Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Blood and Tears ❯ Chapter 1

Van was bored. For some people boredom wasn't really boredom, just a really big space between doing two vaguely interesting activities. For others, boredom was an everyday-sit-in-a-chair-and-do-nothing event. There really isn't any difference between the two and so this topic is no longer important, just a way to start a very very long tale, continuing from another very very long tale. Thus why Van was so bored. He still missed Hitomi but had reached the point of accepting what had happened, and so with nothing but a young cat-girl to entertain him had been embraced into his own world of boredom. He also didn't like the word embrace. Van was finally pulled away from his obsessive trance when a loud clang, accompanied by the grunt of a few well-chosen words, sounded from the kitchen a few rooms away. Sighing Van got to his feet, expecting to be greeted by what had long since ceased to strike him as funny.

Assorted pots and pans had been scattered across the floor as if someone had suddenly had the urge to play a large game of checkers with kitchenware. Van glanced over, to where he knew from experience, Merle would be sitting, holding whatever worthless item had possessed her to, yet again, destroy the kitchen. Today she was hugging an oatmeal cookie. Van scanned the array of pots and pans, this time taking notice to the broken cookie jar that upon falling had spread cookies all across the floor. Sighing Van started to clean the mess as Merle crouched in the corner licking the sugar off that oh-so-important oatmeal cookie. Merle did something like this just about once a week. Usually she attacked the kitchen, but had also been known to sneak into a nearby clothing room and, giggling madly, steal what ever item of Van's might be drying. A week before Hitomi left Merle had cleverly stolen a pair of Van's long johns and hung them just below the Fanelian flag.

While this might have struck Merle and the remaining population of Fanelia as amusing, in did not produce even a small giggle from Van (although some of us might think the idea of Van giggling at all would be a tad more then slightly disturbing). When he had finished picking up the mess, Van walked softly over to Merle, offering his hand to her to show that he wasn't that mad at her. The last time Merle had done this Van had been in quite an irritable mood and had yelled till he turned about as purple as a well-ripened plum. Merle had cried for almost three hours after the incident, while Van had petted and hugged her willing her to stop crying and telling her that he hadn't meant it, which was the truth.

Quietly Merle looked up at Van and, taking his hand, carefully stood up, wary of a piece of cookie jar lying just next to her foot. She managed to stutter an apology before bursting into what looked like another three hour round of a pleading king and a waterlogged kitty. Van hugged Merle but didn't say anything. He didn't trust himself to, and didn't want to hurt Merle's feelings anymore then he already had. Quietly he picked her up and snuck out of the kitchen. His attempts were in vain because they had heard. Every single one had heard Merle's mournful sobbing. And every single one knew exactly who was involved.

The beatings were always harsh, but after many months of them Van had gotten quiet used to it. Usually the soldiers would aim for the arms, which did hurt a bit. It was when they felt need enough to aim for your stomach or your chest, that the tears usually showed. Today the Captain considered Merle's adventure a bad one. Today they would aim for the chest. Merle's sobs had now become more violent and racked her whole body, since she knew what was about to occur. And again, without success, Van tried to take her burden as his one of his own, the soldiers were unmerciful.

Trying to drown out the sound of Merle's misery, and concentrating on his own, similar fate, Van leaned back against the cold wall. His bare-skin prickled in protest, but Van hardly noticed. He didn't know how long he sat there, or how many lashes were put against Merle. He hoped, mostly for Merle's sake, they were using the whip instead of the iron belt, or that cursed metal rod. The whip, though most fatal on human flesh, was considerably padded against fur. After what seemed like hours, which in reality lasted only about 20 minutes, the echoing sound of approaching footsteps reached Van's ears. Merle had served her sentence. The door opened with the nerve-racking sound of metal grinding on metal, ending with the crash of the door bouncing off the stone wall. The captain's closest apprentice (also his brother) stepped in. Swiftly he grabbed Van's arm and pulling him up, half walked, half shoved him out into what used to be a bunker for the few extra guymelefs that used to make up Fanelia's small armed force. Today it just served as a lashing room.

Merle was lying near the smallest corner, he ankles and wrists were bound by ropes that bit into her soft flesh. Blood tricked down from a number of places on her body, and with each breath a rasping sob escaped her mouth. Van knew this wasn't fair, none of it was, but none of it had ever been fair. Hitomi's own death had been the mark of the beginning, Van just wondered whose death would mark the end. He hoped it would be Merle's, so at least she could escape what pain and torture would stay with him. The pain of barbed lead rope being wrapped tightly around his wrists brought him back to reality. Before he was mentally ready, pain seared throughout his body as a thin leather strap landed squarely on his chest, causing blood to squirt at the floor. With the rod it took about two hits for that result, they had used the whip.

Van attempted to muffle a cry of pain as the whip found its mark once more, this time leaving a bloody trail along the base of his stomach. Tears broke through the wall of pride as hit after hit left marks of blood across his body. Tomorrow would be yet another dreadful day, the wounds would ache for hours, and sting even the brush of a feather. The worst was peeling off the dried blood, it usually dried deep within the wound, causing a burning sensation when it was peeled off. When they had finished Van's bindings were cut, provided that he didn't try to run which in Merle's case never works, thus why she still had her bindings earlier on, up until the time that they could catch her.

Ignoring the pain that seared across his body, Van changed into his cleanest shirt, a white bloodstained nightshirt, long enough to brush against the floor when he slouched. It was actually Allen's old shirt, one that had been given to him from his first love, Marlene. He has entrusted it to Van before the Nighting Ceremony, a dreadful practice, where after committing a terrible crime, they cut off the decided number of fingers, occasionally resulting in the loss of a whole hand. Allen hadn't produced the slightest cry, even when salt was spread upon the newly cut stumps. This practice was one that Van had promised himself to never let Merle get sentenced too, and although she had come close, he had so far succeeded.

Limping back to the room in which he, Merle, and the quite Chid shared, Van began to feel more and more depressed with every step. He knew there was but one chance of escape. His only hope lie in the arms of his worse enemy, Dilandau, which really wasn't a hope at all. Though for now Dilandau's current identity was unknown to him, since Dilandau seemed to have about seven different names in which he/she was known by, Van did know that no matter what name he was addressed by, he still utterly hated him.

Before he even reached the door to his room, he could hear Merle's sobs, muffled by the flat straw-filled pillow they were forced to sleep on. Quietly Van slipped into her bed and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, taking care to not hit any new wounds that may have appeared after the last beating. Stroking her gently, he looked at her. She didn't disserve this, no one did. Merle's sobs began to slow, the amount of time between each one lengthening, until at last she fell asleep. Van's eyelids soon grew heavy, and he too fell into the cautious shallow world of a half sleep, one known only to the captives of any prison as dreadful as this.

The morning arrived unwelcome, as the waking bell clanged to and fro in the center courtyard. Van had awoke many hours before the bell, but had not moved for fear of disturbing Merle or even Chid. After Van had slipped away from Merle's arms and dressed quickly, he then woke Merle and Chid, both protesting to yet another early rising. If you were not of by the second round of the waking bell then you were treated to a beating, one that would cost you a nights sleep.

Merle's eyes still showed memory of yesterdays fearful presence, and her wounds, thought considerably better then Van's, were still bloody and caked with dirt. After a beating, you were not allowed a bath for about five days, until the blood had fully dried. Van helped Merle dress, and together the three of them walked down stairs to where the meals were usually served, unless on days that the soldiers were feeling a bit more fatigued then usual, then you were served no meal. This morning was the usual serving of stale bread, a classic prison food, and a choice of either a slice of brown apple, or a scoop of some moldy potato-water mush.

Van chose to eat just bread, and a small cup of warm water. The soldiers would get a choice of a king-sized helping of freshly sliced ham, or a wide variety of freshly picked fruit. Van dipped his bread into the cup of water and bit it, at least it wasn't as hard. Merle came and sat down beside him, she had chosen the brown apple, Van suspected it was the same apple that had been offered three days before. Merle bit into the apple, making a face. "Why," was all she could manage to mutter. Merle was always quite the day after a beating, or on mornings when she was feeling sick. These mornings seemed to be coming more and more often. Chid sat down on Van's other side, the benches they sat on were long and made from the center of a slender forest tree. Thought they weren't the most comfortable, they were something. Chid looked over at Merle, then at Van. "Was it bad?" he whispered, so Merle wouldn't have to be any more reminded of yesterdays events. A small groan erupted from her, she had heard.

Van looked at Chid, "They used the whip at least," he attempted a smile. Chid nodded, and looked back at his stale bread. Dipping it in the water, he bit it, chewing slowly making the bread last, an art Van had never been able to accomplish. Though Chid hadn't had as many beatings as Van and Merle, he had been through an episode of the Nighting Ceremony, and had three missing fingers to show for it. Thought his father had gotten the worst of it, despite his attempts to spare his son, the soldiers agreed only to let Chid keep his left hand and two of the fingers on it. Chid still hadn't adjusted to having only two fingers on one of his hands and sometimes struggled to pick up things that would normally be easy for him.

When they had finished the soldiers ushered them back to their room. Van sighed, and sat down on his own bed. Another day of nothing had come. Though he didn't exactly wish for anything special to happen either, for the only special events in this castle were either the beatings or those horrid bloody ceremonies. Merle walked over to Van and sat down next to him, placing a hand in this lap. "Why can't they just let us go," She whispered. "Maybe something good will come," he said smiling down at her. From across the room Chid muttered a disconsolate "Yeah right." Van looked up at him surprised, but he knew Chid was right. What good could come out of beatings and starvation, besides being set free by death. Not even he knew why the soldiers were here, and why they were keeping the citizens of Fanelia (and even the remaining people of Asturia) under strict command with their brutal force.

Van was about to fall into yet another sleepless sleep when a bell tolled from the courtyard. Van jumped so fast he had to turn around and support Merle before she fell over. Quickly he grabbed the worn out jacket lying beside his bed, and telling Chid and Merle to stay where they were, ran out of the room. Van knew the penalty for leaving an assigned room, he had suffered it yesterday, but something was happening today. The bells were never rung at this hour unless an important guest, perhaps a king, had arrived. He half ran half limped to the main hall where a greeting party was awaiting the arrival of today's guest.

The massive castle doors open, and a ban of armed guards appeared. Van couldn't withhold a quiet expression of excitement when he saw Allen Schzar stroll importantly though the tall stone doors of the castle. He was followed by yet another set of armed guards, though Van didn't worry about them much as they were the remaining citizens of Asturia. Allen looked up at Van, giving what Van knew was a wink but to the Fanelian welcoming party was just the simple twitch.

Van walked slowly back up the stairs. He knew Allen would come to see them no matter what the soldiers told him. He sat down on his bed softly, taking care to not wake Merle up. She slept near the wall, and took up about a quarter of the bed even though she was quiet shorter then Van. He hadn't even taken his coat off yet when the sound of soft footsteps and a gentle creak of the door told him Allen had arrived. Taking off his coat he looked up at Allen, who had grown taller since he last saw him, almost a year ago. "Did they do it yesterday?" Allen said, a sad worried expression spread across his face, causing even the sunlight to shine away. Van nodded, "She got into the cookies, you know how it is. They don't feed us enough, even for a child like Chid."

Allen sighed. What else could he say? He did know how it was, what it was like to be held a prisoner in your own home, so you had no where to go, no where was safe. "Why are they doing this Allen," Van cried suddenly. "No one has the right to do this, we don't even know who these people are or what they want, they just showed up one day. It isn't fair…" Van sat down on his bed shaking. Allen looked at him worriedly. "No it isn't fair," he agreed. "It isn't fair anyone to suffer this, but I don't know what to do. I tried, they won't listen to reason. The only reason Chid and I got into that horrible Nighting Ceremony is because we asked them. Did you know that, we only asked them!" Van looked up, he had always wondered what crime was terrible enough for the Nighting Ceremony.

"Th…that's it?" Van whispered. "Yes, we asked them who they were, and they told we would be punished for asking such pointless questions. Van there's no way out of this. The only person on Gaea who can save us from this is Dilandau," Allen said. Van nodded, knowing there wasn't much hope in that. "Then we wait," he replied.