Chapter Eighty: Power Struggle
When Xaphile woke up, it was in a warm, dimly lit cavern made of petrified wood, and the first thing his mind registered was the excruciating amount of pain in his body.
Slowly opening his eyes, he found that he was completely nude save for a few bandages covering his wounds and a bizarre loincloth that didn't actually belong to him. He groggily attempted to turn his head, but something around his neck prevented him from doing so.
He carefully shifted his eyes.
What he saw confused him.
He was being held in place by a thick stone collar, and from what he could gather, his arms were shackled high above his head in a similar manner.
"Where am I?" he mumbled, struggling to move; he instantly doubled over and gasped when agony seared through his back. "Ow... shit... shit... ow..."
Blood had stained the bandages wrapped around his body dark maroon and had trickled down to the white brick beneath him.
"You're awake," a familiar voice purred. "Good."
Xaphile's skin prickled with fright and he snapped his head as far to the side as he could in order to look at the speaker. Sitting not even three feet away from him was the man who'd pretended to be his father.
If he'd been pretending at all.
After all, his attacker looked completely identical to his dad, from his aquiline nose, to his thin mouth, to his exotic bone structure... even down to the shape of his eyes and the thick black brows framing them.
They looked exactly alike, in the same way that Ella Richardson and Ella Rochard looked alike.
Although, there were some extreme differences.
Two extremely long, ram-like horns curved out of his skull and back around his elfish ears, a long, thick, lion-like tail and enormous ebony wings extended from his muscular body, and a strange furry mane ran down his spine.
He most certainly wasn't human.
"Who... are you?"
The question came out of Xaphile's mouth before he could stop it.
The man's eerily familiar aquamarine eyes flicked up, but instead of saying anything, he chose to prop his head on his hand and stared at Xaphile with an intense expression.
He looked a little disgruntled.
"Vordt," he said simply. "As I have said before, I am your father's brother."
Xaphile's brow knit until everything came rushing back.
The fight, Ella's attack, everything: his eyes widened as a rational amount of fear swept through him.
"Where is Ella?! And Zelphira?! What have you done?!" he barked, struggling against his bonds. "Where am I?"
For a long moment, Vordt looked him up and down with an expression of disgust.
"Brash and short-tempered. How shameful."
Xaphile's hackles rose and he snarled, tail puffing out.
"Brash and short-tempered?!" he spat, nose wrinkled with outrage. "Bitch, get the fuck out of here with that bullshit! You possessed one of my traveling companions and tried to kill me!"
Vordt smirked.
"Indeed I did," he agreed, tipping his head back in a cocky manner. "Then again, I'm prepared to do anything if it means protecting my people from a threat."
Xaphile's stomach turned and fury began to boil in his gut.
He struggled violently against his bonds, but they only erupted brightly with a strange red light and shocked the hell out of him. He yelped, instantly going limp, but to his relief the unpleasant shocking sensation vanished once he was still and the glow died out. Breathing heavily, he leaned back against the wall, resting against the soft feathers extending from his back.
"Let me go," he hissed, not lowering his eyes. "Set me loose, right now!"
"I can't do that," Vordt sneered. "I have a job to do, and personally, after being shown so many interesting visions of the future by my idiot sister, I'm curious enough to let you live. For now."
Xaphile jumped when the winged man leapt over to him in a flash and knelt down in front of him, and he watched with wary eyes as his uncle looked him up and down once again.
With the speed of a snake, Vordt roughly snatched his chin, making him flinch. Tilting his head back and forcing unwanted eye-contact, his uncle stared hard at his face and slowly turned it from side to side, brows furrowing slightly.
"Did this face really belong to a human in another world?" he muttered. "You might have the same physical appearance and the same name as my Nephew, but you're completely different."
Xaphile's heart skipped a beat.
"Different?"
"My brother's child was an obnoxiously lighthearted and jovial Vadil," Vordt grunted. "You, on the other hand, are a very dark and morbid individual, the complete opposite of what he was. But for now, I will reign in my disgust, if only because I hope that you will someday return to how you were."
Xaphile lowered his eyes, feeling bitter.
"Enough," he muttered. "Let me go. I want to leave."
For a moment, Vordt merely stared at him... but then, his mouth split into a terrible grin.
Without warning, the man pulled back and punched him in the mouth. Shocked and in pain, Xaphile whipped his head up to snarl in fury, but the man merely snatched a fistful of his hair.
"Mind your tongue, whelp," Vordt commanded, jerking his head back and forth. "From today onward, you're under my tutelage. You'd better learn not to bite the hand that feeds you, otherwise you'll regret it."
"What?!" Xaphile cried, mouth dropping open. "Who the hell said I wanted to?!"
Vordt let go of his hair and instead gently tilted his chin up.
"You don't seem to understand your position, boy," he purred dangerously. "You're not a guest here any longer. Formally, you're my student, but in all actuality, you're my prisoner until I'm convinced that teaching you how to tap into your magic will not be a mistake."
"If you're going to use whatever your job is as an excuse to mistreat me," Xaphile coldly retorted, "I'd rather leave now with no knowledge about myself than endure whatever 'teachings' you have to offer."
Vordt leaned forward and came so close to his ear that his sideburns brushed against his cheek.
"Too bad," he hissed, chuckling lowly. "It's already too late for you to leave."
"Let me out of these chains."
"Not until I've marked you."
When those five words brushed against his ears, something deep within his heart went cold.
He took one glance at Vordt's demented blue-green eyes and literally became paralyzed with dread for several unpleasant moments. He couldn't move properly, his body wouldn't respond to his commands, and he felt like he was going to have a heart attack or something.
"What did you just say?" he whispered, staring at his uncle's darkening gaze. "M... marked?"
"Silence," Vordt muttered, "and be still."
Before Xaphile could process what was really going on, two enormous hands clamped down on his shoulders and crushed him against the wall. His wounds seared with pain, winding him and leaving him so breathless that he gasped like a fish out of water.
"What are you doing?" he wheezed. "L-let go of me."
"Hold your tongue!"
The words were uttered with a growl so evil-sounding that Xaphile's hair stood on end.
When Vordt glared at his throat, fear took hold of him and he pushed against the ground with his feet, scrabbling against the stone like a cornered animal, but the man simply grabbed his left horn and violently jerked his head to the side.
Kicking, pushing, fighting, he did everything in his power to get loose. He had to get free and find a way back to the others... he had to tell them about this... and after that, they would all escape from these insane creatures.
They had to.
He had to do something!
Xaphile's heart thumped its way up his throat when he saw Vordt's fangs extending, but when the faery noticed the terrified expression on his face, he paused.
"You look like a rabbit in its last moments," he uttered in a tone of sheer amusement. "Calm yourself. Even though I'd prefer to just tear your throat out and be done with this, I gave Zelphira my word."
Then his face changed; the whites of his eyes went dark and his pupils turned dark red.
Xaphile's mouth opened, but no sound came out, so he flailed and struggled to kick the man away as he leaned forward. But he was too strong. All too soon, he felt hot breath on his throat, and the prick of fangs against the soft tissue of his neck.
Then, those teeth punctured deep.
He squeaked.
It hurt immensely, and he struggled against it with all of his strength since it was a horrible sensation... one that left him wondering if those fangs would kill him.
He choked, breath hitching high in his throat as the agony of it enveloped him... but then, he had a flashback of the moment he'd marked Ella back in Ordin.
He saw blurry visions of the fear that had been in her eyes.
I did this same thing to her, he realized, mind and body going numb. I can't believe I did something this awful...
Before he could really feel guilty, however, something changed.
He began to feel a strange iciness that seeped through him, spreading through his body and down into his belly, freezing his insides over with a sickening sense of nausea. He shivered, staring at the wall with glazed eyes, trying to figure out what he was going to do to get out of this situation... to get away...
But it was no use.
He couldn't get free.
He was trapped.
All he could do was sit there, teeth in his throat, unable to move... held completely at the mercy of someone else.
When Vordt finally pulled back, he slowly shifted his glazed eyes and watched as his uncle licked the blood off his elongated teeth.
"With this, you've been bound to me," he growled, "and you will remain bound to me until your training has either been completed, or I discover that you are a threat. If that happens, I will slay you, and there will be nothing to stop me."
"I don't want to be near you," Xaphile whispered in a deadened voice. "Get away from me."
"You no longer have the right to get what you want," Vordt retorted. "I am the teacher, and you are the student. From now on your only responsibility is to just shut up and listen."
A wave of hot fury instantly came over Xaphile, but to his surprise, Vordt raised his arms and his eyes shone with radiant red light.
Like magic, or probably because of it, the bonds keeping Xaphile from moving shattered into a million pieces and crumbled onto the floor. His arms dropped to his sides like lead, and he hunched forward, hair falling across his face.
He was aching all over and his wrists burned like hell since the shackles had chafed the still-fresh injuries that had been inflicted on him.
Vordt smirked at him.
"So," the faery drawled, "unless you want to be miserable, you'd better not say a word unless it's something constructive. Am I making myself clear?"
"Shut up..."
"What was that?"
"I said SHUT UP!"
Losing his temper, Xaphile lunged at him with a snarl.
"Halt," Vordt casually commanded.
Xaphile's heart jumped when his body quit moving and literally froze in place.
What the fuck? he silently panicked, finding himself unable to even blink. Oh, my God...
"Now, stand up," Vordt commanded, and he immediately did so against his will.
In the position he was in, his injuries began to scream at him, but his legs wouldn't even let him buckle. He watched the man swagger forward and lift a hand, and with a single claw, he touched the puncture marks on his throat.
With a whistle of air, he punched Xaphile in the stomach. His breath whistled out of his lungs and he fought to breathe, but his legs wouldn't let him buckle.
Xaphile could see some wheels turning behind the catlike irises that looked down at him so contemptuously, as if he were lower than an insect.
"Well," Vordt muttered, "since you've decided to rebel and force me to take control of you, I might as well use this opportunity to confirm a few things."
Xaphile wanted to move back, but his body was frozen solid.
His heart quivered with fear.
Why is he doing this to me? he weakly wondered. Why won't he just leave me alone?
"Are you a threat to the Faust clan?" Vordt asked. "Tell me nothing but the absolute truth."
To Xaphile's horror, his mouth began to work against his will.
"No."
"Then what did you actually come to the Hollow for?"
"To remove the mark I gave to Ella Rochard."
"Why?"
"Because it wasn't right to force myself on her and my actions made me feel sick inside."
Vordt narrowed his eyes, and for a moment he seemed to puzzle over something.
"What were you intending to do after it was removed?"
"To resume our journey."
Vordt's eyes darkened.
"What is the purpose of this journey you just mentioned?" he demanded. "Tell me everything."
"To find someone who can summon the soul of the girl I loved on Earth," Xaphile monotonously explained, heart thumping against his chest, "so Ella can absorb her memories."
"And what are your intentions?" Vordt growled. "What will you do once you find her?"
"I don't know," he droned, still speaking against his will. "Depending on what happens between then and now, I can only picture two things happening. If she's really waiting for me on the other side, I'll force Amelia to kill me so I can be with her again. If it turns out that we can't be together, even in the afterlife, I'll force Amelia to completely erase all of my memories."
As he spoke, his so-called uncle's expression began to change, and by the end it was clouded over. Regarding him with a somewhat disturbed visage, Vordt frowned deeply and stepped back, looking him up and down.
"That's all?" he asked, tilting his head. "You have no desire to use magic for personal gain?"
"Yes, that is all," Xaphile instantly said, "and I do not desire to use magic at all."
The man's eyes widened.
"Why?"
"Magic scares me."
Vordt's jaw dropped for a second before he caught himself and scratched his chin. Brow knit with an expression that Xaphile couldn't discern, he ran a hand through his curly black hair and turned to look at the entrance to the stone cavern.
Glaring profusely, he cracked his neck, then pointed at the opening.
"Return to your companions," he muttered. "You may rest for three days. On the fourth, I will be coming for you in the morning and your training will begin. Do you have any questions?"
"Yes."
"Then you may ask three of them. Only speak when you are sure of what you want to ask."
The first response was instantaneous.
"How long," Xaphile quietly asked, "will you force me to do things against my will?"
"Until you learn your place," Vordt snorted. "Next question."
"May I have control over my body now?"
Vordt's mouth curled.
"I guess that depends," he noted. "Will you act recklessly and bend yourself out of line again?"
"No."
"Then you can have control of your body once you've reunited with your companions."
Xaphile would have shivered had he been able to, but when he remained silent, Vordt quirked an eyebrow.
"Any other questions? Speak freely."
"Can I leave now?" Xaphile whispered, mouth trembling with fright. "I want to get out of here."
Vordt smirked, then lifted his hand and pointed at the cave entrance again.
"Go," he commanded. "I will come to fetch you myself in four days. Be prepared."
As if on cue, Xaphile's body turned and began to move toward the door, injured body screaming in agony with every step he took. Early morning sunlight soon fell across his eyes and nearly blinded him.
Once he was out of the petrified wood cavern, he continued walking through the forest, legs moving on their own. He couldn't begin to fathom how this was even possible, but it was happening and he had no choice but to ride it out.
He grew increasingly lightheaded as he trekked through the woods.
He ended up walking all the way back to where he'd first been attacked, but to his immense disappointment, nobody was there so his body continued walking in a direction unknown to him, taking him off on a tangent that left him feeling worried and confused.
What if I just keep walking and I get lost? he wondered, feeling horrified at the thought. If that happens, I won't make it...
He shuddered.
His already-tired limbs were aching with exhaustion, and his blood had completely soaked through the bandages around his upper torso. He eventually came across the bonfire that the faeries had been dancing around.
Hoping, praying, that someone from their traveling group was around, he walked and walked until his throat was dry and his body was limp with blood loss.
In the end, he somehow found himself walking into the city of faeries, but to his utter dismay, it was completely deserted.
Walking along one of the flower-enclosed paths, Xaphile's feet dragged him towards a familiar building that he recognized as the squirrel house. His vision was beginning to blur and go bright again, and he knew that if this kept up, he wouldn't be able to stand upright much longer.
Magic or not.
"Gods above!" a blessedly familiar male voice suddenly gasped. "Amelia, look!"
His feet stopped walking.
Please, God... he silently prayed. Let it be them... please.
"No... no, no, no!" another familiar voice breathed. "What have they done to him?!"
His head turned just as a terrified screech filled the air.
"PHIL!"
And like that, his eyes found hers, and he saw the familiar crystal blue resting behind cracked, dented spectacles.
Amelia.
The second he saw her face, the bizarre magic that had taken hold of his body vanished.
Like jelly, his muscles relaxed of their own accord and he finally collapsed, sprawling facedown on the ground in a heap. A few seconds passed as he lay there, already half unconscious, but he heard another muffled scream and soon felt two strong arms lifting him up.
His dazed eyes made out a bearded blonde face peering at him from behind a horned mask.
Sinmir.
Relief swept through him, warm and tangible, and he gratefully lifted a hand and clutched the man's wrist. He had never been so happy to see the people in their little group before.
Ever.
"What have they done to you?" the blonde muttered, trotting off with a taut mouth. "First we find Ella unconscious in the rain, now this? These creatures will have some explaining to do once everything settles down. I won't stand for it!"
Xaphile didn't have the energy to respond.
He remained clutched against Sinmir's chest until they arrived at a small burrow-like opening beneath the roots of a particularly enormous tree. Vrael and Amelia worriedly followed them in and helped the prince set him down on a pile of soft foilage.
"Gods above," Amelia whispered, mouth quivering in horror when she unwrapped the bandages and saw the extent of the damage done to his body. "These wounds... they were no accident."
"Who did this to you?" Vrael snapped, stomping back and forth with a tense expression. "Xaphile, you need to tell us! No more secrets! None of that! Who hurt you, and why?!"
He slowly turned his head and looked at the halfling with glazed eyes before he noticed the figure lying right next to him and blinked.
Ella.
Someone's tunic had been draped over her body and she was lying still, breathing deeply and evenly, but from what he could see, her eyes were closed and she appeared to be unconscious.
"Well?"
Vrael's demand brought his attention back around, but he had no energy to talk, much less explain such a complicated situation.
"I'll tell you later, when I'm able to move," he whispered, forcing the words out. "I promise. I just can't find the energy to do much right now, even talk."
"Don't say another word!" Amelia squeaked, fretting over his still-bleeding injuries; shakily, she dug around in her backpack for something, but she pulled back out with a hopeless expression and buried her face in her hands. "I don't have anything... nothing to treat these wounds!"
"Heal him, then!" Sinmir barked. "You're a mage, aren't you?!"
"Have you forgotten that both of us are still bound by these bracelets?!" Vrael snapped, waving his shackled hands around. "We can't use our magic!"
"Ah, about that," Sinmir snorted, smirking in triumph. "I managed to get an answer out of someone during the festivities. Ask Xaphile himself to remove them."
Amelia's head snapped up and she looked at him in shock.
"What?" she breathed. "Please repeat that!"
"Ask Xaphile to remove them," Sinmir told her, folding his muscular arms. "He can do it."
Her eyes widened and she lunged over, patting his cheek until his eyes landed on her face.
"What?" he croaked. "What is it?"
"These!" she exclaimed, holding her wrists in front of his face. "If you can, please attempt to take these strange metal bindings off my wrists!"
He stared at her stupidly, then blinked and wordlessly lifted his arm, clutching one of the shackles. Amelia watched as he felt around the clasp, blue eyes focused and intense... but when he unhooked the binding keeping the metal latched to her skin, her jaw dropped.
She watched in shock as he undid the other.
"What?!" Vrael squalled, gawking at the scene with his mouth also hanging open. "Surely you jest!"
"I'm free," Amelia blankly whispered, lifting her hand and conjuring a ball of fire. "I can use magic again."
"Take mine off, too!" Vrael exclaimed, scrabbling over and holding his wrists out. "Hurry!"
Xaphile weakly did as he was told and released him of his bonds, but the moment they were off, the halfling's body erupted with a wave of glowing yellow light.
Lunging forward, Vrael slid one arm beneath his neck and hurriedly lifted him up onto his lap, being careful not to bend his wings.
Cradling him as he would a small child, the silver-haired boy leaned forward and began to chant something and a familiar sensation erupted over Xaphile's body, spreading through him like a wave of glossy relief.
It radiated through his limbs, soothed the bruises on his wings, cooled his stinging scrapes, and before long all of the severe wounds across his upper torso tingled madly.
From the stab wound in his back to the burns on his arms, all of his pain drifted away in the face of Vrael's magic, and it was only after his wounds had completely vanished that the glow disappeared.
But Vrael didn't let him go.
If anything his arms actually tightened.
Xaphile didn't know what to think of this behavior until something wet landed on his bare chest.
The wet sensation came again, and again... and again.
"You need to stop," Vrael hissed, finally sitting up straighter and rubbing his eyes. "Stop it."
"Stop... what?"
"Stop putting yourself in harm's way."
Surprisingly, it wasn't Amelia, Vrael, or Sinmir who spoke.
It was Gus.
All of them jumped and turned to see him peering in from the entrance.
"Octavius!" Amelia cried, instantly crawling toward him. "Where have you been?!"
"Hunting for information," he explained, sliding into their little underground hiding spot. "I didn't turn out any results, but I did see some rather wild behavior. It was quite a show."
Amelia shivered, eyes momentarily going blank.
It was then that Gus noticed her glasses and peered at her more closely.
"What happened to your spectacles?" he demanded, reaching out and touching the dented metalwork with a grim expression. "Agh... that's some awful damage. Getting repairs for them will be very costly, and unfortunately, there are few smiths who can properly fix such finery."
"I tripped in the dark and they fell off my face," Amelia told him, smiling in a sheepish manner and completely ignoring the dark look Vrael sent her way. "When I got up and tried to look for them, I accidentally stepped on them underfoot. It was my own carelessness."
Gus sighed, giving her a chiding look.
"We can't afford to be that careless right now," he scolded. "We're not among our own kind, Amelia, and it could be a long time before we manage to move on. How will you manage to get by if you can't see properly?"
She lowered her head, then swallowed.
"Well, the other lens wasn't damaged," she weakly proffered. "I can make do with seeing properly out of only one eye until we leave... really."
"I'll keep both of mine on her to keep her out of trouble," Vrael stoically added, long ears bobbing when Gus looked at him in surprise. "Don't worry. It was unfortunate that her spectacles were damaged, but with us looking after her, I'm sure she'll be fine."
"Well, I'm heading back out to see if I can find someone with their wits about them," Gus muttered, giving them a look. "I think we should all do the same."
"I'll stay with Phil and Ella," Sinmir grunted, giving the three of them a long look. "Now that you two can use your magic, I'm sure you can put it to good use."
"Promise you'll watch them closely?" Amelia asked, giving him a worried glance.
"You have my word," Sinmir confirmed, slapping a fist to his chest and roughly beating it against his heart. "On my honor, nothing shall touch either one of them. Although, I am certain we are well past the danger of those wild festivities."
"I leave them to you," Gus sighed, giving a nod before waving at Vrael and Amelia. "Let's go."
When the three of them crawled out of the burrow, Xaphile weakly turned his head.
Things were quiet for a very long time after they were gone.
"How did you get away?" Sinmir suddenly demanded. "Tell me the truth."
Xaphile's heart sank.
"What do you mean?"
"Don't play dumb," Sinmir growled, leaning forward with intense grey eyes. "It'll be better if you tell me everything now instead of feigning ignorance. I saw the fight between you, Ella, and that winged bastard of a faery with my own two eyes, Xaphile. Tell me before she wakes up!"
When he pointed at Ella, he winced.
"How much did you see?"
"Everything," Sinmir muttered. "I saw Ella stab you, I saw the change in your appearance, and I saw the whole damn fight between you and that strange faery. Speaking of which, who is he?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Because when you embraced him, you did so with an expression I've never seen before."
The sharp retort made Xaphile's ears droop.
"Well, not who I thought he was," he vaguely admitted, then shook it off and asked, "but if you saw what was going on, why didn't you step in?"
"Oh, trust me, I wanted to rush in the moment Ella stabbed you," Sinmir grunted, frowning a little. "I couldn't believe my eyes. I thought, by all rights, that she had lost her mind... but after a moment, I could tell by her movements that something wasn't right, so I sat there and waited."
"I could have used your help," Xaphile muttered. "For once, I actually needed it."
"No, everything turned out all right without my aid," Sinmir muttered. "I actually think it was smarter of me to avoid exposing myself like that. Nobody aside from that faery woman even knew I was there. After you were taken by that bastard, she lifted Ella into her arms and carried her over to where I was hiding. Told me to keep what I saw a secret until the right time."
"Then let's do that," he rasped. "She's someone you should take seriously, at least."
Sinmir sighed, then scooted closer and set a hand against his blood-crusted chest.
"Kid," he muttered. "Tell me what he did to you. Now."
Xaphile's stared at the earthy ceiling with a hollow expression.
"He marked me," he reluctantly explained, squeezing his eyes shut when Sinmir attempted to bolt to his feet and ended up smacking his head. "He sank his teeth into my neck and bit me the same way I did to Ella. As of right now, I'm completely powerless to do anything to defy him."
"What?!" the blonde man bellowed, looking at him in outrage. "Why would he do such a thing?!"
"Because he's my mentor from this point on," Xaphile told him. "He's the one who's been chosen to teach me about myself. Whether I like it or not, I can't do anything to get out of this, so I have no other choice but to take everything he does from here on out in stride."
"Unacceptable!" Sinmir barked, clutching his arm. "I'll not let this happen! He tried to kill you with his own two hands! I saw it clearly!"
"I have no choice!" Xaphile cried. "Right now, he's in control, and I have no say! At the very least, I'll still be learning what I need to, so as long as I do what I'm told, I'll be fine! Don't worry!"
Sinmir's face rippled and contorted into a fearsome mask of barely-contained rage.
Squatting next to him, he set a surprisingly gentle hand on his head.
"I'll go along with this farce on one condition," he growled, staring directly into Xaphile's eyes with the clarity of glass. "Am I making myself clear?"
"Name the condition, then," Xaphile tiredly sighed.
"If he hurts you at all, I want you to tell me what he's done" Sinmir hissed, voice coming out so quiet that the words contorted in his ears, "without leaving anything out. Even if it's the most unpleasant thing in existence."
"Fine. I will."
Sinmir sat back with a snort and folded his arms, looking content with his response.
But Xaphile could only wonder how he got himself into such complicated and unpleasant messes.