BOOK 2 - THE CURSED ONE

 

Chapter 4
In the Rain

 

February greeted them with thaws and rains, covering everything with gray and slushy mud. Darren couldn't forget about the detention for a long time and eventually even decided to tell Joel about it. The friend didn't seem surprised by his words.

"Everyone knows that Varis hates the Black Mongrels," he said, lying on his back on the bed and taking a drag on the drosilion weed. "The most strange part is that he reacted this way because this Mongrel had hurt you, because he--" Joel trailed off, as if he was considering something.

"Hates me too?" Darren suggested.

"I suppose so," Joel muttered. "He's never been easy on them. They say that he even allows the Assassins to have fun and torment them when he's on night duty."

Darren felt his heart vibrate at the words. He didn't tell Joel what he'd seen back then, before Delemiar attacked him. The fact that Varis hadn't scolded them in any way suddenly became understandable to him.

"But he's a teacher. I don't think he should--"

"He's a trained killer first and foremost," Joel snorted. "Do you think flogging some castle Mongrel is a big deal for him? Do you remember what I told you about him at the beginning of the year? It's all true. Have you heard what Bronson had said - that big Warrior, a redhead, with a pony? Maybe you know him?" Darren shook his head. He paid not so much attention to the other students. "Never mind. I heard him say that his father, who is the captain of a Lavrance prison, sometimes sends for Varis when they get some special degenerate they cannot break. And he always breaks them." Joel gave him a pointed look. "How do you think he does it?" Darren shrugged. "He tortures them. Cuts their fingers off, breaks bones, pulls out nails. These are the things he does when he's not teaching us Poisons." Joel snorted, and seeing Darren's eyes, widened with terror, he snorted with amusement. "Don't tell me you never thought about it."

Darren shook his head, not sure what to say. He remembered Joel's stories, but somehow never... never really tried to imagine that they could be true... and now, as he tried to put together what he'd heard - that cruel executioner who emerged from Joel's story with that... gentle touch on his hand... - it felt as if something in him was breaking into two parts.

He knew perfectly well how cruel Varis could be. He'd proved it too many times. So why he acted like that... why he was so...?

Darren bit his lip and turned his head on the pillow, staring up at the wooden ceiling of his bed. He couldn't forget about it, just like that. He couldn't. It was a feeling as if a splinter stuck in him that stiffens and refuses to be pulled out, no matter how hard he tried. It was stinging, hurting. If he only knew where it was stuck he would grab it with both hands and yank it out with all his might, so it would stop hurting him at every dagger glance, at every scornful word of this man... so it could go away.

***

It was a moment. Darren realized something had gone wrong when he saw the thick liquid in his cauldron begin to bubble violently and change color. He only managed to glance at the vial he was holding and gasp in horror when he realized that instead of the toad's blood essence, he'd added mucus, and at the same moment a cloud of poisonous vapors began to emerge from the cauldron, and the liquid began to boil over the desktop.

He jumped back, brushing away the poisonous smoke with his hand and feeling the tears welling up in his eyes. He heard a rumble around him as the students - after they'd realized what was happening - threw themselves to the floor, covering their mouths and noses with the hands. Darren choked, feeling as if his airways were blocked, the amber smoke stung his eyes, he heard his name screaming out by Laryssa, who begged him to bend down and cover from the smoke.

Then suddenly a dark, high wall appeared in front of him, separating him from the cauldron and the lethal vapors oozing from it. Master Varis probably had poured something into the cauldron, but Darren was unable to see it. He staggered back and dropped into the empty chair behind him, leaning forward, propped the elbows on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath and the sudden torments that tugged at his cramped stomach.

The hustle and bustle that had prevailed in the class slowly subsided, and the smoke slowly cleared away. Despite the squeezed eyes, Darren was feeling almost physically the force of contempt and fury emanating from dozens of eyes fixing on him. He didn't have enough strength to lift his eyelids to face them.

As the room fell into relative silence and the students returned to their seats, Darren heard in front of him the rustle of the cloak of the man who turned abruptly to face him. He didn't have to look up to know Varis was looking at him now. The silence that reigned in the classroom was pierced by the man's angry, vibrating hiss.

"Hayden, as usual, you didn't disappoint me. Every day you prove to me that you're the greatest disaster that has ever happened to this school. Unfortunately for you, no lesson in using the brain has ever been created, although for people like you it should be the main class. You poisoned almost everyone with your thoughtlessness and lack of imagination. But what can I expect from someone as lacking in finesse and refinement as you? From someone for whom the sublime art of brewing poisons is just throwing everything into the cauldron as if it was cooking a soup?"

Darren was listening to this verbal rant, feeling as if - with each passing moment - he was sinking deeper and deeper into a boggy swamp of humiliation and shame. He heard giggles and insulting snorts coming from all directions. He just wanted to put his hands over his ears to not hear or see anything, but his eyelids involuntarily opened and his gaze fell on the black cloak, waving softly around the Master's high leather boots. Suddenly his nostrils filled with this stunning scent of herbs and poisonous vapors, mixed with the scent of frozen earth and the sensation of icy cold. He was lying in the snow again, weak and vulnerable, unable to make any gesture and that black cloak was falling over him again. He was feeling its softness and warmth again; and he remembered this amazing feeling, as if it protected him from the whole world... but it seemed as if it had happened centuries ago, not just a month and a half ago.

He snapped out off these uninvited, disturbing memories at the same moment Varis' angry voice reached his ears. "I've asked you a question, Hayden! Does this celebrated belief in your own uniqueness allow you to thoughtlessly endanger the health of others, so that you can attract attention to yourself? If that so, your arrogance surpasses even your stupidity."

Darren looked up to meet the dagger, icy stare of the black eyes that only waited for Darren to speak up and give the man another reason to crush him into the ground.

Something was wrong with him. He had to get out of here immediately. He couldn't control... this. Himself. He had to leave. Immediately!

He lowered his gaze, struggling to free from the impact of that piercing gaze. He propped his hands on the knees and got up from the chair, still struggling with the dizziness caused by the poisoning of his system. His gaze involuntarily brushed Varis' straight, proud posture and Darren saw a deep crease appearing between his dark, thick eyebrows.

"I didn't let you get up," the Assassin spat out furiously. "Sit down."

Darren didn't listen. Like in a trance, he turned and staggered toward the door, followed by the shocked glares of the other students.

"Go back to your seat, Hayden," the man ordered with a hiss. "If you leave this room, you will face the harshest consequences of your disobedience. You know perfectly well what happens to those who try to oppose me."

Darren knew, but nothing could stop him right now. Even the threat of being expelled from the school seemed less terrifying than something that was awaking within him, roaring furiously and struggling in the tight bonds.

He left the classroom, slamming the door with such force that the echo of the impact carried it far down the school hallways. He had no idea where he was going, he could see nothing ahead of him except the denser, more incandescent mist. His fury was so overwhelming he could hardly breathe, his hands were clenched into fists, and his blood was run through the veins with such force that it almost seemed to boil. He burst into the darkened courtyard so suddenly that he gasped when the icy rain slapped him unexpectedly in the face. The distant sound of the bell announcing the end of the classes reached his ears but Darren didn't stop. Footsteps carried him straight to the training ground. He grabbed the first exercise stick within reach and - with a scream of uncontrollable, bursting fury - he attacked the rope-entwined pole used to practice punches.

He was striking blindly. He was hitting with such force and speed that bits of frayed rope and sharp splinters began to cover his face and hands, mingling with the raindrops cutting his skin like flecks of ice. He was hitting and screaming, punching, striking and kicking, barely seeing anything beneath the streams of rain pouring out of his wet bangs. His wet clothes clung to his body, cooling it, but nothing could extinguish the raging fury inside him, no matter how many blows he delivered and how much energy and power he put into them.

He had no idea how much time had passed, the seconds seemed to be timed by the blows, their echoes echoing off the cold stone walls of the school and the nearest buildings. His hands, despite the protective gloves on them, were worn and sore, but Darren ignored it as he was dancing desperately between the training poles. His arms went numb with the exertion, and his knees was trembling beneath him, making him struggle to balance on the slippery mud that covered the training ground.

In the end, however, he was forced to stop, even if just for a moment. Panting with exertion and trying not to pay attention to the painful stinging in his lungs, he shrugged the drenched overcoat from his shoulders, letting it fall into the mud, and with sore, trembling hands, he grasped the stick again, preparing to continue to torment the training pole when he suddenly heard a low, deep voice.

"Well, well... a whole twenty minutes of attacking without a single break. I knew there must be a way to get more out of you than what you usually show at the trainings. Maybe your every training should take place in the solitude and in the pouring rain?"

Darren turned sharply, feeling his galloping heart jerked almost to his throat.

Varis.

The man was standing before him in that proud, straight pose, surrounded by a cloud of raindrops falling on his shoulders, with black, wet strands of hair flowing down his shoulders, and his eyes glittering in the darkness.

Darren swayed under the attack of hundreds of overlapping thoughts. Though all these thoughts suddenly faded with the most disturbing one that had risen to the top spot - how does he know what Darren is doing at the combat trainings?

The boy tightened his grip on the stick, trying to contain the hot waves of hatred that burst into his face when the man appeared. Varis' black eyes slid downward, reaching Darren's nervously clenching hand, and the man's thick eyebrows furrowed.

"What do you want, Master?" Darren drawled, swallowing the saliva that seemed to cut his painfully narrowed throat. He was still panting heavily, and it felt as if all the muscles in his body were protesting sharply at what they had just gone through... but his senses were still not satisfied. They still craved... revenge.

"You seem to have left my class too quickly, and without my permission," Varis replied quietly, his gaze shifting back to Darren's fierce face. "Before I give you a punishment commensurate with your impudent behavior, I'd like you to tell me what was the reason for such ignorance."

Darren pursed his lips, feeling the throbbing anger rise within him again and seize his body.

How dare this bastard ask him why?! How dare he came after him and demand any kind of answer after the way he'd just treated Darren in the classroom?!

"I felt bad. That's it," he growled through clenched teeth.

Varis' eyes slid back to Darren's clenched hand. "And do you think that if you train in the rain until you pass out, you're going to feel better? That explains everything indeed..."

Darren felt the remnants of his self-control - which he hardly managed to keep in check - crumble and he was consumed by that burning, suffocating feeling that had been accompanying him before he left the classroom.

"If I'm the biggest disaster that has ever happened to this school, as you said for yourself, Master, I really don't understand why you bother your head about me at all," he said impertinently, completely out of control. "Wouldn't it be better if you just leave me alone?"

Varis' eyes flashed in the darkness, and Darren had the nasty feeling that he saw a fleeting expression of satisfaction on the man's face.

"I don't like your tone," the Assassin said in a dangerously low whisper, without taking his hard gaze from Darren's face.

He couldn't stop. He let that suffocating rage lead him on and on straight into the abyss.

"I don't like many things either, yet I have to endure them."

Suddenly Varis' hand moved and Darren saw something metallic slide out of his sleeve. It looked like a metal cane. The man pulled it out with one quick movement and grasped it firmly in his long fingers.

"You're asking me to brutally call you to order," he said icily, taking a step forward.

Darren stared at him with wide eyes, feeling his heart skip a beat. His hand tightened on the stick even more, his legs spread wider so he would be ready to attack and defend himself at any moment.

"I'm not afraid of you, Master! If you challenge me, I accept it!"

"Then what are you waiting for?" Varis drawled quietly. "Attack."

Darren raised the stick and lunged forward, letting himself be guided by the bursting fury. When he was one step away from the Assassin, he swung the stick against the man's neck, but Varis parried the blow with his metal cane in one smooth movement, and before Darren could even raise the stick again, something cut his legs and he fell on his back forcefully, straight into the mud. With a practiced movement, he rolled to his side and sprang to his feet in a flash, trying to see the man in the heavy rain, but the Assassin disappeared from his view.

Suddenly something hit his side and Darren groaned as he felt a stream of pain run through his body. He spun backwards, swinging the stick, but the man parried the blow again and managed to hit Darren right in the stomach and cut his legs again. The boy fell into the mud again with a loud grunt. Again, remembering his training sessions, he rolled to the side, but this time getting up was much more difficult. He could see the stain of black looming in front of him, and the light glinting on the metal cane. He jumped back as the cane flashed in front of his face, and he ducked at the last moment as the cane nearly hit his shoulder. The third blow, however, was too hard to dodge, and Darren only managed to groan in pain when he felt a powerful blow to his left hand. The blow was so strong and the pain so intense that for a moment Darren felt as if the man had broken his arm. He pressed hand to his chest and stepped backwards, frantically swinging the stick in all directions to keep his attacker away.

He couldn't cope. Varis was too fast, too precise, too accurate. He fought with such cold, calculated composure and ruthless discipline that he looked more like a machine than a man. He was twice as fast as Darren. Though Darren wasn't about to give up!

He was swinging blindly, backing up toward the row of poles to keep at least his back covered, but at the same moment something grabbed his stick, immobilizing him. Darren tugged it, trying to see in the pouring rain what it was, and he saw a long leather whip wrapped around the shaft. It only took one hard tug for the weapon to fall from his hand, and another strong blow - this time to the hip - made him fall to his knees and hands.

"If you thought for a second that you had any chances with me, in a real fight you would've died before the end of that second," he heard that deep, composed voice above him, circling around him like a beast preparing to deliver its final blow. "You have to learn to calculate your opponent's strength, otherwise you won't even survive the first encounter. You have to learn to control your emotions. If you let them to get control over you, you are a loser already. If you cannot fight with cool composure and ruthless self-control, you won't have a chance in any encounter. You are so predictable... I can predict your every move before you even think about it. You are a ridiculously easy opponent for me."

Breathing so hard that every breath felt like torture, Darren looked up to see the long black leather Assassin's boots in front of his face. He immediately lowered his head back, gritting his teeth in rage. Propping on his hands, he tried to get up, but then he felt Varis' heavy boot resting on his shoulder blades, pressing hard against his back and keeping him in a kneeling position.

"I didn't let you get up. You are to lie at my feet." Varis' boot pressed with much more force and Darren groaned, bending so low his cheek almost touched the mud.

What is he...? How could he...? As if he was speaking to some dog!

A red fog of hate flooded Darren's eyes. His mouth opened and he whispered contemptuously. "I'm not your slave."

The Assassin's heavy boot didn't free him, it still held the boy in the same kneeling position.

"Time for you to learn a little humility. It's time for you to learn that you have no rights here because my word is the law for you. It's time for you to finally realize that every time you talk to me in such a sassy way, you'll end up at my feet."

Darren clenched his fists in powerless fury. He tried to defend himself at all costs, but Varis seemed to want to crush him into the ground and trample him down like a bug. Varis' heavy leather boot moved to the nape of his neck, and Darren's weakened, trembling muscles gave up. His forehead touched the dirty, sticky mud.

"I hope it will teach you a lesson for the future," he heard a firm, yet a little muffled voice above him.

Darren closed his eyes, wishing only for the rain to drown him and to carry him to the bottom as far as possible from this man and from the humiliation he had inflicted on him.

Fortunately, Varis finally released him, took the boot from his neck, and stepped away. Darren opened his eyes and turned his head to the side, touching the mud with his cheek. He looked for his stick. It was lying a few yards away from him, sunken in the mud.

Like a wounded animal that finds the last of its strength to attack its torturer, he lunged at the stick, grabbed it, and sprang from the ground, swinging with a scream of desperate rage in the direction the man should be.

However, there was no one there.

Darren staggered, nearly losing his balance and falling into the mud and at the same time he felt the merciless blow falling on his hand, knocking the weapon out of his hand, and sending sparks of piercing pain all the way to his fingertips. He howled desperately, knowing it was over, and felt a leather whip wrapped tightly around his wrists, tying his hands behind his back, while leather-gloved hands grab his soaked white shirt and pushed him towards one of the poles. Before he could figure out what was going on, he was pressed against a wooden pole and trapped between it and the slender body pressing against him tightly from behind. He felt a foreign hand sliding along his chest, higher and higher - like a snake preparing to bite - and finally reached to his neck. Darren's heart abruptly stopped its frantic flutter in the trap of the ribs as the man's hand tightened ferociously on his throat, clenching on it painfully, and he felt a hot breath on the back of his neck. The sensation was so shockingly unknown that it was only because of the force of the man pressing him against the pole that he hadn't yet fallen to the ground. He felt dizzy, and the waves of heated helplessness was flooding through his body again and again, lighting the sizzling emotions within him with an even greater flame.

Then he heard a deep, menacing whisper right to his ear. A whisper that sent icy shivers through his throbbing feverish body.

"I could tighten my hand on your throat now. Tighten it and watch the life slowly drain away from you. What exactly could stop me from doing it?"

Darren swallowed hard. Even if he could, he wouldn't be able to answer that question. All he could think about at the moment was that hot breath and the words sipping into his ear like a poison.

"I could turn your head in one quick move," Varis continued in that soft, ominous whisper that made Darren shiver, "and break your neck." Varis' hand moved a little higher now and grabbed Darren's jaw as if the man really wanted to do that. Darren held his breath and froze. "I could," Varis paused for a moment, and Darren felt his rapid breathing, "keep you here until I eradicate all arrogance, conceit and hauteur from you." Varis' hand went to his neck again and tightened on it. "I could torture you here until you start to beg me on your knees for mercy. Tell me," the man paused for a frighteningly long moment, "what could stop me?"

Darren's mouth felt suddenly dry, and he licked his lips and opened them to answer, but what came out was nothing more than messy gibberish. "You can't... nothing..."

He could almost feel those thin lips smiling with the triumph.

"Exactly. Nothing. There is nothing that could stop me. I've got absolutely power over you. You're so exposed, so vulnerable... I could do anything with you right now." Varis paused for a moment, as if he was reveling in his victory, then asked in that same sticky, sinister voice, "You feel it, don't you? You know you have no control over anything."

Darren groaned softly, overwhelmed by the man's closeness, unable to make even the slightest gesture to break free.

"No," he managed to whisper under the pressure of the man's hand tightening around his neck.

"Don't delude yourself. You're afraid of what I can do with you," Varis replied softly, a hint of mockery in his voice. "Your own reactions are betraying you. Body tremors, rapid pulse, shallow breathing, tense muscles... You can't even imagine how much you can read from watching your opponent's reactions."

Darren squeezed his eyes shut, trying to control his reactions, but he couldn't. He could feel the cold rain washing over his body, but it seemed so hot that nothing could cool him down, not even icy raindrops running down his face and skin. It felt as if it all was a strange dream. However, Varis' soft low whisper quickly brought him down to earth.

"Ask me to release you." The man's voice grew strangely hoarse.

Darren opened his eyes. The feelings burning within him formed a hard, yet unpolished blade which the rage that was still smoldering within him led in the right direction.

"Never!" he hissed, putting into that one word all the strange feelings he felt toward this man.

"Fatal youthful bravado," Varis muttered. "So you leave me no choice," he poured his menacing whisper into his ear. "I'll make you do it."

Darren felt Varis grabbing his hair painfully and pulling his head back, exposing it directly to the blows of the pouring rain. Then he dug his fingers into the boy's jaw, pressing against it with such force that he forced Darren to open it and the man kept on holding it in an iron grip while raindrops was falling into Darren's open mouth, running down his throat and into his nose, cutting the air.

"I've got plenty of time. I'll keep you here until you say it," he whispered straight into the boy's ear, a voice so saturated with dark satisfaction that Darren felt it trickling down his throat along with these icy raindrops.

When his mouth has become filled with water and he was running out of air, he jerked violently, but then Varis dug the knee between his legs, thrusting him into the pole with even more force, as if the man was trying to crush him, and pulled his hair so hard that Darren gave a painful whimper that gurgled in his filled mouth, pouring down his chin. He swallowed the water and almost choked, but the raindrops continued to pour. He couldn't catch his breath. He tried, but the water kept running down his throat, blocking his nostrils, hitting his squeezed eyelids, and taking away his breath and the pride torn by Varis' fangs.

"Please..." he gasped with the rest of his strength when his lungs were almost on fire with the urge to breathe.

"See?" he heard the low whisper again. "It wasn't that hard, was it?"

Suddenly Varis pulled away from him, releasing him from the grasp of his merciless hands, and Darren's compressed lungs burst with the air as he tilted his head forward, gasping for breath with his open mouth. The leather whip that was digging into Darren's wrists was loosened, and the boy felt the sense of feeling returning slowly to his hands. That was enough freedom for him.

He can't let him... saying such things! Doing such things! Bringing him to...

He yanked his right arm away and swung it, delivering the elbow blow straight in the ribs of the man, but he only managed to hit the empty space behind him. Varis managed to move away.

Darren heard an impatient snort behind him, and then took a hard punch to the stomach. He leaned forward, losing his breath again and falling to his hands and knees.

"Don't you ever give up?"

Slowly he looked up. Streams of rain flooded his eyes, his mouth could hardly catch the breath taken away from him, and his body, sore from the blows and hits, refused to cooperate, but he managed to see the tall, black silhouette of the Assassin looming in front of him.

"I'll win with you someday, Master," he whispered hoarsely.

Darren wasn't sure if it was the rain falling, but it felt like a mocking smirk appeared on the man's face. However, it only lasted a fraction of a second, as at that very moment Master Varis started toward him and Darren screamed in pain as the man grabbed his hair, ruthlessly yanking his head up and forcing him to kneel in front of him.

"Now tell me what you've learned today," the man hissed.

The feeling of icy hatred returned to poison the boy's mind, but little cracks appeared in the ice.

It was a valuable lesson indeed.

"Never let the emotions to control me during the fight," he whispered, gritting his teeth steadfastly and trying to ignore the pain. "Never underestimate the strength of the opponent and choose only those ones I am able to defeat."

"Excellent," Varis whispered, his voice almost saturated with malicious satisfaction. "Something else?"

Darren looked up into the stern black eyes and dark, thick eyebrows framing them.

"Yes," he replied, definitely louder and bolder. "Stay away from you, Master. And never attack you on my own."

The man's eyebrows rose in silent amazement. This answer clearly surprised him, but in the end... it was right.

"Well, well. So, there is something that I can teach you, Mr. Hayden."

Darren grimaced and looked down, but then he heard a sharp, harsh voice cutting through the air like the lash of a whip Darren had just felt against his skin.

"Look at me!"

Darren swallowed and looked up to meet Varis' gaze, who was staring down at him with a strange, morbid intensity.

"And now we're going to deal with your punishment. For the last time you left the class today without my permission," the man said quietly, but Darren sensed a dangerous note in his voice that made goose bumps appear on his body. "For the last time you disregarded my order in classroom. For the last time you showed disrespect to me. For the last time you disobeyed your Master." Varis came even closer to him, tilted his face to Darren's, and said, "Did I make myself clear?"

Darren's heart was pounding again in a frantic rhythm, and his hands clenched and strained nervously as he stared at the stern face of the Assassin... at that long scar across his brow, eyelid and cheek, at that long nose, at the man's completely wet black hair, at his black eyes that was intensely piercing Darren's eyes and cutting to pieces whatever rebellion and opposition might remain in him... just like raindrops that were hitting him mercilessly, bringing cold and trembling along with them.

"Yes, Master," Darren heard his own words uttered unconsciously as he was still drowned in the darkness of that piercing gaze, and it was only when Varis pulled back and straightened that Darren breathed and stretched his fingers again.

"Excellent," the man said, letting go of his hair. "As a penalty, for the next two weeks you will stay in the classroom for another hour after the lessons. I will give you some work that I need to be done."

Darren nodded and stood up.

Great. More detentions with Varis. He was dreaming about it...

Suddenly he remembered the bet with Joel and almost snorted, but luckily he suppressed that snort at the last moment by lowering his head and pressing his lips tightly together.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of the raindrops that was pouring over his skin with its piercing chill, and Darren suddenly found that now, as the feeling of frantic tension in him slowly began to retreat, his arms... his whole body was trembling with cold. He wanted to put himself back in this hot agitation, he wanted to fill his mind and body with that vibrating scream of hate again. He waited for Master Varis to go away so he could grab his training stick again and reassume the dance among the poles, but the man wasn't leaving.

Darren frowned and shifted nervously, wrapping his arms around himself as he tried to control the trembling of his body. His teeth began to chatter as he blurted out. "Y-you will so-oak in r-rain, M-master. Are y-you not g-going b-back to scho-ol?"

One of Varis' raven-black eyebrows rose and his lips twitched.

"After you, Mr. Hayden."

"Me?" Darren said, completely surprised, "But I haven't yet--"

"I gave you an order," Varis said sharply, commandingly.

Darren took a deep breath and whispered. "Of course, Master."

He was too tired and sore and cold to resist him. Still shivering from the cold, he walked over to his overcoat, scattered in the mud, picked it up from the ground, and slowly walked toward school, hearing the Assassin's long footsteps behind him. He almost sighed with relief as he entered the torch-lit corridor and finally step out of the cutting, icy flecks of water. He was walking through the corridor, hearing the man's footsteps fallowing him and feeling his chilled body tremble unpleasantly with the cold. When he found himself in the main hall, he turned his steps to the right as he made his way to the stairs leading to the Scouts' Wing, but then he heard Master Varis' sharp voice behind him.

"As soon as you change your clothes, you will immediately come to the Poisons classroom to collect your belongings."

What?

Darren turned sharply.

"My things stayed in the classroom?" he asked incredulously. He thought that maybe Joel had taken them, or something. Was he really had to go down there one more time, into the man's cold dungeons? Was he really going to... enter his cave again?

"Of course," Master Varis replied quietly, glancing at him with his black, narrowed eyes that slid over his soaked, glued-to-body clothes with an expression of unusual consternation. "After all, you left in such a hurry that you forgot to take them, and by the time you pick them up, they belong to me."

Darren thought he saw a faint, mean smile on the man's face.

"Maybe I should go get them right away?" he asked, quickly trying to remember everything he had in his bag.

"First you should change. We can't let you get sick."

Was it said by someone who had almost tortured him a moment ago?

Darren frowned and licked his lips involuntarily. The man's eyebrows looked as if they were frowned as well, as if they were trying to hold back something.

"Right, otherwise I won't be able to come to the detentions you gave me, Master," he replied before he could think about what he wanted to say... but Varis couldn't give him any more detentions, could he? To ease the anger appearing on the man's face, he added quickly. "Shouldn't you go change as well, Master? You're all wet."

Black eyes twinkled. "Oh, I can assure you, I'll be fine. I'm extremely immune."

Darren pursed his lips. He saw water dripping from the soaked cloak, forming a small puddle around Varis' boots. He could see long, wet strands of hair flowing down over the man's broad shoulders. He could see the light of the torches dancing and glittering on the black, water-soaked clothes - the light that seemed to envelop this tall, still like a statue, and as unbending and hard figure... and for the first time, its darkness, instead of absorbing light, was reflecting it off; and it was returning to Darren in strange warm currents that warmed his trembling body.

"Then," he choked out, "I should go."

"You should."

Something in Varis' voice disturbed him... and Darren turned abruptly as he realized what he had just done. He'd stared at the man.

Damn it!

He started running up the steps, feeling his heart gallop.

He has to do it as soon as possible. Change the clothes and go back downstairs. To him. To his... classroom. To get his stuff back. As soon as possible.

He burst into the Scouts' Chamber so suddenly that he immediately felt a dozen pairs of surprised stares, but he paid no attention to them at all.

What on Luciss light could he have in his bag? What was there? He didn't remember. He ran up the stairs to his bedroom.

"Where were you?" Joel shouted as Darren showed up at the bedroom doorway. "Gods, why you look like that? What happened? Where have you been?"

"I'll tell you later," he retorted, rushing over to his trunk and pulling out his dry pants and shirt. "Why did you leave my stuff in the classroom?" His fingers trembled slightly as he was unbuttoning his soaked shirt.

"Varis didn't let me take them. You don't even know how mad he got at you. He told me that when I find you, I have to tell you to come get them by yourself. Wait... how do you know they stayed there? Gods! What happened?" he suddenly exclaimed as Darren stripped off his shirt, revealing... maroon bruises covering his body, darkening rapidly.

"Varis found me by himself," he replied, quickly putting a clean, dry shirt over his shoulders. "And now I have to go get my things as soon as possible," he said, hiding from his friend's gaze behind the curtain, taking off his shoes and pulling off the wet pants.

"Wait, tell me everything one more time, from the beginning, because I got lost," Joel waved his hands, watching Darren in utter daze.

"Later, Joel," Darren gasped as he put on his dry pants and grabbed his still wet boots. "I'll tell you everything as soon as I get back."

He put on his shoes and, without waiting for any answer from his friend, stormed out of the bedroom. He went down the three floors as fast as he could, trying not to fall down the stairs. His body was still exhausted and cold and completely sore.

It was always cold in the dungeons, and now that Darren hadn't warmed up yet, he felt the chill even more acutely. The only thing keeping his body from trembling was the nervousness running through his veins. Darren made his way through corridors and corners briskly, still trying to remember what incriminating things might have been in his bag and trying to calm the rapid pounding of his heart.

The door to the Poisons classroom was closed. He stopped in front of them, took a few breaths, trying to calm his breathing, and entered.
Varis' gaze cut him through like a blade as soon as he opened the door. Darren couldn't help feeling that there was something unpleasantly shining on the man's face that resembled... perfidious satisfaction.

Trying to ignore the creeping sense of danger in his stomach, he quickly looked around the classroom. His cauldron, ingredients, and all utensils were gone from the desktop, probably cleared by the castle Mongrels. Only a parchment with notes, an inkwell and a quill remained.

Feeling his heart almost breaking through his chest, he walked over to his bench, followed by the greedy gaze of the black eyes, and with trembling fingers began to take his things. He crouched down next to his bag to put everything inside and tried not to look like someone who's checking it, to make sure everything was in place... and he understood it as soon as he parted its leather edges. There was not. The spare gloves he always kept in his side pocket stuck out, crumpled up. He slid his hand inside, placing the inkwell on the bottom of his bag, and saw that there was a large wet stain on his training shirt. As if someone... kind of...

Feeling the fire of anger pouring out on his cheeks and warming them up, he looked up and pierced the man with a surprised, angry look, but the only answer he got was a smile of malicious satisfaction. He lowered his head quickly, trying to get his composure and finish packing.

Varis rummaged in his bag! He had no right to do that!

"Everything that stayed in this classroom after the bell... belongs to me," Varis said softly, as if he could read his thoughts. Darren felt in his gut twisting sensation... a feeling... "That will teach you a lesson for the future to not to leave this classroom until I let you go. But you won the bet at least."

Darren's head jerked up, staring directly at the man's contorted mocking smirk.

What is he talking about?

For the darkness of Tenebrae!

Darren quickly looked into the inside pocket of his bag and felt his spasmodically quivering heart fell into his stomach, his face flushing hot. The piece of parchment with his conversation with Joel... disappeared!

 

I'm sick of it... He's blathering and blathering so boring that I'm about to fall asleep. I'd like to play Dragon Dung already.

Me too.

What a pity that there are still Poisons waiting for us ...

Tell me about it! I've got detention afterward.

Varis has given you detention again?

Not yet, but I'll get it anyway.

Try to be somehow less provocative.

It's useless. All I have to do is to look at him in a wrong way.

You always look that way... See? You've just looked that way again.

Give me a break. I'm starting to get fed up with all of this.

Me too. You always behave terribly after these detentions. I can't even approach you. You growl and piss off for no reason.

Because he's driving me crazy! You don't even know how he's looking at me!

I know. You think I can't see it? He completely has it in for you. I've never seen anyone get so much detention in my life.

Thank you very much. You really comforted me.

Oh come on. Hope for the best. All you have to do is act as neutral and calm as you can, and he certainly won't put any detention on you.

I always do that.

Sure...

Are you accusing me of some demonic behavior?

Rather, of your demonic gaze that always makes him so angry.

I cannot help it. Every time I look at him, I feel like... Never mind.

Okay, so I propose a bet. I bet a week's supply of caramel gumdrops that this time Varis won't give you a detention.

I accept it. And I double the stake that I will get a detention for the next lesson as well in one go.

Agree.

 

Darren felt his eyes tremble as he was standing, fists clenched, staring at Varis, recalling everything he had written on that scrap of parchment.

"It was an extremely interesting conversation, Mr. Hayden," Varis added, smiling with that devilish smile again. "I think I will keep it as a souvenir to remind myself during our future detentions how they affect you. Perhaps I also should have a similar conversation with you about the way you look at me."

Darren lowered his head in a flash, feeling the involuntary flush against his cheeks.

How could Varis--? How could he read it? It was Darren's private matter! Only his!

"I'm sorry, Master, but I can't look otherwise. I was born this way."

"Well, that's extremely..." Varis paused for a moment, and Darren couldn't help but peer at him from under the long fringe, without rising his head, "intriguing confession. But it was more about the way you look at me." Varis rested his elbows on the desk, lacing his long fingers together and leaning forward a little, as if he was trying to reach Darren with that incinerated gaze of his. "Only at me. Exactly..." - something in the man's voice suddenly faded as he looked at Darren, who was looking back at him from under the long lashes, head bowed - "just like now."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Master," Darren replied quickly, glancing away as he tried to contain the sudden, almost painful heartbeat that suddenly fell into his throat.

"Of course," Varis replied, and Darren heard the soft creak of a chair as the man leaned back. "You do not know."

Darren was fed up with this terrible conversation. He was fed up with Varis. He was fed up with his low, dark voice that kept pouring into his soul like a thick syrup, making it so hard to breathe and think. He was fed up with his shimmering black eyes that pushily followed his every move. He was fed up with this day. Everything hurt him, Varis ruthlessly smashed his body and trampled his pride into the ground, humiliated him and made fun of him, violated his privacy, and now he accused him of... of...

Oh hell! Why did fate condemn him to this man? Why?!

He pursed his lips and wordlessly leaned over the bag, tossing his things into it in one rapid gesture. Then he straightened up, toss the bag over his shoulder, and took a deep breath, trying to control his heart; and his trembling voice.

"If that's all, I'd like to go away, Master."

He saw Varis' eyebrows furrowed in something that resembled... deep intrigue.

"Actually," he began, and Darren saw that annoying smirk slowly appeared on the thin lips, "I think we should start your detentions tomorrow. I've got some urgent work to be done. I want to see you here tomorrow after lunch."

Darren felt his eyes widen rapidly.

What? Is he going to deal with Varis even on Saturday? Does this man want to drive him insane? Darren was supposed to free himself from this man for two days, he was supposed to finally rest from his intrusive presence, from his gaze and...

"Won't you let me take a break from you even for one day, Master?" he asked, gasping suddenly as he realized what he'd said. It was just a thought. It had no right to break out of his mouth with such a deep sigh. He was really starting to lose his mind because of this man.

"Are you so exhausted after having the lessons with me that you need a rest?"

Darren held back from snorting. This man was impossible. Did he have the audacity to ask him that question after all he had served him today?

"After the lesson you gave me today, however, I would like to rest this weekend, Master. Can I come to this detention on Monday?"

Varis was staring at him now with a strange pleasure that Darren couldn't comprehend. There was still that annoying smirk on his lips as he was staring at Darren with narrowed eyes. Only after a while did he lick that smirk off his lips and spoke in a deep, vibrating voice. "No. You cannot. Tomorrow you'll be condemned to my presence and to my gaze. I'll see you after dinner."

Darren couldn't keep his mouth from parting and spitting out angrily. "Then you will be also condemned to my gaze, Master. You better get used to it."

Gods! He had no control over his reactions. He had no control over his mouth. He had no control over his voice. Not with this man!

Varis' lips stretched into a smile again. Though this time a bit different, more... mysterious.

"I assure you that I have nothing against it. It provides me with... incredible entertainment."

Darren felt that if he wouldn't get out of here soon, he would lose his temper again, and he had enough bruises. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to control himself. "May I dismiss, Master?"

Varis didn't answer for a moment. As if he was wondering about something. In the end, however, he said. "Yes. You can go."

Darren bowed briefly and stiffly, then - without looking at the man even once more - he turned and headed for the door.

When he was finally behind them, he felt the tension he'd been feeling all the time started to drain from him in a strong tremor that ran through his body from the top of his head to the toes. Suddenly he found out that he was no longer cold. That now he was feeling only a burning hatred that warmed his body with its violent flames.

Gods, he has to spend Saturday evening with Varis. With Varis! With this...

Once he was at a safe distance from the Poisons classroom, he leaned against the wall and - with trembling hands - reached into his bag, taking out his damp training shirt and examining the wet stain on it.

What was Varis doing with it? Why did he touch it? Why did he decide to search his stuff at all? What did he want to find in them? After all, it wasn't something... a teacher normally does.

Why the hell did he leave that note in the bag? He could've thrown it out! But how could he know Varis would search his stuff and read it? Why did he want to keep it?

Darren sighed loudly and tilted his head back, leaning it against the wall behind him and closing his eyes.

He didn't understand it. He no longer understood anything about this man. Anything at all. Except that he felt more and more... cornered by him. As if Varis was trying at all costs... to break him. To subdue him. To make Darren crawl in front of him and apologize for his mere existence. For who he is and for having dared to come to this school and poison its elitism with his shameful presence. As if he were some kind of stain that Varis chose to erase by his own hands by treating him in this cruel, derisive and merciless way. As if he wanted to make Darren... give up.

But the man won't succeed. He wasn't the first one to try to break Darren. He wasn't the first one to treat Darren like this. Darren will give up the ghost rather than let him win!

He pushed himself away from the wall, tucked his shirt into the bag, and headed back to the bedroom. Though he couldn't silence one unbidden thought that keep echoing at the bottom of his soul with its disturbing sound - that the man was the first one... to look at Darren that way.