Solo The Wish and the Willing Pt. 2

[Caspian]

x

“Well, that’s a neat trick.”

Something divine must bless Caspian at this very moment, because it takes all the willpower he can muster and then some not to burst out snickering. Nothing about this situation is actually laughable, and the urge to laugh uproariously comes from the place of utmost duress that’s been building in his gut. But Taroko just sounds so irritated. And that’s not unheard of, Caspian’s seen it on his face to all degrees, in rain or shine. Taroko’s temper had the flimsiness of a coin flip, and Caspian had once witnessed him go from magnanimously praising a mutual acquaintance to the most murderous depths of a scowl when someone accidentally bumped into him on the street. But the utterance that’s a neat trick had come with teeth gritted, practically grinding. Because Taroko can’t figure out for the life of him how Caspian’s disappeared, and the longer the mystery goes on, the more scared he’ll become.

Yes, scared.

Despite how devotedly Caspian had once looked up to him, he had never once been under the impression that Taroko was perfect, or impervious to fault. The problem had been, perhaps, his overestimation of Taroko’s abilities, his taking at face value Taroko’s brimming over confidence and blustery belief that he was always in the right. But he had always known Taroko was capable of feeling fear, now and again, and from Caspian’s experience it was exacerbated by his own arrogance. The higher Taroko believed he flew, the more afraid he was of ever falling.

Still, fear wasn’t enough to make Taroko freeze. Mouth held in a tight grimace, brow furrowing in barely concealed frustration, he held the lantern aloft, taking some steps forward in one direction, then the other, peering into the dark. All the while Caspian held absolutely still. The magic of Obfuscate only worked if he held his position, and this could pose a problem if Taroko simply walked directly towards him, and he’d be forced to move in response. There was a lucky break – he deserves one every now and then – and Taroko happened to walk in the opposite direction from him, his back turned. Making the most of the opportunity, Caspian slunk backwards, his strides extended but slow, landing as softly as he could on the muddied floors.

Could he find the girl while Taroko was distracted by his search?

But he’s trying to do too much at once, and though Obfuscate could melt him into the dark, it didn’t grant him any enhanced vision within it. On one of his long strides away from Taroko, his left foot presses against something pointed and made of metal, that rattles. With a predator’s pounce, Taroko suddenly lunges towards the sound, blade whipping through the air.

Gasping, Caspian flings himself out of harm’s way, and right back into the lantern light.

Taroko’s eyes lock on him with triumph.

“You’re going to have to show me how you did that sometime,” Taroko says darkly, and Caspian throws his own arm up, Obfuscate ringing where it clashes against Taroko’s blade.

x

[Caspian]

x

The first parry sends a spike of lightning from the blade down to Caspian’s wrist, and through his elbow. The next one, so ferocious is Taroko’s swing, numbs Caspian’s arm all the way through. But he’s been through worse, and though his mind and his body are no longer entirely one, he wills himself to hold onto Obfuscate with all the force he can muster, even though he can’t register his own fingers wrapped around its handle. It’s like sending a message to another party, and willing, praying them to hear it, all smoke signals and flashing lantern lights, but because this is life and death he –

Is it life and death, though?

Taroko wouldn’t balk at hurting him or anyone, but would he actually kill Caspian if it came to it?

But speaking of lanterns –

They can’t go on like this forever.

And nothing will change unless Caspian wills it to.

Dodging to the left, a step backwards, another narrow miss from Taroko – and he catches Taroko’s blade in yet another parry, this one injecting through his limb like an icicle. Taroko must have noticed the unusual swirl in Caspian’s blade, for Obfuscate had been smithed into the shape of a corkscrew. So when Caspian twists, Taroko immediately whips back, pulling his blade out of range. It’s an advantage for Caspian, that he might more easily disarm his opponent this way, by hooking onto them and simply turning. But that would have been too easy, must have been on Taroko’s mind all along.

And that’s just fine.

For the real advantage here is that Taroko doesn’t know who he is anymore, not entirely, not the way he used to. Doesn’t know how far he’ll go. All it takes is one distraction, which for Taroko is his own self-satisfied triumph at having thwarted what he suspected was Caspian’s plan all along, the disarming – and that’s all Caspian needs.

Swinging wide, Caspian strikes the lantern Taroko holds aloft. Seeing the motion coming, Taroko had stepped back, but in holding the lantern by the handle, the momentum had brought it swinging forward freely, even closer within Caspian’s range. The glass shatters, oil and sparks spilling onto the ground. Taroko hisses out a curse, some of the embers billowing out and grazing his bare fingers. He hadn’t seen this coming, and doesn’t predict Caspian’s immediate viciousness either. Caspian had never been one to kick someone when they were down. But that was then, and this is now, and he kicks, sending some of the hay that’s caught fire towards Taroko. Followed by another swing of his blade, catching the lantern and what remains of the glass. Then a punch from his left hand that connects with Taroko right in the cheek as he stumbles backwards.

More of the hay has caught fire. Taroko’s up again, the punch having stunned him more than caused any real damage. But it’s a blow to his pride for certain.

And the singeing smell around them probably isn’t doing anything for his nerves.

x

[Caspian]

x

For a moment the two of them go on staring at each other in the ember-lit barn. They haven’t taken another step, but the space is full of motion, so much of it Caspian’s. He realizes his chest is heaving, that each breath he takes is an action of enormous, visible labor.

“Be careful, Caspian,” Taroko says with unnerving evenness. “There are some doors you just can’t shut.”

And Taroko’s right, except he isn’t. Because Caspian doesn’t see them as doors anymore, open or closed to him – only ways through.

Through and forward – and to do that he lunges forward, dagger swinging. Hard. And, somehow – even this catches Taroko off guard. Smashing the lantern, he hadn’t foreseen – and this tells Caspian something. That Taroko had been banking, still, on his words and the death’s march tone in which he utters them to be enough to cause Caspian to cower. They used to, years ago. It wasn’t hard in those days to find the insults, the looming threats to make Caspian halt and hesitate. Taroko also must not have been counting on Caspian’s show of ruthlessness. The first slash only cleaves through the dark, but the second catches him across his left arm, across the bicep.

Taroko hisses sharply, gaze snapping from his arm back up to Caspian.

The air silent save for their heavy breathing, they stand stock-still again, their boots sinking in the mud. It reminds Caspian of a cat that’s spotted a mouse. Body at tense, high alert, the rest of them silent sensing. But between the two of them, who’s the predator, and who is prey?

Taroko may be larger than him, and faster and stronger, but no matter to what degrees of those qualities one might possess, one can still be afraid of the unknown.

Caspian will be that unknown, then; he’ll bite with unpredictability. Another step forward, another hack; hack and slash and step and turn, and hack again. Somewhere along the way they find a rhythm. The thought is an absurd one, but it occurs to Caspian anyway – their trading strikes and parries is complimentary; it’s even strangely cooperative. If the objective were to swear and make noise they would be accomplishing such in tandem.

To both their surprise, he cuts Taroko again. It’s almost in the same place – it’s hard to tell in the dark, but it’s across the left bicep too. Obfuscate is more than a kitchen knife, but the swirled shape of the blade makes slashing more tactile than it would be a regular dagger. As such it had caught on Taroko’s sleeves the first time, and does so again now. The drag of it makes Caspian starkly aware of what he’s just done, that he’s broken through layers, plural, of Taroko, fabric and skin and whatever’s just underneath.

Taroko claps his hand over his bicep, hilt of his dagger, being borne by that hand, pressed against the wound. Pulling his hand away, he stares down at his palm, and though Caspian can’t see it clearly from this distance, he must be peering at the blood that’s collected there.

How much had Caspian hurt him, exactly? How deeply had he cut?

The matter of the clothes dragging along with the blade makes it difficult to determine.

“What’s wrong?” Caspian says, unable to help himself. He’s someone else here, in the dark; someone new in the midst of the mud and growing smell of smoke. “Why don’t you come closer, let me take a look?”

“Petch you,” Taroko snarls, and faster than Caspian can register, he’s leapt forward, and pain erupts across Caspian’s chest, right beneath the clavicle.

x

[Caspian]

x

Blood streams down Caspian’s chest, soaking into the fabric of his shirt, sticking the latter to the former. A trickle makes its way down his abdomen. But he’s still standing, and that’s what counts. Reflexively he presses a hand to his chest, gingerly against the cut. Pulls his hand away and peers at the red staining his fingertips.

“You could have cut deeper,” he observes. Shockingly, with all the impossibility of, say, his stepfather waking up on the right side of the bed, ever, and greeting him with a smile – his voice stays level. As does his hand that wields his dagger. Years ago this wouldn’t have been the case; once he’d been so frail and jumpy that the sound of one of his stepfather’s goons smashing kindling too close to his head had caused him to faint.

“Think you can handle it?”

It’s remarkably shallow, the more Caspian feels for it. Already the amount of blood that had exited the wound has slowed, and aside from the burning sensation that occurs every time he swivels or pivots, or raises his blade arm, he’s surprisingly intact. Had Taroko done this on purpose? Hurt him just enough to try and frighten him? Or, more shockingly, but given all the changes they’ve been through over the years, not outside the realm of possibility – had Taroko simply nearly missed?

But another thought creeps into Caspian’s mind. For he knows Taroko, and the sadistic streak so embedded in his person that once led Caspian to witness him rip the sling off someone’s shoulder and bend their still broken arm back behind their head. Perhaps Taroko did cut him like this intentionally – and perhaps he intends to keep cutting, slowly and surely, until his skin falls off him in ribbons. How much blood can he lose before he faints? How much more until it’s his life sapped out of him for good?

It’s macabre, that anyone would want to kill anyone this way, especially someone that one had once held in bed in twilit hours, at dawn and dusk.

But Taroko –

Caspian wouldn’t put it past him.

He’s about to shoot Taroko a retort when a fit of coughing erupts from the darkness in the room, somewhere a few yards behind him. It’s clearly the girl, who sniffles and whimpers at the end.

“Darla,” he calls out, keeping his eyes trained on Taroko. The cheeriness of his voice is a singular quality, for he can feel the scowl etched into his features the more he gazes on someone who was once, in some respects, to be considered his friend. “Darla, darling, could you please get yourself to the door?”

But there’s a wild shuffling and skinny, ruffle-sleeved arms wrap around his waist. “What’s going on? Where’s my mom?” Darla tearfully exclaims, crying right into his shirt, but fortunately not the side that’s bloodstained.

At this, Taroko bursts out laughing. “Not the brightest one, is she? If only she knew what a viper you could be.”

“Let’s let her go,” Caspian says, and it’s a bit harder now keeping his voice steady with a young girl sobbing into his ribs. “Taroko. She’s got nothing to do with us. Let her run, and we’ll settle this ourselves.”

“I’m n-not going w-without Fritz!” Darla cries out.

Right.

The yappy little dog.

Who, Caspian’s realizing with a chill, he hasn’t heard yapping for quite some time.

He imagines the little bundle of fur cast somewhere on the dirty hay, its spine broken, the leash trailing uselessly from its neck.

“Go to the door,” he orders the girl. She doesn’t need to see in actuality the scene that’s just played in his mind.

“B-but – “

“I said, go to the petching door!”

The girl lets out a whimper and stumbles towards the door, the outline of the double frame glowing faintly within the barn wall.

He turns his glare towards Taroko. Suppresses his own cough from the increasing smoke, the smell of burning manure. “Open them.”

Taroko stares him down, and a beat later, a grin spreads across his face. “As you wish.”

Shouting at a young girl may have had some effect, but Caspian knows for a fact he hasn’t accomplished intimidating Taroko into compliance for even a moment.

But Taroko strolls off into the dark anyway, towards the wall with the door. His silhouette grabs a lever. Heaves. And with great screeching on rusted hinges, one of the double doors begins to ease open.

“Go!” Caspian shouts at Darla, who takes one last fearful look before slipping out.

Taroko pulls the lever the other direction, and the slim panel of light slams shut.

x

[Caspian]

x

“Amazing how you didn’t notice me pulling the lever the first time,” Taroko remarks conversationally.

“Apologies, I had a lot on my mind,” Caspian snaps. But he feels a flush of embarrassment all the same. When the double doors had first slammed shut and dropped them in darkness, his mind had gone to unhelpfully illogical places, populated by specters and spells and things one couldn’t quite explain. Biting back a stutter, he suddenly exclaims, “Were you the one who was stalking me all afternoon?”

“’Stalking’ is pretty harsh, isn’t it? What is one supposed to do if they have a question? Not go after an answer?”

“What question was that supposed to be?”

“The only question, dummy. What the petch is Caspian doing back in Sunberth? And why the petch hasn’t he come and found me?” Taroko’s dropped his blade arm so that it hangs loosely at his side. “Now that we’re at it, shall I help you solve the other mystery too?”

“What other mystery?” Caspian asks through gritted teeth, unwilling to relinquish his arm and blade still being raised at the ready.

“The brothel. The only reason you were able to scamper out the back door.”

There was that crash that had come from the second floor, the distraction that had allowed Caspian to slip away from the host who had tackled him.

“You can’t be serious. But you were following me on the streets, how did you – “

Taroko shrugs. “You weren’t exactly being quiet, you know. I saw and heard what was going on through the parlor windows. So I shimmied up the drainpipe to the second floor, saw a few tits, upset some customers, and threw over a writing desk. They don’t use it for writing, by the way, they – “

“Thanks,” Caspian interrupts speedily, “I can imagine well enough on my own.”

“’Thanks’?” Taroko echoes. “How about ‘thank you, Taroko, for saving my ass for the thousandth time’?”

The exaggeration aside, Caspian wonders if they really have spent at least a thousand days together. They were almost connected at the hip, once, and Taroko had a habit of being intensely interested in any one person or thing for some period of time, then suddenly dropping them, as if the memory had been wiped from their brain altogether. But even with Taroko’s absences, yes, a thousand wasn’t so absurd a number – it’s just under three years, and Caspian had been in Sunberth and known him for far longer.

But things are different now, and he doesn’t thank Taroko despite his help at the brothel. Assistance always came with strings attached.

To his surprise, Taroko lets it go. At least for the moment. “What are you doing in Sunberth? Can you at least give me that?”

Teeth grinding in his skull, Caspian inhales – exhales, and finally lets his dagger arm drop to his side. The embers from the lantern, luckily, have mostly died out. Good thing there’s a good deal of mud and puddles of – well, best not to dwell on it – in this barn. But it’s easier, sometimes, to talk in the dark. As if knowing the other person can’t see your eyes is its own freedom.

“I’ve been all over the map,” Caspian says, “and I thought I was happy, for a bit, and then I wasn’t. And I wondered if I was ever actually happy at all, or maybe I just told myself I was because I wanted so badly to be. So I realized the only place I’ve got a chance of making sense in is…” He trails off. Shrugs.

To his surprise, Taroko sheathes his dagger and heads towards the back of the barn. There’s the sound of a metal latch scraping against wood, and then light pours in.

Taroko looks back at him. “Sun’s setting. Listen, I’m going to be at The Pig’s Foot tomorrow evening. You’re welcome to come tell me more, if you want.”

Is that where they are now? Is it really that easy to wipe away the past – and if not erase, merely look the other way from it?

The cut on his chest – he looks down. Already the blood is crusting and congealing.

He doesn’t answer, but follows Taroko out into the setting sunlight all the same, the yowling of the pack of dogs echoing from streets away.

x