Expectant, Rafal continued to peer down at them, his makeshift puppets, his brother and the enemy—as if he were sitting in an audience, awaiting a grand performance from the mezzanine.
Then, he took note of Vulcan, shaping up to be quite the aggressor, and his lip curled at the cur in disgust.
"Well. What is it that you are waiting for?" Rafal coaxed sibilantly. "Stage directions?"
Rhian turned back and discovered everyone but he and Vulcan had left the clearing. Not a single student in sight.
"Rhian, it's your move. And the show must go on. How ever will you deal with this dastardly stranger? Or is he not a stranger at all?" Rafal mocked.
On cue, Rhian immediately flushed red. He had frozen in place, holding his right arm bent at his side the whole time, wrist hanging limp! His hand dropped to his side instantly. Rafal hadn't known about the Trial agreement? And the handshake! Had he?
Rafal addressed his brother again. "What are you doing, Rhian? Something rash? Something you'll come to regret? I suppose it's almost prophetic that I returned when I did, or else, you'd let our School fall to ruins, wouldn't you?"
Vulcan inched forward to face Rafal, straining his neck, not that could've stepped any closer to the Inagrotten without plastering himself to the hull like a figurehead. "Hah! Cold, Evil Master back, Duckling?" he boomed. "What does Duckling do now? Evict Lord Vulcan?"
Rafal's scowl deepened at the term of endearment. Duckling? What conversations had he not borne witness to? Forget it. He gritted his teeth, setting his jaw.
His head was already devolving into a cradle for a pulsing headache due to this Vulcan character slamming down on his last nerves like a guillotine. This was exactly why he hadn't hired the man the first time.
He turned to Rhian. "You liked this numbskull?" he called out.
Rhian, who still seemed queasy, shrugged and gave a little, diffident smile.
'Lord' Vulcan sneered, maniacally whisked his hands around in the air, then feigned some sort of hideous mock-terror, all while his eyes rolled back into his skull so the whites showed.
It must be amateur hour, Rafal groused. What a poor man's impression of a true Never. A pathetic final performance. And such low production value.
"Or, will brother save Duckling and Duckling's fat cats?"
Fat cats?
Rafal quickly dismissed the aberrant image of Rhian with cats, and turned his back for just a moment.
Through rustling fabrics and veils, and low, slurred, susurrated murmurs that approximated speech, Rhian made out something like: "You'll get your prize soon enough, after I deal with the trespasser and my brother. Just fall back, and I'll do the talking as always."
It was as if his brother meant to-to pacify these killers, these man-draining monsters.
But the Night Crawlers never posed the problem, Rafal well knew.
And, naturally, problems the first and the second were still watching him confer with his crew from below in the clearing.
The Night Crawlers shuffled around, rearranging themselves once more, skulking behind Rafal, chastened but petulant. Most slipped below deck, several adjusting their hats.
The intrepid few kept watch. One in particular, with his black-gloved hand, pulled out a silver pocket watch and flipped its face open before clapping it shut.
Rhian couldn't puzzle out the strange sight. At least they weren't swarming.
Just then, Rafal leapt down from the side of the ship and stalked over to face Vulcan, stopping at a spot a few yards away, looking blasé.
Not yet.
Vulcan shoved a hand into his pocket.
Not yet.
Vulcan made to attack, eyes probing Rafal, dagger gripped in hand.
Not yet.
Rhian's eyes widened as he caught on. He opened his mouth, about to call out and warn his brother to move—
But Rafal, as if stone deaf, reached into the depths of his long, coal-black, wide-cuffed greatcoat, and tugged at something.
A collection of bone-dry matches that had once been wrapped up spilled out of his pocket onto the wet ground.
At last, he pulled out a white handkerchief, flecked with the barest hints of blue, and raised it skyward, dismissing his brother's shouts, brushing off Rhian entirely.
With the handkerchief, a few more matches spilled out of his pocket, skittering into the path of Vulcan's forthcoming advance.
Vulcan raised an eyebrow at the gesture.
Not yet.
The lowly cheat stepped forth to check the limits of Rafal's surrender, or rather, his resistance to pain—completely insubordinate to the universal gesture Rafal had just executed. He wanted to test the so-called Evil School Master. School the coward himself.
Not yet.
Vulcan feinted once with the dagger.
Not yet.
Moored in place, Rafal did not move, did not flinch, his neutral expression unwavering and handkerchief tossed aside.
Twice.
Rhian gasped.
Not yet.
NO, Rafal mouthed to Rhian.
There. The viper slung the dagger, aiming for Rafal's heart the third time.
Now.
The Good School Master valiantly intervened anyway... He took off and dove, but overcorrected, launching himself too far, and straight into a patch of muck to Rafal's far right, the sludge blinding him.
Rafal, for his part and parcel, simply stepped aside, two paces to the left.
The dagger whizzed by.
Silence.
Then Vulcan roared with the vengeance of a thousand suns and thrust forward with the intent to clobber Rafal.
Hurry up, clod, Rafal carped.
Vulcan slipped on the wet grass, and careened forward, landing onto the scraggly bed of matches.
Rafal laughed and laughed until his stomach started to ache and flicked his wrist in Vulcan's general direction, scorching him to death by white-hot incineration.
The kindling was meager but effectively fueled.
His proper pay-off! And Vulcan's send-off! Good riddance! At last.
And all at half past twelve on the dot—praise Adela's soul! He almost regretted killing her with questions.
Ashes cascaded to the ground, and blew off, carried away by a sorcery-induced wind.
Deceitful designs paired well with dishonorable foes.
Disoriented by the sound of the blast, the puissant odor of charred flesh, and his brother's psychotic laughter, Rhian groped blindly and used Rafal's fallen handkerchief to wipe at his eyes. What in the Woods—
Rhian blinked back acrid, grey tears.
Plumes of smoke, cinders still asmoulder, raining down from the sky, and the odd, new Rafal in pirate garb swam into Rhian's vision—a Rafal curled in on himself, still convulsing with laughter, silent spasms racking his narrow frame, until he straightened up and inhaled deeply.
All that remained of Vulcan was one blackened, steaming tract of lawn.
Rafal sunk into a bow, arms outstretched behind him like a wide 'V,' like the wings of a tainted, blue swan, hair glinting brilliantly beneath the sun.
The Night Crawlers broke into rhythmless applause from their places.
And Rhian? Rhian gawped, sat in his puddle, almost catatonic with shock, spitting blades of grass, taking in the scorched clearing and... his brother, the actor.
That squid dye or whatever-it-was would never wash out, Rhian mourned without a second thought for his once-substitute.
The Evil School Master strolled further into the clearing, irreverently stepped over his would-be usurper's spot, and strode past Rhian, greatcoat flagging. He left his Night Crawlers be on the Inagrotten, fixed his sleeves, and headed towards his School, towards Evil.
Dealing with everything else would be trifles.
He paused in his half victory lap, half impromptu inspection-to-be of student quarters, and glanced over his shoulder at Rhian—poor, feckless Rhian—still agape and paralyzed by shame and the prospect of his own mortality.
Rafal smirked. "Rhian? Now that our Schools, plural, it seems, are settled, why don't we have a chat? You still have escapades to tell me about, to catch me up on what's gone on while I was away, don't you?"
Rhian gawked at Rafal vacantly.
Three...
Two...
One—
Rhian shook himself, wild, golden curls bobbing, and clambered to his feet.
His blue blur of a brother continued across the walkway to Evil.
Rhian gathered his wits about him and wisely decided not to mention the deadly Trial he'd been about to agree to. His soles suctioned up some of the muck and sod as he frantically chased after Rafal.
Before Evil's raised portcullis, Rafal came to a dead halt, and looked back at Rhian sprinting across the clearing as it sank with the seawater. It'd have to be drained another day. A pity his brother couldn't fly.
"Aren't you going to join me?" He crossed the threshold and peered at Vulcan's great hall. How garish. He'd have to alter all of it.
Rhian arrived, panting, doubled-over in front of Rafal.
Rafal waited for him to catch his breath. "Good."
Righting himself, Rhian began to enter the dim antechamber, but Rafal held out a hand.
"Wipe your feet outside. I don't want Vulcan underfoot," he said pointedly. "And I don't want his presence tracked anywhere near my castle, much less within it. Oh, and here's a lesson: I take care against inviting strange men in." He eyed Rhian's now-drooping, feathered doublet. "Indeed, you're rather strangely dressed, but today, I'll make an exception. Just this once—knowing it won't bring about ruin."
Rhian sighed and obeyed.
Rafal hastened down the hall, and Rhian sped past his brother to face him.
"It's not what you think! Vulcan was a temporary replacement—no, not a replacement!" Rhian rushed to correct himself. "No one could replace you! An inferior. An inferior figurehead—he occupied the position of Dean, originally! I never meant for him to campaign to become a School Master, but the students! It was them! The students were so taken with him that he snaked his way into their hearts and, and—" he rabbited on, "Or, Hell! It may be what you think, but I can explain!"
Rafal tilted his head, vaguely amused, and thought to himself that the situation was looking to be exactly what he thought had happened. He knew his brother well enough to guess that Rhian had succumbed to a misbegotten bout of infatuation. If not that, then Rhian had run afoul of the Rules in some way—that was for certain.
And Rafal knew better than even Rhian's slip into old patterns from his taste of Seerdom. He'd had to wait around for Vulcan, to sufficiently irritate and thus, provoke him, so the cad struck first—all so Rhian wouldn't blame him for an unlawful Attack.
That way, he'd just be parrying back—however disproportionately the man's fate had turned out, it'd needed to be done. And besides, Rafal thought the scoundrel had deserved worse.
He also made a mental note to ask Rhian for the names of the Nevers who'd backed Vulcan, who'd favored a weak-willed imposter of a Never over him, those traitorous, little ingrates.
All the while, Rhian kept jabbering about strawberry salads, and Marialena, the conwoman, and bats.
Rafal shut his eyes and inhaled, trying to regain some semblance of sympathy for Rhian, but couldn't take the prattling anymore. "Rhian."
His brother jolted to attention, wide-eyed, like a scolded child.
Rafal sidestepped Rhian and continued down the hall, a purpose in his step. "I swear, not another word, or I swear I'll sell you off to Bluebeard. At a discount," Rafal deadpanned, a hint of mirth in his eyes.
Rhian gasped and spluttered, highly affronted. "N-No!"
Rafal bit back a smile and shook his head. "It's that or a fair trade with the Night Crawlers for their services. Your pick. What will it be?"
"No," Rhian held firm, glaring murderously at the back of his brother's partly blue-clotted scalp.
Rafal swanned further down the hall. "Well—I doubted you'd assent to that. Proves you've got more than cats under that crown of yours. Fussy, fussy, in all your frippery, hmm? Regardless, if blue or piracy are what you'd want in a companion or savior, I suppose you'd best stay here, with the Night Crawlers and me," he offered with mock-gallantry.
"JUST LISTEN TO ME!"
Rafal stopped abruptly on his course, and spun on his heels to face Rhian, wet boots screeching on the tiles, as if for mercy, his soles slapping down, echoing. "I already know most of what went on without me here."
"Oh, really? For Storian's sake! Why did I ever want you back?"
"Well, it's what you once wanted, wasn't it?" Rafal accused sharply. "You despaired when I left. And let's just say: I'm never leaving you again, if this, this revolting disorder, is how you running the Schools by yourself is bound to turn out."
"Fine! Good even!" Rhian agreed far too quickly with vestiges of vitriol. "That's fair and absolutely fine with me! I'll gladly put up with anything as long as you stay," he vowed, attempting to appeal to Rafal's Good side. He didn't bother to consider that he'd presently rue the words he'd just spoken ere long.
Rafal grinned roguishly. He'd extracted all that he'd needed to proceed with his plans.
His pace became more brisk by the second as Rhian hurried to match his brother's gait and racing mind. "Lovely. I suppose you won't mind it if I make some changes. I'd thought I'd have a harder time convincing you, but it seems you won't break your promise. That would be dishonorable. And Evil."
Hostage to his word, Rhian swallowed his retort. Rafal would hold him to anything he said from here on out.
"Now, the first of the changes I plan to implement is a curriculum around discerning Good from Evil. With challenges. We'll rank the classes from one through twenty. Disguises are far too prevalent these days, and I don't trust you or your students to know any better. Besides, you are in need of remedial lessons."
Rhian tried to interject, but Rafal held up a blue-stained hand to shut him down, and continued staunchly.
"Not only that—I require a moat. It'd be another line of defense against trespassers. Higher ground, too, of course. Also, a place to bury our dead."
"What dead?"
"I don't expect all the students to last long. The Evers almost expired under Vulcan's reign, it seems to me, from the state of them, quivering like that, and the Nevers won't last long under me. You can be sure now that some Nevers will perish—even once they're out from under my regime—there are always failures in the tales, every now and then, no matter how well they're trained. Ah, and let's replace Humburg with fresh blood. I can imagine that dolt did nothing to stand against Vulcan, did he?"
Rhian's eyes had grown wide now, and he was effectively silenced by shock.
"Also, I was thinking of a torture chamber," Rafal added as if it were an afterthought.
His brother let out a questionable, strangled sound, but Rafal paid him and his antics no mind, and kept outlining his plans.
Rhian couldn't expand his airways any further, but again, tried to steel himself, tried to marshal all his verve to contradict Rafal now. No, wait, what was he thinking? Opposing Rafal? He couldn't! Not after Rafal promised to stay. Who knew if Evil upheld promises? Rhian himself certainly hadn't, when he'd hired Vulcan against Rafal's wishes that had been expressed long ago, and he was Good.
But before he ever got the chance to summon up the will to challenge Rafal, he lost his chance.
Rafal spoke up, "That should consolidate my power, don't you think? It's worked itself out neatly—the arrangement I have in mind. The Night Crawlers will be paid with the blood they'll have drawn from our mutinous, young charges. No need to hire the Man-Wolves after all, at the high rates they're demanding. It'll all be self-contained, and we'll spare fewer expenses in the long run."
He continued on blithely as Rhian paled increasingly with every word, complexion turning bloodless.
Rhian swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat.
"And, remind me to replace that Marialena, won't you? I just know—ahem—suspect that she'll sow more chaos if we don't keep a close eye on her, and I'd rather get rid of the potential complication altogether. If we don't rid ourselves of her soon, she could cause a rift between us."
No, Rhian thought tartly, lungs burning, the new Rafal was doing that all on his own.
"Fortunately, I've removed the other variables that could come between us," Rafal assured himself, picking at the congealed, inky blue at his wrists. "And I know now: the best solution is the proactive one. We'll be far better off without her, trust me. All Seers are meddlers at their cores."
Determined, Rafal nodded at his new vision for Evil and all that he had armed himself with for the future, and set his hands clasped behind him.
Rhian nodded along weakly, a thin smile gracing his lips, following several paces away from Rafal's heels, like a puppet tangled in wire, almost running to match Rafal's ever-accelerating pace.
SLOW DOWN, Rhian desperately wanted to shout. Slow down with all these 'improvements.' But he couldn't get overly excited over these matters—Rafal might call him 'hysterical.'
He locked his jaw, numbly. It could always be worse.
Then, at last, the twin School Masters reached Evil's rear entrance, which looked out onto the seaside beyond.
Huffing and florid-faced, Rhian leaned on the doorframe and coughed—what sort of Storian-ordained exercise had his brother done at sea?
He was glad his brother was back. Really. He was grateful to be alive, grateful they were both alive. Yet, he still feared the worst for Rafal's students.
But that was a problem for another day. Best to just give up for now.
Rhian plodded down the polished, black-granite steps, onto the ashen sand after Rafal, who stood facing the shoreline of the Savage Sea, and then, finally took in Rafal's new attire as a whole, during his first moment of calm in hours.
He really did resemble a swashbuckler. In fact, Rhian almost didn't recognize his brother. Almost.
Gone were fine, scholarly, gold-trimmed robes of days past, the olden days—an open, militaristic coat in their stead.
Gone were the starched, white shirts—now replaced with a poet's shirt, no, a pirate's shirt, loose-fitting, with flaccid sleeves, laced-up with string.
Gone were the crisp, pressed suits and triple-mantled cloaks. The iron-creased trousers and slim, elegant boots had been banished, replaced by pantaloons, tucked into high, bucket-top boots.
And for the first time, Rhian found he didn't want a pirate. Not this pirate, setting the 'ship' the Storian had entrusted them with on a warpath. This one was more like the warden of a brig besides—keeping him prisoner! He just wanted the old Rafal back. His brother, the School Master, his equal.
But the new Rafal... this was the new Rafal... he was here to stay.
Rhian tried to clear his head.
The Inagrotten was docked at shore, no longer blighting the clearing in front of Good. How considerate of Rafal.
See? The new Rafal wasn't that bad.
Rhian ambled down to the shore, where Rafal had dropped down to kneel with a twig in hand, black greatcoat splayed over the pale sand, like a flag of oncoming death... or a penitent's mourning robes.
After his ordeal, Rhian thought he deserved at least one proper question, and yet... what changed? seemed... too complicated. He didn't want to pry, if anything had gone wrong while Rafal was gone. Perhaps—"Rafal, why are you dressed like a pir—"
The twig snapped. "Not a word, Rhian," his brother choked out drily with warning in his voice. "My old clothes had blood on them, this was all the Night Crawlers had, and that's all. End of story."
Rhian needn't know about his brother's recently-acquired status as a Woods-wide felon. Rafal inhaled shakily and returned to leaning over his sand drawing.
Rhian watched, silenced for a moment. "But—"
Rafal sat back on his heels. "Rhian. Nevermind all that. I've had a thought. Look."
Rhian stared down at the twin swans Rafal had etched in the wet sand.
A School crest. And he was part of it.
Was this proof? That the new Rafal still cared about him?
Yet something still needled at Rhian. Leave it be. No more detective work. Rafal's trip is done. It's over, he urged himself.
It was low tide though. The tide drew in and washed the sketch away, forever.
But Rafal didn't care about the sketch. Another thing of his was ruined. Probably broken. For all his spectacle and pride about being early, he had probably been too late. Rafal frowned, hands cold as death, now flattened against the sand.
The tide receded again.
He didn't say anything for a long while, staring out at the waters, washing in and out, his eyes unfocused, seeing nothing but blue.
Rhian placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "O Captain—" he baited.
Rafal's voice revived itself. "Shut it."
But he smiled nonetheless, truly, and slowly rose to his feet.
Rhian looped his arm through Rafal's and Rafal locked hands with his brother. One more thing he wouldn't be caught dead losing.
The Good School Master leaned into the Evil one's side for support, and the Evil brother slackened for once, tension draining from his muscles.
For now, Rhian was just glad to have his twin back. Safe and in one piece.
That was all that mattered in the End.
Right?
⸻
Note:
I think this fic probably has the most "understory," compared to all the others I've written. But you know more than Rhian does as a narrator here.
More accurately, this fic could likely have been entitled: "Rafal Is Essentially a Primo Uomo, Murdered Three (3!) People, and Treats Rhian Harshly > 70% of the Time." Yet, I wanted the title to sound serious in tone, so ideas such as these had to be scrapped.
If anyone wanted to know, I referenced the short poem "O Captain! My Captain!" by Walt Whitman.
Of course, it cannot be taken literally or in its original historical context, but the captain being cold and dead fits Rafal having hardened more inside lately, and become more deadened/more like the probable undead, like the Night Crawlers themselves.
It's some sort of "heroism" at a personal price, I suppose. Had to be done.
I'd love to play the audience (and respond to) to any feedback you have—any thoughts, feelings, reactions, or concrit you have.
If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask. I'm always willing to elaborate!
Did anyone catch any of the other references I made? Anyone catch wind of my... implications?
I imagine that you're probably wondering: What happened to James?
Rafal sealed the deal and allowed the Night Crawlers to kill James, but James' death started off so harrowingly slowly that Rafal decided to intervene and "mercy-kill" him before the Night Crawlers got any further in their feasting. He couldn't retract his orders. Not after he'd gone this far. Not after James was bleeding out beyond the point of no return. So he let it happen. All to get back to Rhian.
It's the closest thing to a Rafal could undergo, given that he's already Evil/grey, I'd like to think, while not being completely amoral and having lost his mind.
Also, please be sure to correct me about anything, if I got anything wrong. I suspect I overly manipulated the setting to fit story purposes, if I did forget certain details.
⸻
Playlist:
"TICKING - SLOWED VERSION" - TIN
This one is like something emerging into your line of vision, gradually? At least the start of it conveys that. I thought it could mimic the beginning effects and the tension. Or slow, dawning horror.
"Darkness Falls" - UNSECRET, Cece And The Dark Hearts
Similar to the atmosphere.
"Natus Vincere" - Future Heroes
The title translates to "born to win." Seems fated. Also, gives off a time-is-running-out and triumphant, overcome-it-all vibe.
"Future Heroine" - Ecca Vandal
Some lyrics, not all, fit, I thought. Admittedly, the tone doesn't fit well.
"The Albatross" - Taylor Swift
These lines were particularly relevant (partly ironically with "angel"):
"Devils that you know / Raise worse hell than a stranger"
"Spread my wings like a parachute / I'm the albatross / I swept in at the rescue / The devil that you know / Looks now more like an angel"
"He's a Pirate" - Klaus Badelt
"Haunted" - Taylor Swift
"i am not who i was" - Chance Peña
Potentially, some parts fit Rafal's unwritten, internal monologue, to an extent.
"Behind the Sun" - Helgi Olegov
Strikes me as epilogue-esque music.