#4 - Chaos Theory Part 1

[Stardrifter]

by
Stardrifter

#4 - Chaos Theory Part 1
Wounds

Dawn awakes with a start, the last vestiges of a nightmare she can't recall on the edge of her thoughts. She tries to sit up, only for the bed to start spinning. She lies back down and reaches up to hold her head. Her forehead is sweaty and cold to the touch. She takes a deep breath and let's it out slowly, calming the raging tide inside her head. Opening her eyes once more, she looks about the dark room, lit by a single candle on the nightstand, to find it's not her room.

This time when she sits up, the rush of adrenaline at the perceived danger helps her overcome the dizziness. She curls up defensively in the large, antique four poster bed. The furniture she can see in the dim light is also antique and well preserved. Not seeing anyone in the room with her, her thoughts turn to recent events. It all comes back in a rush of blurred memories, but it's confirmed to be true when she pulls up her oversized T-shirt to see the symbol carved into her flesh between her breasts.

"AAIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEE!" Emotions overwhelming her, with nothing else she can do, she screams. Screams give way to tears before the door finally opens. The silhouette of a large man standing in the doorway gives way to more screams.

The man flips the light switch on, illuminating the large room. Like a child, Dawn pulls the covers up over her head and cries. Her breath catches in her throat when she feels him sit down on the bed beside her. She continues to hold her breath, anticipating an attack or other kind of assault. Instead, the man just places a hand on her shoulder.

"Shh, you're safe now," a warm voice soothes. His voice has a vague, undiscernable accent. "I promise. Nothing can harm you here."

They sit together in silence for some time, his hand never straying from its comforting place on her shoulder. Tears continue to fall from Dawn's eyes. When the tears finally dry up, she gains the courage to sit up and look at her host. He takes his hand back and places it in his lap, a gentle look on his face as he patiently waits for her.

Recognition comes after a moment. "You...you're the wizard...the one I fought..."

"You didn't fight me. The demon did," he tells her in a calm, honest tone. "It's important you remember that. You saw some horrible things, but it was the demon, not you, who did them."

"The demon..." Dawn mutters, her eyes gazing off toward nothing for a moment. "Demons, magic, murder! How do I know you didn't drug me and it was all in my head?! Who are you? What did you do to me?!" Dawn lashes out, suddenly overcome with anger. The man grabs her wrists to keep her from hitting him. His grip isn't painful, only firm.

"My name is Jason. Jason Blood. And what happened was quite real." As Dawn's struggles lessen, Jason let's go with one hand and holds out his palm for her to see. Suddenly a small flame bursts to life.

Dawn's momentary shock is quickly overcome by skepticism. "It's a trick! Like...Criss Angel shit!"

In response, Jason looks at the flame and it changes shape. First it turns into a horse, galloping in circles around the palm of his hand. Then it changes into a butterfly and flutters into the air before finally going out. For a brief moment, Dawn forgets everything in her wonder, smiling bright and even letting out a short laugh at the simple magic. As the flame dies and she looks back at the man next to her, reality sets back in.

"This is...this is crazy," Dawn mutters in defeat. She digs her hands into her hair in frustration. Then another memory surfaces. "You're a demon!" she blurts out.

"I'm not a demon. I-"

"But I saw you! You turned into one!"

Jason holds up a finger, trying to silence her so he can explain. "It's a long story, but I am not a demon. He and I are linked. It's complicted. But I didn't turn into him, I switched places with him."

Still too overwhelmed to really think about it, Dawn just accepts his assurance and moves on. She looks down and puts her hand over her heart, her fingers touching the scar under her shirt. "So what now?"

"Well you've been asleep for three days," Jason begins, putting his hands up to silence her objections. "I took care of everything. Your school and the police think you went back home to mourn your friends. There's nothing linking you to any of the deaths. When you're ready, you can return to your life."

"How can I?" Dawn's words drip with sarcasm, a dark amusement to the impossibility of his suggestion.

Without a word, Jason reaches out and puts his left hand over Dawn's heart. At first she grabs at his hand, her eyes wild at the unwelcome touch. Jason ignores her, and soon a warming sensation fills her chest. It lasts the span of two breaths, then he takes his hand away, a weary look coming over his face.

"You'd be surprised at the wounds that can be healed," he says while standing up and moving to door. "Some just take more time than others."

After the door shuts behind him, Dawn grabs at her shirt and lifts it up. The skin where the symbol was carved is whole once again. As clean and flawless as if the symbol had never been there. Tears fall from her eyes once again, this time not unwelcome.

****

-1562-
Wiesensteig, Germany

It's colder than normal on this early autumn morning. The sun shines down bleakly on the city as the procession heads out into the countryside. Everyone remains silent, their task grim, as they lead the six prisoners up to the hill overlooking the city.

The prisoners, six women all in their youth to late twenties, stare defiantly at their captors. Its an impotent gesture, their anger and hate all that is left to them. They are all dressed in the same long, simple black dress that covers them head to toe. Their arms are bound behind their back and their mouths gagged.

As the procession reaches the top of the hill, the pyres come into view. The two youngest of the prisoners, both in their early teens, are finally overcome by fear. Screaming in vain against their gags, they turn and run like wild animals, their eyes wide and searching frantically for any way out. Shouts ring out and men chase after them while others take hold of the other four women, ensuring they don't join in the escape attempt.

One of the girls trips on an exposed tree root and is easily caught. The other sprints down the back of the hill toward the forest. Her light blonde hair whips behind her, tears streaming down her face. She ignores the calls of the men chasing her, pushing them from her mind, her only thoughts concerned with fleeing.

Branches bite her skin as she reaches the edge of the forest. She ignores the pain. Her eyes on the ground, she doesn't see the man in front of her until she runs into him. She falls back onto the ground, her bound hands unable to brace her fall. She looks up at the man before her, tall and well built. He's dressed far nicer than most men in her village, in fine furs and a long velvet cloak. He has his long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and a well cropped beard.

The girl's eyes look up at the man, pleading silently for his help. Her body shivers from fright, her entire life hinging on this moment. The man looks down at her, staring into her eyes with a stoic expression. After what feels like an eternity, the man lets out an audible sigh. His stony expression cracks slightly, revealing a sadness inside. He reaches down to the girl and grabs her around the waist, hoisting her up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Here!" the man shouts toward the girl's pursuers. "I have her!"

The girl kicks against the man's chest, to no avail. Three of the villagers run up, huffing and puffing from the exertion. "Thank...you...Jason," one of the men wheezes.

Jason grunts in response. "I told you not to let your guard down," he says dismissively, walking past them back toward the hill. By the time he reaches the top, the girl has given up all hope, a dead weight on his shoulder. He places her down in front of one of the pyres, the other women already tied to stakes amongst them.

"It seems we're in your debt once more, Herr Blood," a rotund man in fine clothes says as he walks up. Count Ulrich von Helfenstein, ruler of the city, and the one who passed sentence on the six women. He reaches up under his fine, feathered hat to wipe the sweat from his balding head. "I shudder to think what this devil-girl might have done had she escaped."

Jason gives the Count a slight nod, acknowledging his station but not showing deference to it. "Let's just get this business over with. That's all the thanks I require."

The Count nods in agreement. The girl now tied to her own stake, the crowd of thirty or so takes their position in front of the pyres. All are silent, save for the muffled sobs of some of the family members of the women.

"You have been tried and found guilty of witchcraft, devil worship, and murder!" the Count declares. "May the cleansing fire burn your sins away. And may God have mercy on your souls."

A priest steps forward to give them their last rights. The Count nods to the man standing beside him. Using flint and steel, he lights a torch and walks up to the pyres. He stops by each one in turn, setting them ablaze. Some of the women begin to scream against their gags as the flames lick at their feet.

One woman draws Jason's attention. Her long black hair is as dark as the dress she wears. The leader of the coven, she shows no pain as the flames reach her feet. She simply stares at her son, love in her eyes, as he watches in tears. Jason looks over at the boy, an eight year old with short hair as dark as his mothers. A pang of sympathy hits Jason for the pain the boy is feeling. Unfortunately, it has to be done.

Turning his attention back to the women, he does find a shred of pity for them. He knows all too well the weakness of humanity. When Lord Satanus approached them, he no doubt preyed on their desires and their gullibility. What hope did six women have against a Lord of Hell? He'll never know what was promised in return for their souls, nevertheless Lord Satanus had purchased them and the loyalty of the women.

A dark thought comes to Jason. Similar events are springing up all over Europe. Women and men being put to death for the crime of witchcraft. Far too many for them all to be truly guilty. The few guilty cause fear in others and false accusations run wild, causing the death of more innocents. Perhaps that's the whole point.

Jason shakes his head, pushing thoughts of things he can't help from his mind. In any event, these women were guilty. Not that it matters to their family. The cries of their loved ones are quite audible now. One man, watching his wife in agony, rushes toward the flames. Emotions override logic, and he reaches into the flames to try and help her. Other men run up to stop him, dragging him kicking and screaming away. Finally having enough, Jason clenches his fist and reaches out with his mind. He uses magic to secretly knock each of the women unconscious, sparing them any more pain as the fire finally engulfs them.

"A meaningless gesture with little consolation. It matters not considering their destination."

"Only a souless demon could view compassion as meaningless."

"And only a human could be so naive. It is of no consequence what you believe."

The deed done, Jason turns to leave. He spares one last look at the black haired boy. His eyes are red and out of tears. Yet he never turns away from the sight of his mother burning. And he never will, Jason sadly thinks to himself.

****

-The Present-

It takes about an hour before Dawn gets up the courage to venture out of bed. She starts by circling the bed, her legs still a bit weak. She looks about Jason's bedroom. Despite the lavishness of the furniture and the curtains, it's rather barren. There's no pictures or other personal items that might tell you about the person who sleeps here. If she didn't know better she'd think this was a room in some bed and breakfast.

Coming to the walk in closet, she steps inside slowly, not sure what you might find in a wizard's closet. To her disappointment, its only clothes. Moving on, she comes to the bathroom. A slow whistle escapes her lips in appreciation of the fanciest bathroom she's ever seen. The tub is as big as a jacuzzi. Next to it stands a large walk in shower. The floor is covered with ornate tiles shaping a large, circular pattern. A skylight let's in the late afternoon sun.

Her eyes return to the bath tub. She quickly locks the door and walks over to start the water running. A search nets her a towel, a bar of soap, and shampoo. When Dawn steps inside and lays down, the warm feeling over her body is glorious. Her thoughts finally cease to race as she closes her eyes and drifts off. After an unknown amount of time, when her fingers are more wrinkled than her grandmothers, she finishes up and steps out to dry.

While dressing back into her clothes she notices a rumbling in her stomach. She remembers what Jason had told her. She's been asleep for three days. Hunger pains overcome her and she quickly wraps her long white hair in a towel and walks through the bedroom and into the hall.

As if in answer to her prayers, the smell of cooking food reaches her nose. Following the scent, she heads downstairs and through the study. The house continues to be impersonal, nothing showing any sign of who Jason is. The only thing close is the walls covered with books in the study, but hunger trumps curiosity and she moves on.

When Dawn enters the kitchen, she finds Jason in front of a large cook top island, the sleeves on his button up shirt rolled up and an apron around his waist. The sight is so at odds with the picture she's already painted of him in her mind that she laughs out loud. In response, Jason looks up from the stew he's cooking and smiles at her.

"I'm glad you finally ventured out of your cave," he says warmly, eying the stool at the end of the island. Dawn walks over to take a seat, hungrily taking in all the scents of the kitchen. The stew appears to be beef, filled with various vegetables and potatoes. A quick look at the oven in the corner confirms the smell of baking bread. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better. Though I still have a lot of questions."

"Good," Jason smiles, storing the stew. "You should never stop having questions." Dawn gives him a dirty look for such a corny response, causing him to laugh. "I'll answer what I can when we eat. Why don't you set the table? It's all in the cabinet in the dining room."

She let's out a defiant sigh but still does as she's asked. The dining room table is long and expertly crafted, able to seat at least twelve to her estimate. As she pulls out the dishes from the cabinet, she looks back at the table and mutters, "Should I set the ends?" The idea quickly seems silly and she sets one end and the seat next to it. When she's done she takes the towel off her head and runs it through her hair one last time. She wonders what to do with it now and, rather than ask, she just sets it on a chair.

"Take a seat," Jason says as he begins bringing in food. He dishes them both out stew and cuts some bread. He pours himself a glass of wine, but offers Dawn only water.

Dawn digs in like someone who hasn't eaten in three days would, ravenously. She tears off a large chunk of bread and chugs the water to wash it down. Then she begins shoveling the stew in.

"Slow down," Jason chides her like a father addressing a child. "You'll make yourself sick."

Swallowing the large bite still in her mouth, she takes a moment to breathe. She looks over at Jason and asks the obvious question. "So who are you?"

"To the point," Jason smirks, taking a sip of wine. "A simple question with a very long answer."

Dawn rolls her eyes. "Why can't I just get a straight answer? Who are you? How do you know magic?"

"My name is Jason Blood. I was taught sorcery by the wizard Merlin."

Dawn almost spits out some water but manages to keep it in. "Merlin? Like King Arthur and Camelot and all that?"

"Yes. All that."

"That's...insane! I mean...wait." Dawn leans in and looks closely at Jason, an eyebrow raised. "How old are you?"

At first Jason doesn't answer, shoving a piece of bread in his mouth to avoid it. He takes a long sip of his wine, trying to avoid Dawn's inquisitive gaze. Finally, realizing she won't give up, he answers. "I this July I will be fifteen hundred and thirty."

"WHAT?!"

Jason sighs and looks over at the shocked expression on Dawn's face. Hearing her unspoken question, he continues. "It has to do with my link to Etrigan, the demon. It keeps me from aging."

"So you've been alive since the year...483?" A bright smile spreads on her face at the thought. "Through the Dark Ages and the Renaissance and discovering America and the Revolutionary War and World War II and Beatlemania? All of it?"

Jason chuckles a bit at her youthful excitement. "Yes all of it. Unless I was dead for some and no one told me."

She gives him another dirty look at his bad joke. "And this whole time you've done what? Fought demons? Saved the world? I mean, what do you do?"

"So many things," Jason sighs, finishing his glass of wine and pouring another. "You're too young to really understand just how much time fifteen hundred years is. I have been many, many men in my time. Lived many lives. I've fought knights in service of my king. I've sailed the unending oceans to trade goods with other countries. I've worked in the sun laying train tracks and I've stood upon the stage in front of an audience, acting out the words of geniuses and fools. And I've faced the darkest, most evil beings you can possibly imagine. Things you'd never dreamt were real yet you've walked past on your way to the store.

"There are things you can't begin to understand. There is more to this life than what most people will ever know. And there are those among us, like myself, who stand between that world and yours." He falls silent for a moment, before adding one last word. "Sometimes."

Realizing her mouth is agape, Dawn snaps it shut and sits back in her chair, dumbfounded at the things she's being told. It's almost too much to accept, yet she knows it must be true because of all the things she's seen. All the things that have happened to her. Like it or not, she's a part of that world now.

"So now what?" she asks, staring blankly ahead, lost in her thoughts.

"Now what?" Jason repeats, standing up to clear his dishes. "Now nothing. You go back to school and continue on with your life. Try to forget what happened."

"Try to...what?!" Dawn violently pushes her chair away from the table to follow him into the kitchen. "I'll never be able to forget! How could I? Everything I've seen, I'm a part of this now."

"Not if you just move on and live your normal life."

"Normal life? I was possessed by a demon! I murdered three girls! Okay, it wasn't me, but I remember doing it. The floor has just fallen out under everything I've ever believed. And! And I can do magic!" To prove her point, Dawn holds her hand up and tries to remember what the demon did while in control of her body. It takes a moment, and more mental effort than she expected, but her hand sparks with energy and sends a blast out, knocking a pot off the stove. "Sorry."

Something breaks inside Jason. He almost growls and spins around from the sink, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tightly. "Do not do that again! Ever!"

Dawn tries to pull her hand back, his grip hurting her. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't..."

"You have no idea what you're doing! You could kill someone. Or yourself. You have no clue what kind of power you're messing with!"

"I said I was sorry!" she yells, finally wrenching free of his grip. She pulls her hand up and rubs it with her other one. Realizing what he did, Jason steps back and leans up against the sink, avoiding her gaze. "You're right, I don't know what I'm doing. So teach me."

"That'll never happen," Jason blurts out, fear in his eyes. He walks away suddenly, as if trying to escape. Dawn follows.

"Why not? You said yourself, I could hurt someone. So teach me how not to."

Jason reaches the study before turning to answer. "How not to? Don't do magic. Simple." He turns back around and heads for the stairs.

"What is with you? You're acting like a child."

He reaches the door to his bedroom and turns to look at her. "You do not know what you're asking. You have the chance to escape this life. I know you think it's romantic, all adventure and excitement. It's not. It's death and pain and the loss of everything you care about. You have the chance to walk away, do it. Go home." With that, he slams the door behind him.

****

-1562-

The sun shines down on the wet city of Wiesensteig. A week of strong rains and heavy winds has left Jason stuck in the city. At first he decided to be prudent and avoid traveling in such weather, though now he's beginning to regret the decision. As grateful as the city folk were for his help with the Coven, they'd just as soon have him gone. Partially because of the reminder he brings of the loss of loved ones, partially because he's an outsider they don't understand.

Jason throws his pack over the back of his horse and straps it down. A Friesian , Brayden has been with him since he was a foal. He's had so many horses in his lifetime he can't even begin to remember them all. Nevertheless, he likes this one. He gives Brayden a pat along his all black frame.

"Get him!" The shouts of children ring out in the morning air. At first Jason ignores them, until they start to get closer and more vicious. "Get him! Get the Witch-Boy!"

The last comment instantly draws Jason's attention. His head snaps toward the children to find a group of four boys chasing after another. The victim is the same black haired boy from the burning. He looks ragged, his clothes covered in mud, his hair disheveled. Blood drips down from his nose and mouth.

One of the other boys, a stocky young man in his teens, tackles the black haired boy and drags him into the mud. He jerks him around to face him and sits on top of him, grabbing his jacket and shaking him. The other three boys run up and start kicking him. "Get him Hans! Get him!" one of them yells.

Jason holds back a moment, as an outsider its not his place to get involved, but when he sees the nearby adults just standing back and watching, he springs into action. Drawing his sword from the sheath tied to his saddle, he briskly walks over to the pile of children. Ignoring the younger boys standing about, he places the tip of his sword into the side of the Hans' neck. The group of boys realize what's happening and stop, looking up at Jason with fear and confusion in their eyes. The half dozen adults nearby suddenly decide the situation deserves their attention.

"What's this about?" the butcher yells, placing a sack in the back of a wagon and walking closer to Jason. The large man clenches his meaty fists. "You'd pull a sword on children?"

"Are these children?" Jason asks without looking back, his focus entirely on the stocky boy at the end of his sword. "Or rabid dogs? Why else would they gang up on another child?"

"He's a Witch-Boy!" one of the braver children yells, as if that statement is enough to explain it all away.

"Oh? You mean the son of one of the women? Is he now guilty for his mother's crimes?"

"He's a witch too! I saw it!" The boy yells, spit flying from behind his crooked teeth. "He made a tree branch fall on Hans by looking at it! And he caused a gust of wind to blow our school papers away!"

"A witch!" the butcher yells, to the agreement of the other adults. "Like his mother! He's the devil's spawn!"

Jason sighs, reaching down he grabs Hans by the collar and throws him off the other boy. He quickly turns to point his sword at the butcher, keeping the large man at bay. He holds his left hand out to the black haired boy, helping him to his feet. "This boy is no witch. Your fears are playing tricks with your minds."

"We saw it!" the boys yell, certainty in their voices.

Jason turns his eyes to the black haired boy, keeping his sword raised. He looks deeply into the young boy's dark eyes. It doesn't take him long to see it. Power. "Where is your father, boy?"

"Dead," the boy says in a flat tone.

"Do you have anyone here? Any family?"

"No. I'm staying with Hans and his family."

Jason looks over at the people gathered around. In both the children and the adults, all he can see is hatred in their eyes. With no one to look after him, the boy will be dead within a day.

"The boy is damaged, full of hate. You should go, leave him to his fate."

"He can be saved. Wounds heal. He can move on."

"You're too quick to dismiss this threat. Those are words you'll live to regret."

"We shall see."

Jason slowly lowers his sword, but keeps it unsheathed. Keeping his eyes on the mob, he puts his other hand on the boy's back, gently motioning him toward Brayden. "I can see you're all going to continue being unreasonable. The boy comes with me."

"No!" the boys all yell in anger. Rage overtaking him, Hans grabs a long stick from a stack of firewood and charges at Jason. The flash of steel is so quick that it takes a moment for the mob to realize what happened. Hans falls to the ground on his backside, the stick cut in half. He reaches up to his face, his hand filling with blood from the gash on his cheek.

"Let that be a lesson to you," Jason says, keeping his sword raised once more as he brings the boy to Brayden. They both climb up into the saddle, the mob milling about below. Jason can see the desire to attack in their eyes. The thirst for blood. In his heart, he knows the witch hunt isn't over.

"Let's go, Brayden!" The horse neighs and breaks into a gallop, not waiting for the mob to get out of the way. They jump aside to avoid getting trampled. Jason keeps his sword ready until they're a good ways away from the city. He reaches out with his mind, using a detector spell to make sure no one is following them. Now certain, he finally sheathes his sword. He pulls up on the reins, bringing them to a trot.

"Thank you," the boy finally breaks the silence, his voice still monotone.

"You're welcome. My name is Jason."

"I know who you are. You got my mother killed. Is that why you saved me? Out of guilt?"

Bringing Brayden to a stop, Jason swings down off the horse quickly. He reaches up and grabs the boy, placing him gently onto the ground so they can look each other in the eye. "I'm have no guilt for what happened to your mother, though I am sorry for your suffering. Your mother sold her soul to a demon, then used her power to hurt others. She sowed her own fate. You inherited her power, but not her mistakes. You have a chance to use that power for good instead of tormenting other children."

Jason can see the uncertainty in his eyes at this man knowing more than he should. "What do you know of power?!" he spits back.

In response, Jason kneels down and runs a hand over the boy's face. The blood from his nose and mouth disappear. The aching pain goes away. "More than you might think." He offers the boy a smile, and for the first time the boy shows signs of hope, smiling back at the revelation. "So let's try this again. My name is Jason," he says, holding his hand out.

"Klarion," the boy says, reaching out to take Jason's hand. "I'm Klarion."

****

-The Present-

The sun is setting in the sky when the bright yellow cab pulls up to Jason's home. Dawn exits in a hurry, a backpack with her things hanging over her shoulder. She feels lost and confused, so many thoughts and emotions running through her. The worst is abandonment. As she reaches the cab, she looks up at the bedroom window and sees Jason watching her. He lets go of the curtain, letting it fall back into place, obscuring him from view.

Never before has she felt such uncertainty. Nothing about her life before today makes sense. She enters the cab and tells the driver to take her to the University, but even that feels wrong. Yet where else can she go? She fights back tears as the cab rolls away from the house.

Even if Dawn were looking, she wouldn't have seen the dark figure watching her leave from the tree line. A tall figure dressed in an all black suit that matches his black hair. A lopsided grin spreads on his face as he reaches up to scratch the ear of the orange cat lying on his shoulder.

"What an exciting turn of events, Teekl. So many possibilities." He looks over to Teekl, who rubs her head up against his chin, purring loudly. "What do you say? Should we have some fun?"

-To Be Continued-