Fates that We Don't Change

Some bonds people form can be stronger than their lives, but what happens when such bonds are formed by immortals? There is no way to escape them, be that curse or blessing. It might look unbearable,

He inhaled the cool air of the evening and exhaled it in a cloud of pale steam that vanished immediately as he lowered his gaze upon the approaching unit. The air around his troops was fresh, clean and cool, while his enemies were bringing dust, smoke and fire. Their torchlights were burning vaguely in the fading sunlight, but the smell of the flaming pitch could already be felt nearby. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like how the fires were disturbing the perfect clearness around him and how the chimerical shadows were becoming more and more visible, replacing the dusk’s natural palette. There was nothing chivalrous about dying in these fires, nothing brave or courageous. He didn’t wish for his knights to die such a death. He wasn’t going to die anyway.

Still, the scent of burning torches awoke his senses and strengthened them with each step towards the enemy. He could feel his blood starting to warm up, at first slowly and lazily, then rapidly reaching boiling point. Now he could even distinguish different figures and faces, demonic faces appearing in fragments from flames, feel the heat from their torches. For a few moments he could believe that their heartbeats were filling his ears in tons of irregular rhythms, and soon enough his irritation turned into excitement as he was enveloped in the melody of the upcoming battle.

His black stallion was becoming as well. With every step he was running faster, easily leaping over the large stones and prickly bushes without needing his rider to pull the reins. The last rays of sunset still glittered off the knight’s armour and his horse’s harness, yet in the next moment they became blurry, dissolving into the same shady images from the torchlights. But it didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered, because like a ray of sunlight he‘d already pierced through the front ranks with the unsheathed sword in his hand. Somewhere behind him he could hear his warriors breaking into the enemy formation as well

The steel was dancing under his will. The burnt scent of pitch was soon joined by a new one, the thick fragrant of fresh blood as it flowed down his blade. Its sweet essence was spreading around, filling his nostrils with intoxicating, poisonous satisfaction. Blood was making him drunk, as if it was flowing into his own veins though the edge cutting his foes. Suddenly, he acquired wings and the way he was pushing though the lines, his strokes and the hidden grace of all his movements could be compared to the strokes of an artist painting his picture with a thick and heavy brush, yet leaving traces lighter than wind, thinner than sunbeams. He was filled with the cruel poetry of battle, inspired by the music of swords and blessed with bloody sacrifices. He knew it could be only a fantasy by an insane muse, but it didn’t decrease his vigour and passion. His steel was still dancing and so was he, his soul blazing brighter than any torch.

Out of nowhere, a wave of warmth spread over the parties. It passed through them rapidly, like a dragon leaving only traces of its burning wings. The traces lingered with the red lights transfusing the evening air. They were leaving pink marks on the ground and people fighting. He could see them mixing with the last sunset rays, as if these lights and the sunlight were trying to cage the battle in their sparkling crimson prison.

Only then did he notice that something was wrong. Something was disturbing the space around him terribly. There was only one sun and it was in front of him. Yet the red wave and its warmth were still present. Abruptly he turned around to see the scarlet star on the horizon. The distant light of the castle he was protecting, burning.

All the heat of the fight left him much quicker than it had come. His heart skipped a beat and then froze seemingly without motion, as the icy cold tentacles reached out and captured his limbs in their grasp. For a second he couldn’t move, couldn’t feel. He didn’t hear the cries of battle, the scents of blood and sweat and burning wood vanished as if they weren’t there. He noticed them fading only when he was already away, so far away from them that they were just background noise. All that mattered was his black stallion racing towards the exploding star.

He burst into the yard just in time to see the flames reaching for the highest tower. The windows were open, but he could neither hear nor see anything or anyone. One of the burning constructions fell just in front of his mount, causing the latter to rise suddenly, and the rider barely kept his balance. As he turned the animal to gallop around the castle, another shining particle left the main building. For a few seconds it was flying up, fiery yet solid like a magical fireball of a thousand colours. Then he could recognize the silhouettes of two phoenixes spreading their wings and moving apart. He smiled. So they escaped. It was the only important thing for him and for a moment or two he observed them with his emerald eyes as a sign of a still living hope for him. He was almost ready to turn around and give into the art of war, when one of them revealed its claws and attacked the other one. Immediately the air was filled with a terrible scream, so human that it couldn’t belong to a bird. And another sound, as terrible as the first one, overtook the sky with shaking laugher. Only sparks were left, as the other bird raised high into the sky. When he woke up, he knew that one of them had died that night.

It took him a few moments to realise that it had been a dream. As he stared into the dark space ahead of him, he was still holding his breath and his heart was pounding. Slowly, very slowly it calmed down and so did he. He turned his head to glance at the alarm clock, just to see that it was still night. He didn’t need much sleep and he needed even less of it with dreams like this. There was nothing left to do but to get up and start his day.

This memory had haunted him for years. Five, six or seven centuries, he’d lost count a long time ago. All those numbers didn’t change the fact that it kept coming to him again and again, sometimes every night, sometimes once a week and sometimes it was absent for years. But it always returned. Always.

This time it returned after a few months. His dreams about that battle were quite vivid and almost tangible, but he noticed that slowly some details were erased every time he was seeing it. He could remember neither faces nor names of those who were fighting for him, he couldn’t remember what looked like that castle he had spent so much time in, he didn’t recall his foes and, honestly, he didn’t want to. Even if it was his life for him, for the rest it was just history. A pretty heroic story about handsome princes and imprisoned princesses. And probably dragons. He didn’t know, since he hadn’t seen any of them so far.

But there were details that still stayed in his head, both painful and dear, and sometimes they frightened him or made him sit quietly and think about all those years that he had survived. One of such details was the fact that he didn’t know who had died that night and it brought him unrequired anxiety.

There were two of them, two twin sisters that shared the same face and power. The one who wanted to love him and the one who wanted to kill him, but neither fulfilled their desires. There was a curse that held them together and apart at the same time. The moment he had stepped into their castle the curse captured him as well. Only one will survive, an ancient crone told him once, only one will stay and with her you will find either your misery or your wings to heaven.

The crone didn’t tell him who she meant, and so he wouldn’t know. Prophesies like these were always troublesome, and curses were even more troublesome than prophesies. One of them indeed died, and yet he lived. He couldn’t say he was miserable, but he wasn’t exactly in heaven either. Was it still ahead, this future of his? He didn’t know.

His life had become ordinary these days. The world he lived in didn’t require knights or swords and even the wars they fought were far too boring for him. There was nothing left to conquer, and though humankind longed for the Moon, Mars and farther galaxies, he wasn’t interested in them. There was so little honour left in this world. The kind of honour that required a man to shed his blood and put his life at stake. “Those who live by the sword die by the sword” wasn’t a likely outcome any more. Now only fools believed in their leaders, and the leaders didn’t even care about those fools. Well, people never cared about the fools in the end, but before they didn’t pretend to, at least. Now all he was seeing was a total, permanent and infinite show.

Everything around him was made of synthetic stuff that didn’t have anything alive in it. He saw people living in synthetic houses, eating synthetic food and doing synthetic jobs that meant so much in this brave new world, but in fact didn’t mean anything in terms of survival. The majority of these modern people, these subjects of permanent innovation, optimization and globalization, would die in natural conditions, either because of fear or because of their inability to survive without their synthetic means of life. They were trying to reach the sky and beyond it, but they didn’t truly know how to handle the ground.

And so he had hidden his sword, while his stallion was living a peaceful life in the nearest village, pretending to be just a strong and pretty animal, while he was pretending to be a modest and reserved artist. This way no one could tell him what to do, since through all his artworks and writings he was only describing the world he knew before this epoch. The very same humans who were creating it, seemed to be fond of undisturbed sceneries and fantasy stories, and so he managed to afford enough for one to live a decent life. But he didn’t need even that. He was much more than that, and this self-consciousness was upsetting him constantly. In this century he became just a shadow, a quiet observer who could only watch, draw and write of the life they had never lived and the life he would never live again. It was a century of depression where to maintain one’s sanity he had to learn not to live like those around him.

There were some pleasant points, of course. He was still young, handsome and smart enough and in some moments of extreme inspiration he could bring up that passionate personality he had buried deep down in himself. During these times he talked with the burning eyes and fevered mind, and the streams of anxious and excited speeches filled the ears around him, enchanting their owners and drawing them to him. He was loved for an hour or two or even the whole evening, but then waking up one morning he remembered that dream… and then just escaped in himself all the same. Escaped to wait patiently for the end of this curse.

And though it was the same each time, each time it was something to reflect about. If not this haunting memory, he would forget his predicted fate a long time ago. He was wondering, if the world didn’t seem so crazy, so blind to him, if he didn’t remember that somewhere there lived one of the phoenixes, to burn his life or to warm it. Princess of the highest tower, fair and gentle, the one he never loved or never hated, but the one who always loved or hated him. Just, which one?

He sighed and let this thought leave him like the air from his lungs. With a cup of coffee he could see the dawn starting to paint the sky in colours of purple and later gold. The sky upon the city was rarely fitting for such chord of beamy dyes, but today seemed to be generous enough to impressionists. It was a great time for wanders. And so he did, after putting on his jacket and a long scarf, and picking his easel with him. He left his home locking the door with three turns of his silvered key and went out of the skyscraper to embrace the morning light.

The city was still half-asleep and it lasted just long enough for him to reach the park. If it were a ghost town without people, he would stop somewhere in the street to picture the sunrise reflected on the windows, but this city was full of people and noise. So he preferred parks where there was still a chance to find a quiet niche among the trees and natural walls. He didn’t need references for his paintings, and so he didn’t need anything definite around him. And despite his reserved character in this century, he still chose the spots where he could see people passing by. It was true that he despised the greater part of humanity, but some separate individuals could be quite inspiring, and he wouldn’t want to miss them. Inspiration these days was as rare as his chivalrous honour.

It didn’t take him long to setup his simple equipment, but the sky was already more blue than glittering with sunrise. For a moment he almost pouted to himself in disappointment, then again, it didn’t matter much. He’d already memorized it. He’d seen it once today and that was enough for him to recreate the exact image in his mind. After all, his memory loved playing tricks on him, storing some details for centuries, like curses and dawns. Both seemed equally important to his brain, although he would have been completely content with dawns alone. He glanced around at his surroundings a few more times, then lowered his head and started to mix the paints.

An hour later the basic colour scheme was already on the canvas and a skilful eye could distinguish the rough shapes of city buildings and the colourful dye of sunrays between them. He’d made it more colourful than the original on purpose, to emphasize the steely skyscrapers and their artificial origin. They were beautiful the way he was drawing them, metal, glass and polished surfaces that reflected the sky and the other constructions around them, but stayed artificial none the less. He saw them cold, and so they seemed cold and foreign in tremendous contrast to the sky in between, where the cloudy patterns and golden inks were playing their own lustring game, entwining and pouring out of each other, clearly various and multidimensional, yet united in their unspoilt primary beauty. Their reflections looked dull and desaturate in comparison, like carvings on the ancient stones where the creator wanted to capture vapour in marble. He was capturing the very same vapour in glass and metal, and although the result proved to be more close to the original, it would never be the same. The mirror windows of the skyscrapers stayed almost as solid and tangible, as the ancient stone pictures.

For some time he was totally captured in his work. Such simple event as sunrise which he had seen so many times before and in so many different places, now gave him the opportunity to escape from his dreams once again, and he was eager to cling to this chance, even unconsciously. Eager to express the torments this artificial world was giving him, to pour out all this unrealized power and talent he possessed into one single painting of the sky upon the city, captured in the firm grasp of human made buildings and ambitions, the sky lowered to the point of becoming just another level of this world, where no one looked higher than their heads to see it, but looked down from some distant planet to observe just a bluish gas cover called the atmosphere.

A few hours passed and soon enough he was starting to notice the world around him again. His attention was focused on the details now and it didn’t require keeping the whole vision of the painting he was working on all the time. First, he felt the heat reaching his shoulders from above. The sun was moving, and so it was upon him at this hour. Then, he started to notice the noises from the people around him. Children playing or crying, vendors offering ice-cream, drinks and sweets, other street artists or street dancers or skaters and bicycle riders, students hurrying to their colleges, workers striding to their plants and white collars heading to their offices. Some came to play, some were leaving and there was always a part of those who were running in circles, pretending to care about their health with their 1, 5 or 10 km jog every day, and then eating a hamburger at the nearest fast-food to compensate for such a noble attempt. All of these sounds weren’t welcomed by him, but he’d learned how to live with them. He'd learned to put up with and accept a lot of things, even to make use of them when he could or wanted to.

So, while tracing out another reflection on his skyscrapers, he was catching some words from people’s conversations. Without even looking at them he could picture the person after hearing their voice. In the majority of cases he didn’t want to prove his assumptions, since a physical being, with shape and matter wasn’t as inspiring and valuable to him, as their imagined vision with some improvements. He had no doubts he was improving them, making their personalities brighter and stronger than the original ones.

Then, finally came the moment when he was paying more attention to the surroundings than to his canvas. A few more strokes and it would be ready. With this thought he raised his eyes from the easel and looked up at the wavy park alley in front of him.

Then he saw her.

Battle, torches, war cries and fighting phoenixes, they all flew before his eyes abruptly, capturing him within the moments of each of these events and filling him with the same exciting and anxious feeling as his dreams. Only now it was ten times stronger and a hundred times more dreadful. He was seeing her, he was looking at her, and it was a universe apart from the time they had spent together. He blinked a few times to confirm that it was her and not some ghost that approached him after last night.

But indeed it was a person and she seemed not less alive than the rest of the people around her. She’d changed, of course. Instead of gothic gowns she was wearing jeans, a black shirt and some rather interesting short jacket with a curious pattern. The bag she was carrying looked quite exquisite and expensive, perfectly matching the high-heeled shoes and the silk neckerchief around her throat. Her eyes were emphasised with make-up, but his artistic eye could still catch their true, grey-green colour. He tried to recall which of them had eyes that colour, but he wasn’t able to. He thought about calling out to her, but he couldn’t recall her name. Neither of their names, in fact. With the realisation of such an upsetting state of things he returned to his senses.

First of all, his rationality started to breed doubts about the identity of the young woman approaching him. She looked the same, he was sure, even with a different haircut and wearing different clothes. Besides, he could catch something he couldn’t explain, something too familiar in her manner of moving, of her facial expressions and even the style of these different clothes, and he would recognise such details even without remembering her features. Only he didn’t remember her name and she could have a different name nowadays, so coming up to her casually wasn’t quite secure. The alley she was walking along had a lot of twists and turns, so for some time he could safely observe and then decide upon his plan of action.

The whole event was somewhat thrilling. He could feel himself awakening from the deep sleep of tranquillity he’d been living in for the last century. It was almost as if his blood had started to run again, filling him with energy long forgotten. He’d had his moments of passion in this life too, but now it was different. He could see the walking evidence of who he used to be, of his existence as a shining and powerful, knight and mage and ruler. The feeling was refreshing, almost as if he had donned his armour again and was ready to saddle up his horse for the upcoming adventure. All the colours around him became brighter and a quick glance at his recent painting even made him think how dark and hopeless he had seen the world until now. He was never so dark. He was never so drawn in his own existence. This wasn’t him.

Deep inside he could feel the anxiety that this feeling of her was fake. It took some effort for him to accept the fact that this girl was real, here and now, but he still wasn’t sure in her identity. So he watched, barely controlling himself in order not to stare at her hungrily.

At first she looked quite average to him. Well, she was an interesting woman with that noncharacteristic harmony in her, with shapes and features that didn’t quite correspond to the standards of female beauty, but the way they were combined, with almost accuracy and uniqueness only nature could create, was so fragilely balanced that she stood out in this millennium just like she did during the epoch of knighthood. There used to be only one like her in the whole world, but now there wasn’t any. She had the long streaming hair which seemed healthy and silky to touch and one would really enjoy giving a stroke to it. She was emitting this aura of the born queen, a lady who was accustomed to rule and order, and who conquered the attention without any chance to refuse her. It seemed so tempting to serve her, so exciting to be under her gaze and the secret knowledge that it would be a great happiness as well was coming to him with more and more persistence just because of the look into her hazy eyes.

And this was her power, he knew. The power both she and her sister shared: the more one looked at them, the more one was drawn, their admiring of everything about them stronger and stronger until one was ready to give up their life to them. But he wasn’t like the rest. He could distinguish such mirages from reality and so, when he stepped up into their castle he was the first man who didn’t feel a great need to fall on his knees and kiss their feet after the first five minutes of their interaction. Eternal fates had their twists, and his personal twist was being cursed for resisting. Though maybe it was just a coincidence. He had almost stopped believing in the great plan of the world after such events in his lifetime.

Anyway, the feeling of her aura supported his suspicion. He could notice men passing by, then suddenly turning around to catch another glance of her and to memorize this moment. She was walking seemingly modestly to her destination without looking anywhere but the path ahead of her. She was playing this role so skilfully that even he couldn’t tell, if her game was on purpose or was it just her general way of presenting herself. Back then both of the twins were eager to get exceptional attention, either with overwhelming love or overwhelming hatred. He’d refused to give them either. Now here he stood, just a grey shadow of the artist and hunting one of them with his eyes.

He was still drawn in thoughts about how to approach her but she was already heading in his direction. The alley was mostly straight here, and it made her come up faster. Once or twice she raised her eyes at him and after some hesitation he answered with the steady look. To his surprise it didn’t cause any reaction in her. She looked down just as if he were a common man marvelling at her, and not another one of her kind. That surprised him, to the point that he was staring at her openly. Again all he received for it was a quick glance.

But it was her, it was indeed her! This appearance, these manners, this power she was showing off, it was all just like in his memories. He couldn’t believe that it could be someone else. He’d hoped that she would recognise him and there would be no need to call out to her, but with such state of things this possibility seemed weak. His mind was desperately searching for a ‘Plan B’, but she was passing by quicker. In his frustration all he could do was step right in front of her and block her way.

She almost stumbled at him, so abrupt was his decision.

“Oh, I am sorry,” spoke he supporting her in order for her not to fall, “I hope I didn’t frighten you.”

If nothing else, at least his voice could still make her remember. However, this assumption proved to be groundless.

“Not at all,” answered she straightening herself. Then she raised her head and looked at him directly, and he could feel the pressure of her power leaking out of her eyes. Good, it was good for him. She was trying to make him suffer for his insolence of stopping her. Again he met it with his steady gaze without showing any hints of surrender. For a few moments they were staring at each other, she in hopes to subdue and enslave him, and he just keeping his neutrality. After some minutes she finally realised that something was wrong, and this realisation made her confused. She averted her eyes almost sheepishly, and he could read the thoughts in her mind so clearly as if someone had written them for him. Still, when she looked at him again, there was no sign of recognition there and this fact kept his guard up.

“Are you in a hurry?” he asked just to buy some time. He had positively no idea how to act in such a situation. He couldn’t let her go but without her knowing his identity it wasn’t an easy thing to do.

She hesitated with the answer. For some time she was studying his face with concern, and he guessed that she was evaluating her choices. Here stood a man she couldn’t charm, yet he seemed interested in her because of something else. The feeling was new to her. Usually all those drawn to her were just affected by her power. The situation made her curious and she picked up the line he was suggesting her.

“No, not at all,” answered she and smiled almost shyly, “you didn’t distract me from anything important.”

Distract! For a tiny part of a second he was stunned by such an answer. They were swimming in the same boat with that little curse of theirs, and yet to her he was a distraction. His blood boiled for a short moment, but he got hold of himself quickly. She clearly was the one he was thinking of, but something should have gone wrong, if even his persistent attempts to be remembered couldn’t bring up her memories. Calming down quickly he pointed at his easel.

“Then, if you don’t mind, would you serve me as a model for today’s masterpiece? My landscapes seem to be lacking recently, and here I thought you would be my muse for a while…”

He was saying something completely unlike him. Such cheesy verses definitely didn’t belong to his song, but he had to say something, to make up something to make her stay. To let her go would mean staying ignorant of his fate for another couple or dozen of centuries, and even immortal creatures couldn’t afford it easily. He wanted his dreams to end, he wanted to solve this puzzle and forget about it once and for all, and here he was holding a key. The main point was not to let it slip.

Strangely it worked and the girl nodded. There was no fear in her eyes. Why would such a creature as her fear? One glance from her and all those secret admirers of hers would come to her rescue immediately. And so he took her to his drawing spot and offered her a seat on the bench in front of it. When he stood behind an easel and replaced canvas with a new one, he studied her again with his pensive look.

Nothing different, completely nothing. Same eyes, same voice, same grace. The wildness in her seemed a bit weaker, but wildness was conceived in everyone in this age of technical wonders. But even the way she took his offer, the manner in how she sat down and was keeping her posture, it all was screaming about her true origin where she shared the world the same as he. The same world, but without him.

“Is there anything wrong?” asked she calmly, “Should I sit differently?”

He came back to earth and shook his head. Then he raised the pencil with a trained movement and drew the first stroke. Let it be for now, he would find out the truth soon enough. Otherwise he would be cursed forever.

Author's Note

This story was started as a separate piece, but in the process I thought about continueing. I haven't thought about a fitting ending, but I am not sure, if it should be treated as a full story or only the first chapter.

Reviews

[Ellay]

Very interesting story. Loved it :)