Chapter 59 - Bound

Iris

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Valkyre heard him long before he saw the flash of honey-colored skin or the tangled strands of dark hair.
He heard him first, because even when he was standing right in front of him, Valkyre had not been able to see him.
A rustle, a mere scrabbling of one paper-dry, crinkling leaf against another. But in the stifling silence and the oppressive shrubbery and foliage of the decaying forest, the crossbreed’s every nerve had been on end, and Valkyre had balked and frozen stock still at the sound of his own shadow more than once.
The voice was like an empty thing, like a memory or imagined sound. After it had spoken, the words hung in the air, slow and sluggish, but was soon swallowed up by the silence. Standing there, immobile, Valkyre couldn’t even be sure as to whether or not he’d really heard it at all.
“Stop.”
The second time the voice spoke, he managed to find where it came from, tracing it to a tangled mass of underbrush and dangling, brittle vines in front of him.
“Leave this place. Strangers are not welcome.”
The voice was odd, the accent clipped and uneven, spoken with a foreign tongue.
And then he blinked, and that was when Valkyre finally realized that the owner of the voice wasn’t hidden at all, but standing right before him, melting in and out of the foliage.
His skin was a warm, gentle brown shade, not tanned but not the normal fleshy, peach shade of humans or just about any other species, for that matter.
His eyes were dark and liquid, large and framed in almost feminine lashes. His hair was a cropped, tangled mess of dark strands which flowed past his shoulders, wild and uncombed, caught with specks of leaf and vine. His features were sharp and angular, face slightly long, neck thin. From his face, he appeared young with his large eyes, the skin smooth and soft.
The upper half of his torso was bare, his one arm leaning against the trunk of a tiny, emaciated tree thin and sharp. His fingers seemed stained dark brown or black; the crossbreed could not quite tell what from where he stood, and the dark fingers seemed to meld into the rough, knobbly wood of the tree trunk on which they rested.
The first thing that Valkyre noticed, though, was his height.
The boy was stood taller than he did, slightly. And although it wasn’t as if Valkyre was unaccustomed to this, but the height did not suit the shape of the boy’s bones nor his frame. In fact, everything from the torso up seemed elevated.
And around then, Valkyre really began to realize what else was different about him.
He had no human hips. Instead, his torso merged smoothly into the muscled, sleek chest and forelegs of an equine, two long, thin, almost spindly legs touching tiny, cloven hooves into the ground cover, the bones of the fetlocks and ankles large and sharply defined, jutting from the thin, tight skin. Just visible out of the corner of his eye, the sweep of a lithe back ended in sharp, angular hips and spiked down with thin, colt-like hindquarters.
A centaur. And yet, this was like no centaur Valkyre had ever seen before. The thin, narrow legs, the particular coloring, the lithe, almost cheetah-like body, the cloven hooves.
He was in no way a combination of human and horse, but something much more delicate, smaller and daintier.
The other tilted his head slightly to the side, as if almost curious, and Valkyre realized there was even more to the boy than he’d imagined.
He bore a set of horns.
Thin, simple yet elegant horns, spiked in only two short tines, tips whittled sharp, curving in a slight, graceful manner. They protruded from the tangled mess of dark hair like sapling trees, small tines somehow effortlessly sliding through the foliage and undergrowth without catching. They were so out of place, yet appeared so natural on the boy, Valkyre was almost caught as to wondering whether or not all centaurs had them.
The boy was shaking his head, the movement catching the other’s attention again, snapping him out of his scrutiny.
“Strangers are not welcome here,” he repeated, voice that same fluting, androgynous tone which mingled and melted into the silence of the forest, difficult to separate from the air.
“Outsiders are not meant to die within here. These are sacred grounds.”
Valkyre stared at the stunted, twisting trees, clinging to their handfuls of dried, brittle leaves. He almost felt like laughing. Sacred? Here?
The crossbreed shook his head. He took a step forward, then stopped. The boy’s dark eyes darted to his wings, gaze roaming over the elegant curve and arch of the webbed, folded demon’s wings and the sweep and furl of the black-feathered angel’s wings.
“I’ve come here for Iris,” he spoke, voice loud and rough in the silence, shatteringly crude and brash in the majestic silence and the boy’s elegant, whispered voice. Valkyre swallowed hard, tasting the dryness in his mouth.
Whatever reaction he might have been expecting from the other, what he got was probably the worst possible. The boy’s eyes narrowed, shoulders rising slightly, body tensing. His hand shifted, and for the first time, Valkyre realized that the boy held a staff in his other hand, made of gnarled, dark-grained wood, smoothened through handling. The staff was topped with a spearhead of some dark, gray-black stone, sharpened to a wizened point, the area where the spear was bound to the wood decorated with trailing bits of vine and leaf.
“…I should have known.” The eyes were narrowed and cold now, clenched hand tightened around the staff turning the knuckles white, as sharp and bony as the boy’s deer-like legs.
Before Valkyre could react or attempt to refute, the boy had taken a step backwards into the foliage daintily on his tiny, cloven feet, and had vanished utterly into the undergrowth.
It wasn’t hard to figure out what was happening.
Valkyre whirled to his side, following instinct. Nothing. Dead silence. He turned around, glancing to his right.
…Nothing.
Of course, he knew the boy hadn’t left. Although he could not sense a strong aura from him, he knew that the other didn’t intend on leaving him here, so simply. Not with a spear-tipped staff in his hand.
Valkyre shifted his gaze slowly now, barely daring to breathe. The silence was stifling. Somewhere, somehow, the boy was traveling, circling around him, stalking him.
The crossbreed shifted a hand down to his waist, fingers brushing against the stiff, calming reassurance of a dagger hilt, but he did not take it out. After a pause, his hand dropped. It was useless, using a blade here. Spears pierced, not slashed.
Valkyre checked behind him. The wooded growth and decay of the forest was much too close for his liking, and he took a step out into the small half-clearing of area, side-stepping a twisted mess of bush. It was too cramped here, and his wings were only becoming a disadvantage. However, he kept them spread, as they were the only form of protection he could give to his bare, exposed back.
Valkyre’s eyes roamed the tangled mess of foliage and drooping vines, but he found nothing. It would do him no good to look for the boy, not like this. And yet, without a strong aura, silent, sure-footed, and hidden… He was invisible.
And Valkyre was an eyesore in the muted browns, grays, and weary greens of the forest.
The crossbreed took another sidling half-step, leaves crunching brittle and sharp underfoot. Any noise he made wouldn’t make a difference, now. He took in a long, slow breath, and closed his eyes.
The world was different here, inked with black. The remaining shapes and defining figures slumped into nothingness on the backs of his eyelids, calming his mind. Vision was only one of the tools the boy was wielding against him, and Valkyre knew it would not be able to help him. He’d have to rely on other senses, then.
After all, no one was dead silent.
However, on tuning into certain new senses, Valkyre merely discovered that a forest was never silent, even if it was as marginally close to dead as any would ever come. Leaves crinkled as if of their own designs, and there was a wind, somewhere, if merely the sound of air rising.
In truth though, it was the sound which saved him. The thrown spear snapped out a fast, high-pitched shriek, like a sharp intake of breath. Although Valkyre had not the time to gauge where it had come from, he instinctively dodged back, twisting his body, eyes snapping open.
Silence allowed for the heavy, thick thud of the spear’s stone head embedding itself in the packed, dusty ground before swallowing all again in its endless void of muffled nothingness. The spear’s hard-grained, whorled length jutted at a sharp, low angle from the ground, inches from Valkyre’s feet.
Before the crossbreed fully had time to prepare or recover, the boy dashed into the hollowed arena, prancing on his tiny, cloven hooves, entire body on edge, flanks flashing creamy white on bottom. Instinctively, Valkyre dodged back, fearing a second blow, arms raised. The boy darted forward, and in one smooth, liquid motion, he snatched back the spear, cast him a sharp, hard glance, then leapt back into the foliage, vanishing from view.
Valkyre cursed his stupidity.
Of course, he shouldn’t have backed down. The spear was the boy’s only weapon, at least, the only one in view. And if he’d darted into view merely to retrieve it, exposing himself in the process, then the chances of his having hidden a second weapon were slim. As well… something about the way the boy had moved, about the way his body had tilted and how he’d balked, front and hind legs almost touching at the ankles, shoulders drawn…
As if he was afraid of coming close to him, of touching him.
Valkyre licked dry lips, eyes still darting around, ears alert. Mentally, he weighed the odds. The boy’s only weapon was a spear. He was keeping his distance.
He still had the advantage of surprise, and Valkyre had no cover.
The crossbreed scuffed at the leaves as he stepped into the center again, the drooping and twisted edges of twigs beginning to catch at his wings. It wasn’t as if he had anywhere to hide.
He closed his eyes again. This time, he ignored the sounds. Instead, he felt the air, felt its stiff sluggishness. Underneath the slow, lethargic currents, he felt the tints, touches, and brushes of auras and presences. The earth, it was a shifting, twisting entity he’d been forced to accept when he’d arrived here. The ground was a set solid, rippling on occasion.
And through the ground beneath his feet, tremors shook, faint, delicate.
The auras, stacked and motionless, faded like infrared. The boy still had centaurian blood in him; he was not of the labs, like Corryn or Eire or Raguel. Deep down, there was still an aura he could trace, that he could follow.
The second blow Valkyre was already attuned to, by the time it struck. He dipped nimbly to the side, half-ducking, exerting little more but the necessary energy. The spear, unfortunately, vanished into the undergrowth, and Valkyre knew it would be futile to plunge into the foliage and attempt to find it before his adversary did.
Instead, he merely held his ground, feet planted apart, wings half-spread.
This time, Valkyre did not close his eyes. He flexed his fingers, letting the tiny, minute threads of magic travel along them, seeking. Silence reigned, wiping clean the memory of sound, but Valkyre knew it was not to last.
The third time the boy struck, Valkyre was already moving. He’d felt the tremor through the ground, felt the tension snapping in the air. His fingers brushed against wood as it whistled past, snapping out at it on instinct. The spear’s smooth body slid between his fingertips, but the leather of his glove closed down and gripped the wood just as it was almost past; Valkyre stopped the spear just as the tip met the soil, the edge of his thumb just wrapping around the base end of the wood. He swung the spear around, effortlessly, and slid his grip to hold the weapon just past the spearhead.
The boy materialized at his side, a thin, browned arm shooting out and grasping the spear just underneath Valkyre’s own grip, twisting it around. Startled, the crossbreed almost let go, catching dark, hard eyes and streaks of tangled hair. He grabbed at the spear with his other hand, and found the boy opposite him, staring him down. Here, height played a difference, as the boy could lean on his weight and allow his upper body to push down against the other; Valkyre was forced back with stumbling, sliding steps, the crossbreed gritting his teeth as he tried to hold his own, leaves crumbling and scattering underneath his boots.
Abruptly, the boy twisted around the spear in his hands, suddenly releasing the weight and forcing the momentum downwards with a push toward the ground. Valkyre, startled, lost his grip. He felt the wood bite as it slipped through his hands, and the next thing he knew, there was the sound of the spear whirling around in the air, cutting through thick silence, and the stone spearhead was a centimeter from his throat. It was held poised in the boy’s hands, the thin fingers curled around the wooden spear’s body browned and black-stained, knuckles gleaming white.
Valkyre froze, body stiffening at the cool lick of the fine, honed edge of the spear tip touching the soft underside of his throat.
The boy’s eyes were too human. They were sharp and drawn, cold, but underneath, they were wide, warm, and childish. The eyes held no compassion for him, without a doubt, yet they were not the eyes of a killer.
Valkyre swallowed, dryly, on nothing. The tiny movement was enough to puncture his skin before he’d quite noticed it, drawing a hot, warm bead of blood. Valkyre winced, slightly, expecting pain, but stopped as the boy rapidly moved out of the corner of his eye. Surprisingly enough, those dark eyes had widened, set lips parting just slightly, and the boy had stepped back, daintily, drawing away with him the threatening tip of the spear.
Valkyre sat there stunned for a moment, wondering what was going on. As he watched, the boy turned around gracefully, swinging around the spear again to rest the butt end in the crinkled, shriveled undergrowth.
The boy looked back at the crossbreed over his shoulder, expression downright distasteful.
Hardly conscious of what he was doing, Valkyre stood up straight, smearing away the blood at his neck, which was beginning to cool. He paused, then raised a hand to his face. Caught in the oiled folds of his glove, the blood showed black against the tanned leather, glistening. Valkyre could feel the moistness smeared over his neck, cooling in the still, stifled air, yet… he felt no pain. The blood was no longer some burning, raging thing inside of him, scalding his skin.
A movement drew his attention back. The boy had tipped the spear down, angling it until his small, brown-black fingertips could reach the spearhead tied to the top. A charcoal-darkened, thin finger brushed against the honed edge, the smudge of red invisible on his dark skin. A pause, then the boy glanced back. His eyes were dark, wide and blank. They showed no warmth towards Valkyre, but a guarded interest.
“…You’re… like him.”
Valkyre slowly, carefully shifted his footing. The boy ignored it, blinking, then looking away again. His fingertips tightened their grasp on the rough, worn wood of the spear, fingers tangling themselves in dried twists of vine.
The words had been soft, almost whispered. More self-contemplative than an outward declaration.
“…Please.”
Valkyre kept his voice down, tone soft and flat. His throat was dry, a half-formed bead of blood starting to well up at his neck again.
“Let me see Iris. I will not harm him.”
The boy closed his eyes instead of replying. Without his large, dark eyes, the boy’s face still held its childish features, but there were suggestions of a tiredness in the way his brows were drawn, and in the set of his lips. He seemed somehow older, wearier.
A sudden flash of movement, and Valkyre suddenly found that the boy had spun around again and leveled the spear’s sharp, glinting tip to him, inches from the bridge of his nose. On the flattened, smooth surface of the dark stone edge, Valkyre’s own deep red blood glistened back at him, glowing dully through the dark rock.
When the boy spoke, his voice was suddenly clear and sharp, piercing through the thick, heavy silence.
“You are bound by the blood on my spear. Break your oath, and I shall not hesitate to kill you.”
With that, he turned around, and began to step away. Valkyre stared after him, numbly for a moment, startled. What had made the boy suddenly change his mind? Had he passed some silent test? Or was it simply his blood which had saved him…?
Valkyre shook his head, letting out a slow, long breath.
“Come.”
The boy glanced over his shoulder, aloft and distant, dark eyes large and cool, calm. “If you want to see Iris.”
Valkyre took a faltering step forward, then another.
Iris.
Yes, this boy knew where Iris was. They would finally find each other again. It did not matter what had happened, or what was to come; as long as they were together, everything would be all right again.

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AN: Jezuz jesuum I'm so sorry. XD; It's been so freakin' long, I know!! I-I-I got preoccupied with stuff, yeah, and... I had to do things... and projects... >>; I swear, I did. ;A;
Anyway, here's more Iris for y'all! Sorry, but I have jsut really been struggling to find some time to really work on Iris. I've got a ton of schoolwork, honest, and if not, I've still got things to draw and all that snaz~
SO! things are happening. ...I feel a writer's block coming on though, auugh~
Thanks a lot for reading! Hope to have the next chapter out sometime decently soon~ X

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