by A. R. Crebs
Knowing I’Lanthe was a night owl, Dovian was pleased to find her standing in her room with her back to the garden. With a crooked posture, she worked a cello. Giving a couple pulls on the instrument, she cast a whisper for the instrument to commence its playing. The woman then grabbed a violin, adding its music, and told it to repeat the tune. Finally, she raised her flute and played alongside the two stringed instruments. It was amusing to see her miniature orchestra. The composition was in a low key, almost sad in nature. After a few moments of playing, I’Lanthe spun and lowered her silver instrument.
“You scared me,” she whispered.
“My apologies,” Dovian spoke. He stepped from the shadows of the night and held his arms out to the side. “May I come in?”
“Of course.” She grinned. “What brings you here at this hour of the night?”
Dovian rubbed the back of his head, not sure how to say it. He waited too long as I’Lanthe processed what was going on by his appearance.
“You…you’re leaving?” she sadly whispered. Her vibrant eyes dimmed a hue.
“That I am.” He nodded slowly.
“But....” She set down the flute and motioned for the string instruments to lower in volume.
“I only now found out. I’m sorry, but I will not be able to make it to our meeting tomorrow.” Dovian frowned as the woman quickly approached him. She looked entirely let down.
“How long?” There was a type of desperation in her voice.
Her expression and worried tone were prime examples of why Dovian feared to fall in love. He couldn’t stand hurting someone time and again because of his duties.
“I’m unsure.”
“I….” She didn’t know what to say.
“I don’t have much time. But I wanted to make sure you knew.”
“Then I guess…farewell.” She didn’t move to do anything or say anything more, and it stung a bit.
“Farewell.” He gave a short bob.
This wasn’t exactly how he planned it to go, but then again, what did he expect?
“Listen to me, Lanthe.” Dovian cleared his throat.
The woman lifted her hands, clasping them against her chest.
“I’ve no idea how long I’ll be gone. Know that…I care about you and your well-being. But, please, don’t...don’t wait.”
Tears wetted her eyes. “What are you saying?” she whispered.
“Don’t take it the wrong way. Please don’t. It is never my intention ever to hurt you. Likewise, I never want you to suffer because of me. If I happen to be gone another fifty years…twenty, ten, or five, it doesn’t matter. Don’t miss out on life and all it has to offer.” Dovian couldn’t look her in the eye, and that in itself was frustrating to the woman.
“Are you always going to do this?” she asked.
Dovian finally met her eyes. She grabbed the collar of his coat.
“I can do what I please. If I want to run out there and find another man, I will do it.” She eased on her anger. “And if I want to wait for someone, I will.”
“Lanthe,” he whispered.
She shook her head. “Don’t even worry about it, Dovian. If we’re meant to be, we will find each other again. For now, you have your duties as a soldier of the Sorcēarian race to keep us and humanity safe.”
“You’re…so…strange.”
She smirked. “Good things come to those who wait. I will gladly wait.” Stepping on her toes, she planted a soft kiss on his lips. “For you, I’d wait for a thousand years.”
“Only a thousand?” he teased.
“Oh, don’t get cocky!” she laughed.
Dovian wrapped his arms around her, taking in the scent of her perfume. “Hmm, I will miss that perfume.”
“I will miss your touch.”
The two kissed again, this time more passionately. Dovian stumbled back against one of the pillars as I’Lanthe pressed against him. She gave a quiet moan, and Dovian squeezed her hips. The two of them had kissed many times before, but they hadn’t advanced much further than that. However, lately, they had come dangerously close. Dovian knew I’Lanthe wouldn’t have a problem with giving her body to him. Still, he couldn’t find himself to allow that. It would make their parting all the more difficult in the future.
Giving a growl, he gently guided her away from him. I’Lanthe’s cheeks held a tinge of pink. Her chest heaved up and down. Her nightgown was nearly transparent and hung dangerously low. He swallowed hard.
“I have to leave,” he croaked.
I’Lanthe giggled, kissed his cheek, then whispered in his ear. “We’ll pick up where we left off when you get home.”
Dovian smirked. “I’m not going to argue with that.”
She gave him a beautiful grin, and for a second, Dovian almost changed his mind. His annoyingly responsible conscience, however, told him that would be treasonous. Placing his fist against his chest, he bowed to I’Lanthe.
“My dear. I bid you farewell.”
I’Lanthe nodded slowly, her content demeanor fading slightly. “Farewell.”
Dovian gave her one last look before quickly palming his tuner. In a flicker, he was gone, leaving the woman alone in her bedroom to the sound of her own sad music.
"The Spider and the Butterfly"
Chapter 14
Time passed at an alarming rate. What was presumed to be a five-year war had turned into twenty-five, then fifty, and on up to seventy-five and more. There were small breaks here and there where Dovian was allowed to return home for holidays and similar events. With each visit, he denied I’Lanthe her full desires. They spoke, they ate, and they even napped together. But as for physicality, Dovian had held off on that until the war was officially over. That time had finally come but far too late. With each passing year, the wars had grown more disastrous, chaotic, and the world was spiraling into ruin. With their preposterously low fertility rate against the numbers lost in battle, the Sorcēarian population nosedived by the thousands each year.
By the time Dovian finally arrived home, the end of the war finalized by all nations, he was a worn and weathered man. His eyes looked to be made of crystal. His face had thinned out, his lines and wrinkles deeper. His hair had overgrown, his bangs hanging in his eyes. Empty, dirty, hungry, exhausted. Only one thing occupied his mind–her.
Dovian walked toward the bridge of his home; I’Lanthe sat at the entrance. Upon recognition, she dashed toward him, her violet robes billowing behind her. Her expression held a sharp scowl, her eyebrows knitted together. Her expression alone could make a grown man cower; now Dovian knew what it was like to be commanded by this woman.
I’Lanthe had continued with her training for Violet status over the duration of the war. The Elders taught her well because roughly halfway through the conflict, I’Lanthe had received her title and took over the Sorcēarian fleets in Africa. Drawing more attention to the lavender color of her irises was the similarly colored tattoo on the side of her face. She had the look and posture of an Elder. In many years to come, she’d take her great-grandmother, Narita’s, place.
“I thought I told you to withdraw!” she bellowed.
Dovian shook his head, his teeth gritting. “How could I when there were so many?!”
I’Lanthe finally reached him. Dovian dropped his bags and unhooked his armor, allowing it to crash into the dirt.
“Those children!” he growled.
I’Lanthe cupped his face, her eyebrows turning upward into a miserable expression. His clothing was charred. He was covered in blood, dirt, and God knows what. At the feel of her soft hands and the scent of her perfume, his glassy eyes shattered with tears. Dovian leaned into her and sank to his knees.
“Those…children,” he choked.
I’Lanthe dropped, holding him.
“I thought you were dead!” she croaked as her own tears came.
“I was…” he whispered, “I was.”
“It’s not possible,” she spoke against his hair.
Dovian
pulled her tightly against him, his fingers locking into her brown curls. He groaned, and his grip began to hurt I’Lanthe. She allowed it, however, as her own fingers tangled in his destroyed uniform.
“It’s okay,” she said in a soothing tone. “It’s going to be alright.”
Dovian shook his head against her, refusing to believe it. He took in a deep breath, his teeth grinding together.
“Dovian, it’s going to be alright. I promise.”
Finally, he couldn’t contain it any longer.
“They’re all dead.” A low sob erupted from him.
I’Lanthe readjusted her hold, rocking him back and forth. His body quaked as he broke down. Her sight fell to the burns on his arms; she frowned at how the cloth stuck to his skin. Something had sliced through his armor and clothing, leaving a deep gash in his chest. Already his wounds were mostly healed, but the look of them wasn’t normal. They were severe. It was a miracle he survived the trauma. At this point, Dovian would easily be able to finish healing, but I’Lanthe still worried.
“Thank God you’re still alive,” she mumbled.
Dovian paused. “Don’t thank Him for me being alive. I much rather He takes me than any of them!” His hand flew back, pointing behind him.
“No, no! I know this! I know. It was selfish of me, Dovian.” I’Lanthe placed a hand on his cheek, coercing him to look at her. “I didn’t think. What happened to those children…was….”
A high-pitched gasp escaped her lips. Dovian paused, his muscles tensing. Now she was upset.
“I tried. I tried everything. I sent in a team to intercept the aircraft. One slipped through.” The woman choked on a sob. “I didn’t notice them. Orin caught my mistake, but it was far too late.”
Dovian this time held her face.
“You can’t blame yourself,” he said as he ran his thumbs over her tear-stained cheeks.
“But you blame yourself.” She cleared her throat, composing herself. I’Lanthe rarely showed weakness, but she was becoming accustomed to revealing more of her inner turmoil to the man. “I’m a leader, Dovian. My goal is to save lives through strategic planning, guidance, communications, and counsel.”
“I am a warrior. I’m meant to protect them. I’ve fought for countless years before I was placed in that village for the last fifteen. I raised them. I nursed them. I fed them, clothed them, taught them the word, played games with them. I was their father, and I let them be destroyed,” Dovian harshly spat. “I buried them! I buried them all! Some, merely pieces were all I could find. I…I wasn’t fast enough! I could have saved them! Maybe my tuner….” He paused, struggling to swallow his breaths. There was no way he could have saved them. He couldn’t even save himself.
She frantically shook her head. “Not your fault. You can’t always stop the actions of evil,” I’Lanthe corrected him. “Neither of us are to blame.”
“Are we not? Perhaps Euclid is right,” Dovian moaned.
I’Lanthe’s face wrinkled. “Euclid is wrong. His ideals are crooked and wrong. His distaste for humanity outweighs his logic.”
“How can they kill so many innocents without a moment’s thought?” Dovian couldn’t fathom the idea–how people could be so heartless.
“We can only hope we never become like them. But in the meantime, we must preserve those that stand up against this darkness.” She wasn’t sure what kind of answer to give. Dovian was in a dangerous place at the moment. His back apparatus chimed and beeped, alerting her of his filtering energies. She had never heard it alarm so much before.
Dovian abruptly stood. I’Lanthe clumsily pushed to her feet, looking dumbfounded as he gathered his armor and satchel.
“I had it preserved,” Dovian snarled. “And then it was destroyed.” He walked away from her.
“Dovian!”
“Go home, I’Lanthe. Get some rest.”
Another sharp gasp slipped from the woman. Dovian winced at the sound.
He halted. “I’m sorry. I’ve lost too much. I can’t risk anything again. All my worries…they’ve come true. Please go home. Be with your loved ones.”
“What are you saying? You’re not making any sense. Dovian, I don’t think you should be alone right now. Perhaps I should get Elder Gaius. He needs to look into your injuries.” The woman tried to continue but was sharply cut off.
“No, you’re wrong. You see…I should be alone. I should not be allowed near anyone,” he replied.
“Dovian, that’s not true.” She gently placed her hand on his shoulder. It felt like fire on his skin. Dovian grabbed her wrist and turned. He looked greatly distressed; the expression caused I’Lanthe’s stomach to turn.
“You don’t understand! I’m no good for you, I’Lanthe. I’m a soldier. I’m a pawn that’s expendable in this never-ending chaos. I’m lazy, aloof, daft, foolish, and destined to die terribly. I’m broken. I thought I could handle this life, but things are…it’s exhausting.” He shook his head. “This has to end, I’Lanthe. We can’t keep doing this. Not only do you deserve far better, but you’re now my superior. It’s not appropriate.”
“Dovian. No! I don’t care,” she started.
“But I do! I don’t want this, I’Lanthe! Now, please! Go home!” he shouted. His grip on her wrist tightened.
“Dovian! You’re hurting me!” she cried out, tears welling in her eyes as her voice quaked.
Dovian quickly retracted, staring at his hands and then her wrists. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He reached for her, but she pulled away.
“No. That’s not what I meant.” She pressed her hands in front of her chest.
They remained silent for a moment. Dovian couldn’t handle it. The stress from the war, from being hungry, dirty, injured, and his feelings for this woman were wearing him thin. He lost too many lives, too many lives that he had grown to know and love. Children that he had saved and had become astounding adults were now gone, destroyed by fire. Atop everything, he should have been dead, too. The combination of that realization along with I’Lanthe standing before him in pain was all too real. With him gone, her world would be destroyed. Dovian placed a hand against his head, letting out a sharp sigh.
“I just need to be alone, I’Lanthe,” he whispered.
“So…we’re done?” she asked.
“Yeah. We’re…we’re done.”
He refused to look at her, but the silence was dreadful. With a sudden whoosh, the woman disappeared within her portal. Hopefully, she realized he was a lost cause. Hopefully, she hated him. If anything were to cause her harm, or if something were to happen to her because of him, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. He needed to get rid of her, to prevent either of them from feeling pain in the future. It was best. He had told himself time and again that she would be better off without him.
Dovian walked slowly toward his home, the cold air chilling him. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt cold. Like a ghost, he made his way into the small cathedral of the Gaius home. His father stood beside the podium at the front, preparing his sermon. He often acted it out beforehand in practice. Though he never made mistakes, the man was a perfectionist and never felt ready for anything. Gaius III tore his eyes from his notes and froze at the sight of his war-torn son.
“Dovian,” he said, his deep tone echoing in the vast space. He motioned to move toward the young man, but Dovian held up a hand.
Gaius III clamped his mouth and gave a low sigh. He never was good at comforting his son, especially when he arrived from battle. Gaius remembered how Elysia used to draw him a warm bath and prepare a meal for him and a glass of wine. The sentiments never really held up well between him and Dovian. It seemed to be something a bit too intimate for the two. After Elysia’s death, Gaius III could barely care for himself let alone his boy. Elysia was the soft parent. Gaius III was stern and harsh. It was in moments like this, as the older man watched his son who was caked in blood and mud, that he wished he could cure Dovian of his aching. He wasn’t sure
what had happened to the young man, but he recognized the wild look in his eye. Dovian was broken once again.
“I’ll ready you some supper, boy. I’ll leave it for you when you’re ready,” Gaius spoke as he closed his book.
Dovian didn’t look at his father but gave a short nod in recognition as he moved into the shadows. It seemed to take an hour to reach his bedroom. And as he approached, he noticed a figure beside his door. Readying to deal with Lita’s barrage of questions, Dovian took a deep breath.
“You look like hell,” said a smooth male voice instead.
Dovian was taken aback. As he neared the man beside his entryway, Dovian repositioned the satchel on his shoulder. It suddenly felt entirely too heavy.
“I’ve been there,” Dovian darkly uttered.
Reaching to the side of the man, he shoved the door open. The setting sunlight slipped through the bedroom window into the hall, the orange light paling as bulbous clouds moved along the horizon. The light illuminated the emerald robes of his visitor.
“Martelle. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Dovian asked as he turned to face the man.
He was answered by the feeling of a jewel-covered fist smashing against his chin. Dovian collapsed onto the floor. He glared at Martelle, testing the mobility of his jaw as he held it. A coppery taste invaded his senses.
“The pleasure of my sister in tears, you bastard!” Martelle snarled.