Le Jeune Guilavene

Chapter 3:

The Great Guline Highway, or the Spine of Austoria as some called it, was in fact a very long road that stretched from the western border of Austoria to the eastern border with several other roads breaking off of it to either the north or south to various locations. At some places it was over a thirty paces across and paved with large flat stones. In others places, like near Fanelia, the road was barely a wagon’s width and the only maintenance was the use of salt to keep plants from growing over it.
Where Van traveled it was deserted. The only time it was really in heavy use was during harvest and tax season, both of which were in mid-autumn. So he rode quickly and unhindered through the vast surrounding grasslands.
After three hours of riding on a galloping elk, Van was convinced he never wanted see one again. It took him almost an hour to learn how to sit properly so he did not fall off, and by then his backside was already beginning to become sore. Around noon, he had to stop before he lost all feeling in his legs- he had already given up hope on his ass.
He dismounted and lead his elk to a small stream that followed the road, and tied him to small shrub so it could eat and drink. The young hunter stretched slowly each of his muscles, especially his aching thighs and back. When he felt adequately loose, he grabbed some bread from his pack and sat on the side of the road.
The young man had never been this far before. In fact, the only other town he had seen other than Fanelia was Finnig, and it was even smaller than Fanelia. The land itself did not seem particularly remarkable, except that it appeared so endless. A great green carpet stretching as far as the eyes could see. Behind him, he could make out the hazy silhouette of the Silver
Forest in the distant, but the little village was nowhere to be seen. Ahead of him, lay Palas. The capital city of Austoria, nestled somewhere beyond the rolling green hills by the sea with a view of Eastern mountain ranges.
He looked forward to seeing those mountains. His mother had told him all about her homeland and the beauty of the mountains and valleys. To the north, lay the sea. Also something he could not wait to witness, though he would have to wait till he reached Palas for that.
Van suddenly grinned. For the moment, he forgot that he was leaving all he knew behind, and instead saw all what he might gain. This was his first adventure. His first REAL adventure. He was going to see the world and find out for himself, exactly what he was made of.

~~~~~~~~~

Adventures, as Van soon found out, were rather lonely with out someone to share them with. Two hours from sunset, and he had not seen so much as stray a dog. While Magrin had warned him about this, that he might not see anyone on the road for two or three days, he had no idea how utterly alone he would feel.
Well, not entirely alone.
They were there.
The scraw. A large flock of the mangy black birds seemed to be following him. At first, he thought it coincidence. It would not have been the first time he had gone in the same general direction of a flock of birds. But now, he was certain they were following him. A riding elk, even at top speed, could never match the speed of a flying bird. These ones, however, would fly a head, perch somewhere and waited till he passed them and then fly after him again. They repeated this cycle over and over again.
The hunter had a bad feeling about them. They only followed something like that when they think it is going to die soon. He did not think he had given them any indication that he was ill or injured, but he did not want to jump to any conclusions. Especially since his other suspicions seemed farfetched even to him.
He had never had anything against the little scavenging birds before, despite their unpopularity and the superstitious inclinations people had of them. But now their beady red eyes unnerved him.
They reminded him of someone he would rather not think about.

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Night time was not restful for Van. His body ached from riding and despite the lack of sleep he had had all week, he feared to close his eyes in this unfamiliar place. He had stopped for the evening in a little grove, hoping the trees would make him more comfortable and that he might even find it in him to sleep.
It had not worked. Instead, he lay on his side, watching his tiny campfire and listened to the insects and nights birds. He did not need the warmth the fire provided, it was midsummer and the weather was warm even at night, but it kept the bugs away and was a welcome distraction.
A few feet away, his riding elk was tethered to a tree, its ears twitching back and forth even as it slept. It remained untroubled and uncaring, so long as it was fed and rested it did not matter to it where they went. Van wished he could be so ambivalent.
Late into the evening, just as the exhausted adventurer finally began to nodded off, a deafening silence fell upon the woods. His elk lift his head, now wide awake and its ears twitching frantically to and fro as he fidgeted and pulled at its tether. Van too, became wide awake. Instinctively, he threw some loose dirt on his fire, sending his camp into darkness. As
silently as possible, he got to his feet, grabbed his pack, and crept behind some trees. He leaned upon the largest one and withdrew his sword with trembling hands.
For a long time not a sound was heard from amongst the trees. No insects. No birds. No wind through the branches. Just Van’s frantic heartbeat and nervous fidgeting of his mount.
Then something reached his sensitive ears. A soft rustling sound like a large prowling animal stalking over dry leaves. His clammy hands tightened around his blade as he heard it behind him, moving into the very center of his camp and then stop. By now his elk was struggling frantically and likely to break its tether, its strangled grunts and eerie howling echoing in the empty grove.
“Boy,” called demodemon softly, knowing he would be heard.
Van heart leapt in his chest and he struggled to muffled his excruciatingly loud breathing.
“Did you think I would leave you alone once you left your little town? That I would give up?”
Strategos laughed loudly, the sound deafening in the still air. The laughter died off into a low chuckle, and there was the sound of a sword being drawn. Light foot steps and the desperate screaming of his elk filled the young man’s ears, and he struggled not to scream himself.
“Silly child,’ the albino continued in a calm tone, ‘You can never escape me.”
The screaming was suddenly silenced and something heavy fell to the ground.
Memories flashed through Van’s mind. Blood and the sound of his father hitting the earth. One of his hands released his sword to cover his mouth and fight the urge to vomit. When the nausea had finally passed, he realized he was alone again. The night sounds had returned, and he could no longer hear the demon’s soft foot falls or shuffling clothing. He climbed out from
his hiding spot cautiously, still not so reckless as to assume he was completely safe.
He frowned softly as he made out the form of his dead riding elk by the light of the twin moons. There was no emotional attachment to the beast. He had only known it for day, but it had been his. Why must that damn demon take away EVERYTHING?
He sighed, too weary for anger or even fear. Strategos would continue to come for him until he surrendered himself or was too weak to fight. Ei way way, the creature was right. He could never escape. Not the way things were going anyway.
Still, he did have his pack and the demon had not been able to find him when he hid. There was still hope, however slim, that he could find some way to win this game. It was enough for him to keep trying.
Feeling a little better, Van began to rummage through his pack. He pulled out a hunting knife and turned to the recently deceased animal.
“Well,’ the hunter thought to himself, ‘there’s no point it letting it all go to waste.”

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Van set off again as soon as it was light enough for him see more than two paces in front of him. He reassessed what he should take with him, now that his elk was dead and he would have to travel on foot from now on. So now he traveled at a quick jog, laden with camping supplies and about a quarter of his body weight in venison. He would not eat that much before it went rotten, he knew, but he might be able to sell it if he came upon a town or farm house.
The rest had been left to the scraws and other scavengers. Perhaps the mangy little birds would be distracted long enough that they might not follow him that day. He no longer doubted they had some link to his pursuer. Whether they were just spies or the demon himself (if he could turn into feathers, why not into whole birds?), he was not sure, but either way they were a problem.
At the next village, he was determined to exterminate them. Or at least enough of them so that they would no longer follow him. Scraw were fairly smart birds. If you shot one, the others knew to fear a bow and arrow, if only for a couple of days. In the meantime, he was not going to risk losing his arrows in the tall grass on either side of the road.
Sure enough, with the rising of the sun came the scraw. There was no possibility of outrunning them or even hiding from them in the wide open spaces of the Austorian grasslands. The area had once been all farmland, but a people knew now that the area had three year drought every decade or so and the farming communities had all given up and let the place grow wild.
Van gave the particularly noisy scraw perched in a tree a very rude gesture, watching with some amusement as the creature ruffled its feathers as if offended. The rest of the morning was spent concentrating on running and covering as much distance as he could without killing himself.
He passed a diverging road with a simple sign reading: ‘Austusass- 4 gapstons, Travelers Welcome‘. Deciding it was too far to be sidetracked for, he continued on without a second thought. By noon, after a struggling up a rather tall hill he had to stop and rest.
He felt so utterly exhausted. He had not had good night’s sleep for a week, no sleep at all last night, and he had been riding and running for two days now. If he kept it up he was going to collapse and then Strategos could just come and pick him up off the road, and would that not be damn hilarious?
Perhaps he should have stopped at that town.
Van mentally shook his head. There was no point in thinking about that now. It was too far away now for him to go back. So he eased his supplies off his shoulders and stretched. He winced as his shoulder protested and remembered he still had to careful with his right arm. He laid in the tall grass by the road and leaned against his pack, waiting for his breathing to calm and his slowly forming cramps to ease away.
He turned his brown eyes to the sky and watched the wispy patches of clouds float by, feeling the tranquility of them ease his troubled soul. Trapped in his day dreams, he did not even notice when his body ceased to ache and his lungs no longer burned. And sleep, as it often does to the weary and unwary, took him. This time, however, it took him deep. Deeper than he had ever been, deeper than he had ever known.
Until finally, the demon was satisfied.

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“Boy,” he said, playing with a few strands of his lover’s hair.
“Demon,” Van teased, smiling against the albino’s pale skin.
The demon smirked and tugged his hair lightly.
In the afterglow of their lovemaking, the mortal lay tangled in white bed sheets over the other’s body with his head resting on the man’s chest. One powerful arm wrapped possessively around his back while the other caressed his cheek affectionately, the contrast of size and coloring standing out as vividly as black and white. The dark child kept his brown eyes shut, ready to drift into sleep at any moment, while red eyes watched him closely.
“Will you always fight me?” he asked, a smile still on his pale lips.
Van nodded sleepily, putting his hands under Strategos’ back to keep them warm and chuckled when the man squirmed at the cool touch.
“I will always fight you,” the young man said dreamily.
“Why?”
“Because…” he began, his brow lightly furrowed in concentration.
“Because?” the demon urged, a wry smile crossing his features.
“Because…”
“Yes?”
Dark eyes opened and looked up at him, sleepily.
Because... you are Strategos,” he stated, as if that explained everything.
“The Strategos,” the demon corrected, not the least disturbed by Van’s statement.
“Mm?”
“The Strategos. You have been getting it all wrong for a long time now,” the albino drawled, pretending to be indignant.
“The Strategos... what a stupid name. I would hate to be named ‘The Van’. Sounds like I’m talking about a cart or something’ he said, and then mimicking his father’s voice, ‘Alright, Varie, I want you stay here and watch The Van, I’ll be back in a minute.”
The pale creature burst out into hysterical laughter, his chest vibrating heavily- much to Van’s annoyance. When the laughter did not seem to be subsiding, the young man gave him a sharp pinch on the back, causing the demon to yelp.
“Shut up! It wasn’t that funny,” he snapped.
The Strategos just broke out into more peels of laughter until he was practically crying. After Van threatened to more than a measly pinch, the demon began to calm himself until he was left with soft chuckling. Finally, he was able to talk again.
“The Strategos is not my name,’ he explained, ‘It is my title. It is
Zaibachian for ‘strategist’.”
“Like a military strategist?” the boy asked, looking at him thoughtfully.
“Mm... not quite. There is a lot more to it than that.”
“Then what is your name?”
The demon smirked.
“Why should I tell you?” he asked sardonically.
Van thought for a moment, then returned his smirk.
“Because screaming ‘the strategist’ in the middle of sex isn’t very flattering?”
His lover chuckled and patted his head, affectionately.
“No, no, I suppose not. Especially since I’m not the only Strategos in the world. Alright, my name is Folken.”
Van smiled.
“Much better. Ow-”
The dark child flinched as slight pain lanced through his arm. Folken raised an eyebrow and examined where he seemed to have been hurt, but saw nothing. Carefully, he sat them both up so he could look more closely.
“What is the matter?”
“I don’t- ow! It happened again,’ Van yelped, rubbing at the phantom wound. ‘It feels like someone’s hitting me!”
A dark expression crossed the demon’s pale face. His grip on the boy tightened and he pulled him against his body.
“Van. Van, listen to me,’ he demanded, watching as his eyes already became wide and unfocused. ‘Look at me! Stay focused on me!”
Van tried, but just when he thought he saw him his vision began to go dark. His body felt heavy and unusable. Even his neck refused to support his head and he felt it fall back as he began to lose consciousness.
And awoke.

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“Iz e dead?”
“Naw, look ‘iz eyes iz mov’n. Kick’m a lil ‘arder then, maybe e’z in a death sleep.”
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” screamed a voice from behind them.
The two boys jumped and turned around quickly to see the old witch stomping angrily towards them. They both let out undignified little squeaks and quickly abandoned the unconscious youth for the relative safety of the caravan. The old wrinkled woman gave the little cowards a disgusted sneer and began to investigate what they found so interesting.
From her place at the bottom of the hill, she had thought they had merely found some animal carcass, but now that she was closer her old green eyes could make out the form of a young man. He clearly was not a native of the area. The people of western Austoria were well know for their fair skin and blonde hair, while this one was as dark as wheat bread and his hair almost black. At first, she thought perhaps he was also a Fresian, perhaps one of their party who had wondered ahead?
She mentally shook her head. This boy was no Fresian. There was something off about the hands and the nose. Too well formed, she supposed. True, the Fresian women were known for their beauty, but the men were another matter. Even the young boys looked rather oafish, despite the amazing abilities they acquired as gypsies.
Suddenly, the boy sprang up faster than she thought physically possible and for a moment she was certain her old heart had stopped. Her only consolation was that as soon as he saw her decrepit withered self he let out a scream and fell backwards, rolling down the hill. He landed less than delicately at the bottom with a resounding ‘oomph’.
The rest of the caravan was quick to investigate what all the ruckus was about. Her grand-daughter, of course, was the first to arrive. Her powerful young legs leapt up the steep hill like mountain garuuk until she stood beside her.
“Grandma, what happened?” she asked worriedly.
The old woman chuckled and pointed her gnarled walking stick towards the form at the bottom of the other side of the hill that was slowly beginning to rise on wobbly legs.
“Hitomi, my dear,’ she said, amusement dancing in her eyes, ‘it seems we will be having company tonight.”

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Van rubbed his aching shoulder. His travels were putting more strain on his body that he had expected. Though he supposed you could not expect to be surprised by a woman uglier than hell on top of hill after awaking from a demon induced sleep.
“I apologize for my grandmother startling you,” a young woman said
beside him.
He turned, surprise evident on his face. He had forgotten that he was not alone in the wagon. Her name was Hitomi, he remembered.
After collecting himself at the bottom of the hill, he was approached by a band of Fresians gypsies. He had never seen gypsies before, only heard stories and none of which were favorable. These people, however, while not all the prettiest or cleanest of people, were very friendly. They were a little hesitant at first, remaining polite but evasive, until he told them he was traveler. Immediately, they began to call him friend and asked him to join them.
He took one look at the flock of scraw still following him and agreed vigorously. They seemed rather flattered by his enthusiasm, and even more delighted when he offered his venison to them in ‘gratitude‘. And that was why he was now riding comfortably with the caravan mother’s grand-daughter in the back of wagon with the tents and cooking utensils.
“Oh, uh. It’s alright. I should probably be apologizing for screaming at the sight of- uh... I mean, no harm done,” he stuttered.
The young gypsy giggled into her hand. Van blushed slightly. He had always been awkward around most girls in his village- with the exception of Millerna- because living in the woods as much as he did, he did not see them much and when he did he was not sure how he was suppose to act around them. His mother was not much of a help, since she was Frescan and more … mature than most of the village girls.

“It’s alright, you know,’ Hitomi said, ‘My grandmother is ugly. And she won’t be insulted if you say so either. I think she’s rather proud of it, in fact.”
“Why is that?”
“My grandmother was never beautiful. She wasn’t ugly, but she was kind of plain looking. And still, she managed to go through five lovers and three husbands. Can you imagine the kind of skills it must have took to make a man want you for more than just your pretty face?”
Van considered a moment, then looked towards the old woman driving cart behind them. She flashed him her nearly toothless grin and he quickly looked away, his eyes wide.
“More skills than any son of a forester would know,” he blurted out, immediately regretting how utterly rude that sounded.
Instead of being insulted, however, the girl laughed loudly, not even bothering to cover her mouth her hand like the Fanelian women did. Watching her in her unhindered joy made him smile. It was rather refreshing to have a girl sitting there with no sense of feminine modesty.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say were part Fresian,” she said, tossing her light brown hair over her shoulder and climbing from the drivers seat to the back of the wagon and allowing an older man to take the reigns.
“I’m afraid not. Unless my parents neglected to mention something.”
“But you are not from around here are you? You seem awfully dark for a Westerner.”
Van first thought was to be insulted, but he dismissed it quickly. These people were used to bluntness. It was just their way.
“My mother was from eastern Austoria. She was a Frescan and lived in the mountains most of her life. My father… he was a wanderer, so to speak. He was actually born in Freid, but his family migrated into Austoria during the civil war. By the time he met my mother he wanted nothing more than a quiet life away from the cities and politics. I guess you could say he was in
exile when he came through. Settled in a town about three days journey from here. I was born a few years later.”
She listened to him intently throughout, her green eyes shining with curiosity.
“How intriguing! We’ve been traveling through this area for six months now and everyone is so boring out here! All anybody does is so ordinary. I can’t wait to get back to the big cities!” she said, giving an overly dramatic sigh of despair.
“Mm…” was Van’s only response.
He had spent much of the wagon ride pondering his dream, if he could even call it that. There were so many things about what happened that disturbed him. The fact that it took two boys kicking him in the arm to wake him up was very frightening. He could have very well slept through the entire day and Strategos... Folken... er... that mangy bird could have taken him easily,
which was perhaps the point. The dream itself was disturbing, though all of them were, in the fact that he never acts like himself. In his dreams he is affectionate, even playful, with the demon, but when he awakens he always feels afraid and angry. It was utterly confusing.
“Are you alright?”
Van blinked and looked back up at here, realizing he had been day dreaming.
“Am I boring you?” she asked.
“No! It’s not that,’ he rushed to explain, but then hesitated and looked back down. ‘I just have not been sleeping well.”
Her green eyes soften and she regarded him sympathetically.
“Your spirit is troubled,” she stated.
“What?” he asked, startled.
No one had ever commented on his spirit before, except the Qurian priest and he was trying his hand in ‘conversion’ at the time.
“Your spirit. I can sense it. You’re filled with sadness and anger and fear. You have been having nightmares haven’t you?”
Van felt suddenly uneasy. There were certain things he did not want people asking him about and his nightmares were one of them. He fidgeted slightly and did not look her in the eyes.
“It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me about them,’ she said cheerfully, ‘But might I make a suggestion?”
He glanced up at her and nodded a little uncertainly, and was startled when she snapped a rope around his neck. He nearly jumped out of the wagon, but she was quick enough to pull him back.
“My goodness, nervous young fellow, aren’t you?” she teased, ‘Relax, it’s just a charm. See?”
Sure enough, hanging from the leathery rope was little stick figure made of twigs and a small red feather tied to it. It was crude, but somehow he knew it held power.
“What is it?”
“That’s Magoman, the dream stealer. He’s a spirit with red wings, who flies round and round the world searching for dreams to steal. He’s particularly fond of nightmares for some reason. He’s normally considered a malevolent spirit, but he has his uses,” she said, touching the figurine thoughtfully.
“You want me to let a spirit steal my dreams?” he said incredulously.
Hitomi rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“Of course not, idiot. Your nightmares. I use it all the time after a particularly bad vision.”
Van’s eyes widen even more.
“H-Hitomi... are you a witch?”
She grinned and nodded. The young man let out an exasperated sigh and then shrugged his shoulders, as if to say ‘why not?’.

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This time, Van allowed sleep to take him willingly. He slipped deep into oblivion and rested comfortably there. He experienced nothing. Not white or black. Shape nor sound. Fear nor taste. Dream nor demon.

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Hitomi watched the boy sleep. He was exhausted. You did not need to be a witch to know that much. The dark circles under his eyes and his obliviousness to the jerky movements of carts were signs enough.
Watching him curled around his traveling pack and clutching the Magoman charm, she noticed there were bandages peeking up through his loose red shirt and little scars ran along his arms. Curious, she wondered what could have happened to him to have left him into such a state.

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“Van,” a gentle feminine voice called, followed by a gentle shake of his shoulder.
Slowly, reluctantly, he opened a sleep eye and regarded the gypsy girl moodily.
“How did you sleep?” she asked, a knowing smile crossing her features.
His little scowl evened itself out a bit, untt wat was little more than a pout.
“Not bad.”
She looked momentarily confused.
“Just ‘not bad’?”
An unmistakably mischievous glint reached his eyes.
“Well, it was alright.”
Hitomi smirked.
“Just ‘alright’?”
“It was nice.”
“Nice?”
“And peaceful.”
“Ah…”
They laughed softly together, but Hitomi could tell Van was on the edge of tears, he was so relieved.