. It seemed unlikely that he would ever be free from this question, as few of the people who he would have asked were still alive, and he did not trust any of them besides. Believe your heart, she had said, but Sydney was right - even his heart was not trustworthy.
As he was replacing the rivets on the first gauntlet, something occurred to him. The woman and child, whether they were Tia and Marco or strangers he'd never known, were dead. They were the only ones who had the right to condemn him or forgive him, either for killing them or for letting them die, and they were gone. The only person left now who could offer him closure was himself.
Unless, of course, their souls still roamed the earth; after Leá Monde, he was well aware that it was a possibility.
But if it had been the two of them who had appeared to him in those visions, they had offered nothing but kindness. If it had not truly been them, then it seemed they intended to leave him alone. Who now would be tormented, if they bore no malice towards him? Only himself, and only if he chose to be tormented.
Having finished the gauntlets, he decided to work a little bit longer before returning to the lodge, and chose a damaged breastplate. It was much simpler work than the gauntlets, and left his mind free to consider his decision. No one would be hurt if he believed in Tia and Marco and the love they'd shared as a family, as far as he could tell, even if it wasn't the truth. There was no reason not to believe.
And starting this moment, he told himself, he would therefore never think about it again. He had done many impossible things as a Riskbreaker - he could do this as well.
His resolution lasted only until the forge cooled for the night, and he returned to the lodge to find the lamp turned down and Sydney in bed, but still awake, as evidenced by the ghostly child sitting nearby. You know, the boy said, resting his head upon his arms, folded over his knees, I'm a bit surprised you forgot to ask the other obvious question.
He seemed to remember Marco sitting like that, when he was upset about something, but Ashley could not remember what Marco might have been upset about. It didn't matter, he reminded himself, and turned his attention to Sydney's words. "The other...?"
Yes, when we were speaking of how one becomes strong in the Dark.
"Ah. There is another cause, then."
The boy sniffed. It seems that you're more self-absorbed than I'd thought.
Ashley frowned slightly. "What is this other obvious question, then?"
The boy turned his head away, burying it in his arms. You never asked by which channel I gained my power - why the Dark chose me.
"Does it matter?"
Suddenly Sydney's eyes opened, glittering strangely in the dim light. His mouth opened as well, but was forcibly reminded that he could speak aloud no longer, and so he silently formed the word with his lips; the little boy had disappeared within a split second. No.
It was strange, Ashley thought, for Sydney never prompted him to ask questions unless the answers were something important or interesting. But then, he had to admit that he didn't understand Sydney at all.
It was not until some time later, lying in bed himself, that it occurred to him that perhaps Sydney didn't mean to make a lesson out of it - perhaps he simply wanted to talk about it.
-----
While washing the dishes at the well after the next day's dinner, prepared a bit early because the afternoon's lessons had gone quicker than expected, Ashley suddenly felt a tingle down his spine. That in itself would have been enough to tell him that he was being watched, but the Dark seemed to find it necessary to inform him as well.
He continued his task where he knelt by the bucket and basin, not turning his head or even pausing for a moment as he called upon one of the powers he'd so recently acquired. His eyes still remaining on the plate and rag in his hand, he surveyed the area carefully. There was no obvious sign of anyone else's presence; the only sounds were the ordinary evening sounds of birdsong and breeze rustling through the forest that surrounded the lodge. But there was definitely a feeling of life, and the tingling of the tattoo on his back told him it was close. He could even pinpoint the direction, just to the south, and it was moving now...
He swiveled his head in a split second - just in time to see the small grey cat emerging from a patch of underbrush. It paused at the sudden motion, twitched its tail, and mewed at him.
The grim look remaining on his face, Ashley turned back to his washing. It was all well and good to be aware of one's surroundings, but the Dark took it to a particularly unnecessary level at times.
When finished, he poured out the water in the basin, placing the cleaned dishes in it to carry them inside again - and turned to find the cat seated beside the door. Again, she looked up at him - and how he could tell that the cat was a female he could not even be sure - and uttered a more questioning meow.
After a moment's consideration, Ashley dropped to his knees again, stretching his right hand out towards the cat. She sniffed curiously at his fingers, then rubbed her face against his palm in a rather unsubtle suggestion. Ashley found he could not help but smile slightly as he obliged her, stroking the cat behind her ears as she squeezed her eyes closed and purred. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recalled that he'd had dogs once, though never cats. It didn't matter - the feel of living fur beneath his fingers was something he'd not felt for a long time, and it was warm and welcoming.
He could not stay outside petting her forever, though, for Sydney was still inside, waiting for him to finish and return so the lessons could continue. He seemed to be feeling a bit better than usual today, and that meant he was impatient to get as much as possible done. On a bit of a whim, Ashley set the basin full of dishes down and reached out with his other hand, slipping it beneath the cat's body. She did not object in the least when he lifted her to his chest.
Sydney's smile, as always, was cynical, but the young boy's face held a smile of another kind as he took note of what Ashley held in his arms aside from the dishes. So, you've made a lady friend, have you?
Ashley was mildly surprised by the spectre's fond gaze, but his face remained stoic as he set the dishes down on the table and shifted the cat to a more comfortable position. "She seems to like me. And I must admit, she is poised and graceful, though I can't speak for her lineage."
Sydney's lips twitched as the little boy laughed - honestly, for once. Yes... she is quite beautiful.
The cat mewled softly, and Ashley raised a hand to stroke the grey fur of her back, prompting a rumbling purr from her throat. "I don't suppose the Keepers make use of familiars...?"
Some have, the boy told him with a light shrug of his shoulders. I had no need... His face seemed to fall, just a little. Neither do you, as you seem to possess the same talent which Hardin used in my service. There is nowhere a creature can go that you cannot scrye yourself - and in fact, there are some places that even cats cannot go, where you could safely send your own eyes.
"I see." Ashley glanced down at the cat once more, ignoring the look on the little boy's face. "Perhaps I will keep her anyhow."
Is that wise, honestly? the young voice asked him. You've little enough to eat as it is, without feeding strays as well.
"If she's come all the way out here, and yet does not look half-starved," Ashley observed, "I assume she's used to taking care of herself. In fact, I suppose that explains the dead bird I found just yesterday."
Sydney grinned wickedly. Already offering you a dowry, is she? Ashley began to smile in response, in spite of himself, but Sydney's next words spoiled any chance of that. Perhaps next you'll be picnicking under a tree in a green meadow with her.
Ashley gave Sydney a dangerous look as he bent down to release the cat, who leapt eagerly from his arms and began to explore the room, sniffing at the oddly-placed furniture. "Why don't we get started?" he suggested, his voice purposefully and pointedly blank.
Earlier today, Sydney began as Ashley settled himself in the chair across from Sydney's, we were speaking of golems, dragons, demons... magical creatures that require a master on this plane. But what should happen if the current master must turn his attention to another matter? Some creatures should simply be banished, but with lesser creatures, it is enough to... you could say, 'tie off' the summoning, or pass control from the one who summoned to another with sufficient power and skill.
This lesson was much less complicated than the one that preceded it, as it did not require several dozen different phrases that might be reordered and exchanged for each other to summon the precise creature desired, and Ashley completed it to Sydney's satisfaction before the light had left the sky. He'd summoned a small dragon - in the house, much to his uneasiness and the indignation of the cat, but it was uncertain if Sydney could have stood for a trip out of doors, and a passing someone might have seen it anyhow. After the summoning, he had passed its control to Sydney, who then banished it to the realm it had been drawn from. That was why it had been a small dragon, naturally - Sydney could not have managed control over much else in his current state.
If I had lost control, and it had gone wild, he asked Ashley, what would you have done?
"I'd have slain it."
Sydney clicked his tongue disapprovingly, almost a startling sound given his silence since they'd arrived. That appears to be your answer to nearly everything. I suppose the question I should have asked is, 'what should you have done?'
Ashley was already not in the mood for his games, particularly not after the reintroduction of that topic. "My method would have solved the problem. What would you have done?"
Sydney smirked. Much better, Riskbreaker. The answer is rather simple, given the technique I have just taught you - if you are stronger than the one who has control, or the connection between summoner and summoned is tenuous, you may wrest authority from the creature's master. It is nearly the same method as passing control, but the energies must be reversed, and if done without the consent of the current master, it can be much more difficult.
Sydney stopped short all of a sudden, leaning forward slightly and looking down at his feet, where the cat rubbed fondly against him. The boy smiled as Sydney glanced back at Ashley with a smirk. Your paramour seems to find me attractive as well. The grey tail twitched against Sydney's legs as the cat encircled his ankles, purring.
Ashley watched, vaguely amused by the cat's innocent affection towards one of the most unaffectionate and least innocent people he had ever met. To his surprise, Sydney actually began to lean down, stretching forth a hand, before he caught sight of it and withdrew. I suppose your hands are better suited to please her than mine, however.
Nodding, Ashley leaned forward in his own chair, stretching out a hand and making a clicking sound with his tongue. The cat ignored it, continuing her circuit of Sydney's ankles, and the little boy laughed a little bit once more. Cats are not like dogs, Riskbreaker - they will not come when called, and they have no master. They shall do whatever they please, and listen to you only when they tire of their own ways.
"In that way, they remind me of someone I know." Ashley sat back, resigning himself to watching the unusual scene. The way Sydney had allowed the cat to disrupt their lesson mildly annoyed him, but it was intriguing to watch.
Sydney seemed as bemused as he by the cat's friendliness, and the mage raised an eyebrow, moving his dangerous hands to his sides, as she leapt into his lap. Hmm... very forward, your lady is.
"Yes - it was she who approached me, as I recall."
Placing a paw upon Sydney's bare, hollow chest, the cat stretched her body upwards to come nose to nose with him. As Ashley watched, bewildered, Sydney's mouth opened in a silent laugh, startling the feline for a moment, but she quickly recovered herself and offered a curious lick to the tip of his nose. Curiosity just might kill the cat this time, Ashley thought sardonically - but he had to admit that even when Sydney gave in and raised a hand to her, his touch was careful and soft, using only his palms and the edges of his unusual fingers to caress her fur.
It was something he'd never have expected from Sydney, this cautious affection, very much conscious of how dangerous his hands were. In that light, he could almost see how Sydney had acquired so many devoted followers, though his personality had grated on Ashley's nerves since the moment of their first encounter. It seemed he could be gentle when he chose after all, and attentive to the needs of those around him. If he could be kind even to a simple animal...
Ashley's thoughts were scattered by a sudden yowl as the cat leapt out of Sydney's lap, fleeing to a corner behind the wood stove. Perhaps it was the Dark's hunger which caused Ashley to see it so readily, or perhaps it was simply his training in the VKP; either way, the faint droplets of crimson the cat left behind on the floor - and upon the tips of Sydney's uncontrollably trembling fingers - stood out boldly even in the dim light.
The look of dismay on Sydney's suddenly ashen face was every bit as stark and surprising. I... I didn't mean to...
Ashley nodded. "I understand." Remorse was another thing he hadn't expected to see from Sydney, and he turned away, for it disturbed him.
In the absence of something else to do, he went to retrieve the cat from her hiding place. Looking her over, he found three deep gashes along her right side and upon her leg, where Sydney's claws had dug into her flesh in one of their sudden spasms. She mewed piteously at Ashley, who simply rubbed his fingers along the back of her head as he uttered a simple healing incantation under his breath. The wounds closed easily, and the cat rubbed her face against his shirt in a way that could have been taken as a gesture of gratitude.
Before he'd even had the chance to turn around again, a crash came from behind him, and he turned to find Sydney kneeling upon the floor, the chair he'd been sitting upon in splinters from the force of his arm, still poised in midair after the blow he'd struck. The cultist lowered it awkwardly, in fits and starts, for his limb refused to submit to the graceful motions Sydney's magic had driven it to in the past - particularly while his temper barely allowed him to control his own body's reactions. Sydney's face was turned away, but nearby, the spectre of the little boy sat curled up in a ball, his head buried in his arms. ...I can't... can't go on like this...
"She's fine," Ashley said without hesitation. Perhaps it would calm Sydney to know that no real damage had been done. "I healed her, and she's fine."
Sydney's shoulders heaved as his thin frame shuddered at the intake of each deep breath, and the little boy curled even tighter into himself. ...I hurt everything I touch, even innocently... A metal fist struck the floor, crookedly but firmly, and the cat leapt from Ashley's arms again, racing for her hiding place at the sudden sound. Even without these wretched hands of mine. My family, my brethren... John...
Though Ashley had been trained to handle nearly any hostile environment, he had never had need to practice interpersonal skills, and thus was at a loss as to how to turn such a situation back to something he could deal with. Merlose would know, he thought to himself absently, and not for the first time wished that he'd thought to ask her to remain with them for a short while. But he had not, and so he followed the dictates of his own instruction at the hands of the VKP: When the situation appears unstable, or it seems that no standard options are available, wait and observe in silence.
The childish apparition of Sydney seemed to pull himself together somewhat after some time, raising his head to look at Ashley through grief-stricken eyes. Leave me, Riskbreaker.
Ashley hesitated. Sydney's whole body shook uncontrollably, and it was unlikely he could get to his feet again without aid. Ashley took a step towards him, but was halted by a desperate plea from the little boy. Go away, Ashley!
After a moment, Ashley nodded and turned to the door, just as Sydney had requested. That single step closer had allowed him to see Sydney's face for an instant, and he could have sworn he saw something shimmering upon the cultist's cheek. Tears were certainly not something he'd ever learned to deal with, nor were they something he wished to deal with - particularly not from one such as Sydney.
-----
Sydney remained where he was, knelt to the floor, for what seemed like an agonizing eternity. Even if it would not have been an ordeal to try to get to his feet, for once in his life he was completely overwhelmed, and at the whim of all the things he'd kept buried since he'd come into this power. No, he corrected himself - even before that, he had schooled himself to remain cool, calm, slightly removed from anything troubling. But no man was perfect, of course, and so that discipline had broken down from time to time. Brave men had fled - even Hardin, who saw so much more than most, had cowered from him - when emotion had revealed itself in Sydney Losstarot.
He had flown into violent rages that might have been mistaken for the Dark itself, his heavy hands smashing and sharp fingers shredding anything he could find; anything that could be spared, as he could not take such a direct approach to the sources of his frustration. Nothing suited him better in those moments than destruction, and better that it should come to draperies and pottery now and then, than that he should remain still for the time being and let something worse come later. Even when he appeared to lose control, that too was a purposeful, preventative act.
But now, both his own flesh and the replacements he had been given were uncooperative. He could not so much as lift a hand in his weakness; the most he could do was to scrape the claws roughly upon the wooden floorboards, leaving shallow marks rather than the deep gashes he would have preferred. Unable to vent in his usual way, for a moment he was afraid that the Dark might take him as it so often took those who lacked discipline, controlling them in its lust for a more wide-scale destruction. Quickly enough, he remembered that whether he feared it or longed for it, neither would that release come, for the Dark had nearly left him. The Dark would not bother him - he was no longer of any interest.
That too hurt, though he knew it shouldn't have. The Dark had ravaged his body as much as it had preserved it throughout the years; it had been a nearly constant clash of wills, though he'd always managed to remain firmly on top. It was a burden that was to be eased by death, and he had known and accepted that all along. Somewhere along the line, he'd even begun to look forward to it.
He'd never expected that it would leave him before his life did. He'd never thought that he might find himself without its whispering and scheming, familiar as an old friend or well-studied arch-rival after so long, or that he would find himself powerless even to relinquish what little was left of himself.
With some effort, he managed to raise his hands, but could not control the shaking fingers enough to wipe his damp eyes. Saturated with the Dark in centuries past, Sydney couldn't be certain whether they cried out for blood, or if it was his own helplessness that gave him the sudden urge to dig their sharp edges into his temples, sinking the pointed tips deep into his skin, rending it just as he had so often rent fabric at such times. Or just as he'd done to the poor cat a short time ago.
She was in the corner now, watching him with wide eyes glowing in the near darkness. Somehow, her cautious gaze made Sydney's shaking grow worse, and his sobs deepen. She was only a stray cat, he reminded himself desperately, and now healed - why should an accident such as this trouble him so? Despite all logic, it drove such guilt and misery into his heart that he could hardly breathe.
But he had to breathe. Ashley was not ready yet. There was so much more to teach him, and Sydney needed every breath he drew to be of some use, for he knew his breaths were numbered, and their number dwindled quickly.
He had destroyed the chair. His disgust with himself grew even stronger as he was left with no other option than to crawl to the chair Ashley had occupied, so that he could pull himself upright. His legs still functioned to a degree - much better than the arms, which were much older and further steeped in magic - and with the support of the wall, Sydney did manage to make his way to his bed, letting himself fall upon the mattress limply, without a care for how he lay.
Now... to think of what must be done when the Riskbreaker returned. He would continue the lesson, he told himself with clenched teeth, despite the shaking in his limbs. He would begin precisely where he left off. Ashley would look at him with that look he so hated as he cleaned up the fragments of the broken chair - and damn him for that, the meticulous way he took care of the things Sydney broke was just like Hardin, except that John had had the sense to keep his eyes downcast as he went about his tidying up - but neither of them would say a word about what had happened. That was how it had to be. The only things that would come of all his current frustration were the trembling, the sickness that twisted his stomach, and the tears he did not have the strength to brush away.
-----
It was to the workshop that Ashley went, of course. Still a bit unnerved from the scene he'd just witnessed - and how absurd, he thought, that he could batter his way through masses of walking corpses without flinching, but be thrown off-guard by the sight of tears - he opted for a mostly simple task. The metal plates of the greaves he'd worn through the last hours of his journey had been ripped nearly from the base, and the straps were tattered and torn after the battle with Guildenstern. He'd been carrying a leather tunic to use as replacement material in such a situation, though, and so he simply tore the plates the rest of the way off while he waited for the forge's temperature to regulate. They would need some dents pounded out before he could reattach them, and he began that part first - he could cut the leather into the proper shapes while the metal cooled.
Pounding the damascus over the curved horn on the anvil a short time later, his thoughts as usual strayed to the matters troubling him. As usual, Sydney, though this time the trouble took a very different form. Ashley didn't like to admit it, but for a moment there, he'd almost found himself growing fond of the cultist. As much as Sydney had irritated him since their first meeting, it seemed that with the loss of his greater power and immortality, he seemed far more an ordinary man, with troubles that could be understood, even sympathized with. Or perhaps it was just that they'd grown to know each other better.
Either way, though Ashley would happily have condemned Sydney to the depths of a particularly deep prison not long before, he did not now take any pleasure in his misery.
Setting the first of the metal plates for the greaves aside for the moment, he reached into the barrel in which he'd been keeping the various pieces he had been working on. While feeling for his scrap leather, his fingers found the smooth joints and rivets of one of the gauntlets he'd fixed the day before, and he pulled it out to lay it aside on the work table as he continued seeking the tunic. He'd done quite a job on it, he thought absently - the articulation was as near to flawless as one could have found from any man whose single profession was smithing, and the fingers curled so smoothly and fluidly that they could have been made from liquid metal.
The leather tunic had been lodged beneath the breastplate, he found quickly enough, but as he pulled it free, he hesitated. The gauntlet caught his eye in the light of the forge, gleaming brightly, and an idea came to him.
There were any number of arguments that immediately sprung up against it - for one, he wasn't sure it would even work, though he thought the chances were good - but most were easily countered. Sydney could see his heart, if he allowed it; he would know his intentions were pure. And besides, as Sydney had said, and he had professed himself... the Keeper had no need for armor such as these bits and pieces of plunder, aside from the diversion they provided. This project would serve nicely as not only a diversion, but perhaps a lesson as well.
Forgetting the leather for the moment, Ashley turned back to the plate that he'd set aside. He'd barely left off working it, so it was still hot enough for him to put back on the anvil after only a moment's reheating. He began to rework the slight shape he'd given it, deepening the curve until it nearly encircled the anvil's horn, altering the entire length thus, then picked up the other plate to do likewise. While those cooled, he brainstormed what would be necessary to make this experiment go as naturally as possible; for once, his extensive knowledge of anatomy would be put to use for something other than wounding or dressing wounds on the battlefield.
He remained in the workshop later than usual that night, using more than flame and tongs and hammer to forge what was undoubtedly the most complicated mechanism he'd ever created. But when he was finally finished, the result was exactly as he'd planned. All that was left to do was to apply the final enchantment, and that was only a simple thing in comparison to what had already been done.
-----
Ashley entered the lodge to deep darkness once he had finished, for Sydney had lit no lamp; with his control as uncertain as it had been, a wise idea. Grey fur brushed against Ashley's ankles as the cat approached, curious to see if he'd brought something edible, then realized she had no interest in what he carried.
Sydney was curled up, almost fetal, upon his bed, and his face was turned to the wall. As hard as he tried to hide it, he still trembled in the thin moonlight through the window above his bed, or perhaps it was Ashley's reappearance that triggered the tremors to begin anew. Though Ashley stood watching, silently observing, the cultist did not turn to give him the usual cold stare or rebuke.
"Sydney."
The speaking of his name caused the trembling to intensify briefly, but Sydney collected himself well enough for the little boy to appear, huddled against the wall at the foot of the bed. Let us forget what took place tonight, Riskbreaker.
Ashley shook his head. "Ignoring the problem will not make it go away." The boy's face twisted in sudden rage, but before he could speak, Ashley continued. "I made you something, Sydney."
The little boy frowned, but Sydney did straighten, painfully and slowly, and turn onto his back to look. There was still enough of the Dark left in him to see the lines of what Ashley carried, even in the near darkness, and his eyes narrowed, his lips parted in startled disbelief.
"Fharim." The word of command lit the oil lamp nearest the bed, offering a warmer light to glint off what Ashley held cradled in his arms. One shining hand draped in lifelike fashion from a wrist of oiled leather, joined almost seamlessly to a polished metal forearm. Sydney's brows furrowed in his confliction as his eyes followed that line up to the overlapping plates at the elbow, the smooth taper of the upper arm beneath a rounded shoulderpiece, hanging from the cords Ashley now held up before him so he could get a better look.
"Don't be too proud to accept this," Ashley told him, though both Sydney and his spectre appeared too stunned to protest for the time being. "If you'd rather not accept such a gift from me, think of it as being inspired by the gods - a small recompense for your trouble."
Sydney continued his inspection of the artificial limbs, not only with his physical eyes, but Ashley could feel the weak threads of the Dark reaching out as well, trailing over the leather and metal to find the enchantments he'd placed upon it. It was well that Sydney had taught him of the creation of golems already, or he might not have known where to begin the web of spells that could cause the arms to move without the guidance of muscle and tendon. Sydney probed, examined, and the little boy spoke. These draw their power from the Keeper, not the one to whom they are fixed.
"The Keeper has power to spare, and can pass control on to another." Ashley left it unspoken that the power would only need sparing for a short time anyhow; they both knew the certainty of what was to come. After much time had passed, Sydney nodded.
No sound passed between them, physical or spiritual, besides the clicking of the joints as Ashley fitted Sydney with the new arms, and then the murmured spell as he transferred control. Slowly, Sydney raised his right hand, turning it over and gazing in wonder at the fist he made when he curled the blunt, rounded fingers together - it looked no different from the gloved fist of any ordinary man. You've learned well, was the only comment he made.
"There are legs also," Ashley stated, uncertain of whether he was amused or touched by the way Sydney repeatedly curled and uncurled his fingers in fascination, together and one by one. "I believe you can fit them yourself, if these hands fulfill their purpose well enough."
Having said that, Ashley turned away for the time being, taking up the more dangerous arms Sydney had worn before to place them in a corner, where they would be out of the way but not forgotten. They were ancient by his reckoning, nearly as old as Leá Monde, and though they no longer did Sydney much good, power remained in them still. He wondered how many had made use of them through the centuries, and how long it might be until some servant of Müllenkamp made use of them again.
When he turned back, he found the cat beside Sydney on the bed, almost shyly putting her nose forward to sniff at his fingertips. His head was lowered, his face hidden from view by his hair, but after a moment's hesitation, Sydney laid his hand upon the cat's head, stroking gently between her ears and down her back. His senses heightened by the Dark, even before he'd crossed the room again Ashley could hear the rumbling from the cat's throat as she rubbed up against Sydney's side and settled down in his lap. Sydney's strokes faded away, however, until finally he raised his new hands - suddenly trembling as the old had, but for an entirely different reason - to cover his face. It is... it is a shame I did not have these perhaps a month ago, I think he... he would have liked...
The cat relinquished her place in Sydney's lap as Ashley sat down on the bed beside him, pulling the cultist into his arms to hold him as he was wracked by silent, shuddering sobs. Sydney clung to him, as he had not been able to cling to anyone for many years without drawing blood, and Ashley rocked him gently until he quieted, just as he might have done for the little boy spectre - just as he might have done for Marco, whether the boy was his child or not. Some gestures were meant to be universal.
When all the tears had been spent, Ashley left him to sleep, worn and weary, and after letting the cat out to hunt, went to his own bed for the night. The next morning, Sydney's lessons continued as usual, with not a word of thanks to be heard. None were necessary.