The ties that bind

[waits_at_the_maze]

Who:Kernan, Khemrys, Various others
When: Pre and post escape
What: An inhuman lad and the measures he takes to protect what is his.

He had an excellent memory. He had to, to use his abilities, but that was beside the point. The point was he remembered even when it may have been kinder to forget.

He didn't speak of her but he remembered his mother. She had been Other, not fae, though his father had been. He recalled the feel of her warm scales and the touch of a gentle claw to his face as he learned to walk on two legs. He remembered the words she gave him before he went to live with his father's people: "Some day you'll feel the pull. You'll learn what completes you. It may be jewels or gems, butterflies or even countries. You will know when it pulls and when it does, keep and guard it. It will be your strength."

His strength and his utterly frustrating weakness it seemed. The pull had come just after nightfall in the Ochre lands, and his feet had taken him into corridors beyond those he was normally allowed until he could stand at an intricately carved cradle and look down upon the new born therein. Children were rare in those lands, and so they were treasured, even when they were half breeds. This one had the slightly rounder ears of her father's people, but that didn't matter, no she was treasured and protected by guards and wards as suited a child of the lands. For the first time in a long time nothing else mattered but touching the creature that completed him, guards or no guards.

He was lucky the child's mother was tolerant as well as understanding of his heritage; it meant the guards did not strike him down and he was never barred from the nursery. Most days he could be found there, talking with the infant and playing with her. A good thing, in retrospect, since theirs was a contested land. The Unseelie were a constant threat, looking to devour any land they might Underhill and the alarms and battle cries came daily.

One day they had come to close and those not known for fighting had huddled in the deepest sections of the mound, weaving what magics and protections they could against the invaders. He learned a harsh lesson that day; sometimes the good and the right lost. Heroes could fall as easily as anyone else, a fact proven by the fact the Lord of Ochre fell bleeding into the main hall having fought and fallen back time after time.

Even the pure blooded, the graceful and the harshly beautiful, could die. Not a comfortable thing for a child who'd been raised believing in the immortality of the Fae. Next he knew Khemrys was being shoved harshly in to his arms and the hoarse whisper of "take her and never look back" had been given him.

He watched Khemrys's mother die, stepping forward bravely to take the sword stroke that would have killed her daughter and the child holding her. Children might be precious after all, but the opposite court would always kill what they could. Seelie killed Unseelie, and vice versa, down to the last woman and child. It was kinder that having defeat live in their eternal memory.

Far kinder.

That fact did not make the situation any less terrifying and so for the first time in his life Kernan ran. He clutched Khemrys to his chest, feeling the delicate flutter of her heartbeat with every breath as a path opened up before his feet. Escape. Safety. Strangeness. Did it matter? He had no training, he was too young to even guess where his talents might lay, yet in need his future answered him with ability. Pathfinder. Huntmaster. No land was barred to him if he could run it.

So yes, he ran, tearing through realms with reckless abandon and pushing against the edges of reality looking for safety. He found it in a land of little magic. The air tastes thin and flat; the trees were quiet and beaten, and yet...it was safety.

He only ventured to a building when Khemrys awoke, tired and wailing her hunger and unease to the world. What he would not have done for himself he did for her, accepting the luck that brought them to a secluded, and cheerfully welcoming, abbey. They could have been happy there; in fact they were for some time as Khemrys grew.

Then men had come and chastised the women for keeping children when there were orphanages for such cases. The ladies protested naturally, but the law was law. And from the abbey to the orphanage they went, though at least this time Khemrys was old enough to go on her own two feet instead of being carried. He might have liked to have carried her though, even just for personal assurance. Comfort.

More so when the time at the orphanage became time passed to a company in America. The trans-Atlantic trip terrified them both. Being trapped in a steel cage so high above the ocean? Oh yes. He was young enough not to care if his other half saw him afraid. Fear shared was fear halved after all.

And what of the company? Ah, well, at first it was amazing. They treated Khemrys as he believed she should be treated, as first recruits they were special, and it was a heady thing to be special to such important people. They even helped him work through his abilities; ones he hadn't really practiced since that long ago day. It was, more often than not, fun.

Ah, but the company wanted more. Always just a bit more than a child could give. He got used to the strain and burn of acid in his muscles from training just as he grew used to ignoring the verbal jabs the trainers gave him when he tripped or fell, or failed to call more than a dozen hounds to his side.

He got used to Khemrys crying in the night as another bunk was found empty. Another child down. Another friend lost.

He learned not to make friends.

And then they learned a new tactic to goad him on: they mixed iron shavings into water in a spray bottle. It was less of a problem for him, being of mixed blood and his mother's kind being a stronger people where metals were concerned, but it was painfully annoying. He had winced in shock the first time a spray bottle was taken to him, and the itching burn had spread up and down his arms and face from the contact.

Khemrys had gone insane at the sight when he'd been returned to the barracks. Or at least that was how he saw it; she was usually so calm, so centered, and she screamed in anger when he peeled his shirt off to try to wash the remainder off. She had her hands on his rash before he could warn her and his heart nearly stopped as the anger turned to pain, and her hands fared up in an equal rash. "Iron," he growled. "SINK! Now!"

That night they'd ended up in the shower, letting the water slam into them and sooth the burning some. It helped calm Khemrys a touch as well, keeping her from being rash and running of to yell at the trainers and handlers. They still had a spray bottle on their side after all. That was the first time he suggested they leave.

He should have just run with her instead of asking, honestly. The trainers had brought in a new batch of children barely a week prior and she did get attached to people in need. He wasn't strong enough to carry more across his paths. Not yet.

No story had ever suggested defeat would taste like cold tap water and bathroom tile.

It was easy to convince the trainer that threat of a spritz bottle was the reason he'd thrown himself into his training. He ran long, and hard, and hounds began to live in the corridors, tucked under beds and sitting quietly in training rooms. The second wave of children had playmates, even if their master stayed quiet and aloof.

Somewhere in those years they took Khemrys away. They made a fuss, they made promises, and Khemrys was brought to a plane. They tried to keep her elfhound from boarding but that did little good. He had eyes and ears with her but what they wanted of her...

...they had learned of cancer in their studies. Small tumors and such had been part of Khemrys's training. A dying man though? Eaten alive and beyond hope even after transplants and expensive drug regimes? A crime prince with the money to spare for a miracle cure. A miracle indeed, no matter it might kill her.

He hadn't known, previously, that he could find a path to Buenos Aires. He'd simple fallen into a run the moment the trainers let him outside and several holes and world paths later he was peeling into a sickroom, tackling the young healer away from the bed. She was already skeletal with energy burn, and he too weary to take her back the way he'd come.

The company execs were...less than pleased, though the patient recovered well enough that it seemed he'd lost forty years. He still paid and so both children were bundled back on the plane. There would have been punishments and lectures, but the pair were asleep from the moment they were allowed to sit. In fact the healer was in a coma for several weeks following, and no one could keep Kernan at his tasks. A third batch of children came and so their chances of escape dwindled once more.

Khemrys awoke with the spring and her returned to his training as if nothing had happened.

This time the stuck a GPS chip under his skin to better understand how the boy traveled. He couldn't care less about how insane they were driving themselves trying to connect the various pings they received instead of the nice, informative line they had hoped for. He left the chip in because it gave them one less reason to be angry in his, and Khemrys's direction. Given how long she'd slept they had managed to fade, somewhat, from the general minds. They were no longer the star assets and that was all to the good. Especially since pushing herself so far seemed to have broken something inside Khemrys. Something in her blood had woken up after the stress, the ability to become a cat.

Interesting, to be sure, but not as applicable as the company wished. She needed time to adjust, so he behaved and he watched the new children grow jaded and afraid. And then started telling stories. Simple, whispered things, they'd be saved. They'd find where safe. And sometimes they said his name in those stories.

He blamed Khemrys. Yes. it was like her to put that faith in him and spread it to others. He wasn't certain how he felt about that. The others were not his concern; he didn't learn their names if he didn't have to. It was safer that way. Yet, he couldn't help but start watching out for those who'd spoken his name. The new child, all street wild and biding her time. The quiet antihealer Khemrys felt for, the outsider, the snow child, and the youngest, bright little tailed thing.

It was that one that proved their undoing. The trainers were always pushing, pushing, pushing. If your ability was manual dexterity then they created greased obstacles and unattainable prizes to tempt a child. The child slipped.

She fell.

And the corners of the traps were cruel to young necks. He was there for the body before the trainers could react, a blink and gone, and Khemry's hands were upon the girl within another heartbeat.

It was no use though, he'd known when the child hit she was dead. He had just...hoped he was wrong. He knew the look when Khemrys took the girl. Hopeless. Sad. Lost.

And then Khemrys healed her.

The hair stood up on the back of his neck and the elfhounds milled about whining as Khemrys brought back the dead. "We have to leave. Now. Fetch them." Likely the good would not remember, blows to the head did that and now she was sleeping peacefully. No doubt they'd catch hell for letting the little one sleep through the great escape, but that was for later.

Now was running. Far, and fast, and without looking back because some things were too dangerous to trust in the hands of their trainers. He was old enough perhaps, or strong enough, it didn't matter. He left the GPS chip in the paths and they moved.

So they came to San Francisco.

But that wasn't the end was it? No, not by far. If there was one thing he had learned in the world of men here it was that such a company as they'd escape did not like to lose assets. He had room to move, and breath finally, and his pack spread through the docks on a daily basis, but they weren't safe.

Not by far.

So what now? He left the home making to Khemrys; she was more skilled than he might ever be. Instead he took the border defenses. Every few days he collected hairs and worn out clothing; a bit of this and a bit of that, and he seeded them in odd places along his runs. Chicago, in an attic. Hawaii in an abandoned hut. He left clues in so many places it had to be much like trying to trace his early travels.

He didn't care where they found his clues. The proof of the children being alive and well as long as it wasn't at their home. It had been too long since any of them had had such a thing, they wanted to keep it.

It cam eto him, after a while, that he had words for everyone. Yes. Pack. A different pack than his hounds perhaps, but a strong one none the less.

It was...nice. It made him feel young, and somehow safer, to have something to protect. And heavens knew they were good for Khemrys. Watching them all was a bit of a strain some days, but that was part of the bargain to keep them was it not? Keeping them safe.

He was young yet but that...that he could do. Yes.