Once Broken, Chapter 17 (Patreon)

His lungs burned from the exertion. They burned like he wished this run had burned off his anger. Tristan didn’t want to run, he wanted to hit someone: Alex. All of this was his fault. From not understanding he’d been discarded, removed from Tristan’s life forever, to tracking him down, barging into his life. The human had gotten under his skin, burrowed deep into him, and eaten away at his control.

He’d woken up, wet from the rain, and had found that the wind had toppled his wall over. No matter how careful he was, something always happened to make it fall. If it wasn’t his father, or an unstable stone, it was the wind.

He wanted to scream. Instead, he ran. He ran at the edge of the trees because he could feel Alex’s eyes on him; he knew that if he disappeared in the forest Alex would track him down, yell at him, and as much as he hated the human, Tristan didn’t want to disappoint him.

As he ran back toward the building and his fallen wall, he saw the assembled Samalians, fighting each other, training. They were pathetic. Not one of them had any coordination, any precision. Alex should know better. Alex should be cutting them down for being so bad. Instead he was fighting one of them.

He always fought the same one: blonde fur, with copper red splotches and scars. The Samalian wanted Alex. He was trying to beat Alex, to show the human who he belonged to. Tristan would go and kill him for trying to take what was is, but Alex wasn’t interested. He saw how badly, even through the anger and the screaming, Alex desired Tristan over any other, and that was how it should be.

Alex wanted him, and he wanted Alex back.

Tristan growled and thought about going there, showing them how a real fight went. He should go and fight Alex, remind him of his place, remind him he had no business making Tristan want him. But he would freeze, and that would embolden the blonde and copper Samalian. Make him think Tristan couldn’t keep Alex.

And it wasn’t his responsibility to make sure those people survived. Only his survival mattered. Alex should’ve known better, but he’d made himself responsible for them. Let him deal with their deaths. Let him watch them fail the first time they had to fight a trained team.

Tristan was back at his starting point, breathing hard, feeling the burning, the anger that was still there. He wanted to do something with it. The scattered stones caused him to snarl. He didn’t want to build a wall; he wanted to destroy it. He desired to blow something up, kill someone, anyone. Tristan wanted to cause someone else to feel the pain he felt inside.

He felt the impact of his fist against the building’s wall. He hadn’t intended to hit it; it was just stone, it couldn’t feel his pain. It happened because he wasn’t controlling himself. He gritted his teeth and punched it again.

He was Tristan. Strike. He was in control. Strike. If he was going to hit a stone wall. Strike. It was because he decided to do it. Strike.

He was leaving a mark on the wall now. Blood and fur. He didn’t care. The pain was external; he had caused this pain because he’d decided to hit the wall. It was something he had done, not been done to him. He made it happen, and he would decide when it stopped, not someone telling—

“What are you doing?”

Tristan flinched at Alex’s voice and hid his hand behind his back as he turned and stepped away from the wall and Alex. “Nothing.”

Alex looked at the blood on the wall and raised an eyebrow. “What do you think you’re doing?” There was no surprise in his eyes, or anger, just resignation.

“Nothing that concerns you.” There, he’d made it clear. Now Alex would have to leave him alone.

Alex sighed, the resignation spreading to his voice. “You really think destroying your hand isn’t my business? How are you going to build the wall if it’s broken?” He motioned. “Show it to me.”

“No.” He hated himself for how his voice quivered in fear. He didn’t want Alex to scream at him, not again.

“Don’t be stubborn, Tristan.” There was no anger in Alex’s voice. Why wasn’t he angry? Why did he just sound defeated? Alex reached for him. “Let me look at the damage you caused.”

His bloody hand was up, claws out. The pain was sharp, a welcome reminder he’d caused it. He’d decided to cause himself pain. He had control. “Touch me, and I’ll rip your throat out.”

Alex’s hand paused, and he searched Tristan’s eyes, hope in them, which died away as he shook his head. “No, you won’t.” The hand reached for him again.

Tristan tried to move it. To strike Alex, to wrench it away. Alex wasn’t afraid.

“Please don’t,” Tristan pleaded as Alex took his hand and pulled it to him.

Alex turned it over, studied the broken skin. Pressed around it. “Does it hurt?”

“No.” Tristan ignored the pain, barely felt it compared with the way his heart hurt at seeing the defeat in Alex’s eyes. He hadn’t meant to cause that to him. His voice became soft, trembling. “Alex, can we go home?” It wasn’t him that was causing Alex to hurt, it was this place. It had to be. If they left, things would be better.

Alex shook his head.

“Please, I’ll get better. I’ll do anything you want, I just want to go home.”

Alex closed his eyes, let go of his hand. “Finish the wall.” Alex’s voice cracked. He turned and walked away, around the corner, and vanished.

What had he said? Done? Alex wanted to them to be together, so why did he act like Tristan had stabbed him?

“That was dangerous.” The priestess’ voice came from around the corner. “He could have killed you.”

What did she know? Tristan thought. How could she say— 

“I wish he had.”

Tristan’s legs wobbled, and he used the building to remain standing.

Alex couldn’t mean that.

What was wrong with him?

“You think I want that?” Alex snapped.

He was Tristan, he didn’t care how Alex felt. This was just another way the human was destroying him.

“Why is he making it so fucking difficult? It’s just a fucking stone wall!”

Tristan snarled silently. If it was so easy, Alex should come built it, see how well he did without any tools.

“Are you really surprised this is difficult for him?” the priestess asked. Tristan’s ears pricked up. “This is something that goes against his Aspect.”

What did she know that Tristan didn’t? 

“What are you talking about?”

“I thought you said you had researched us while looking for a way to cure him.”

“I did.”

“Then you must have realized what he is.”

“He’s Samalian,” Alex answered, exasperation in his voice.

When she spoke, she sounded amused, and Tristan paid closer attention. “That’s his species. By the dark coloring, I’m guessing he’s from the Dernatil region, although the white tells me he has family from the Sofor Mountains.”

Alex sighed impatiently, and Tristan silently echoed him. “What does that have to do with the wall?”

“You remember the Aspects?”

“Of course, you talked about them when we got here. You said they weren’t what the researchers I read claims they are.”

“Humans twist our beliefs to make themselves comfortable. They see how we represent the Source, the sphere, the light, and they call it the sun, when—”

“Yes, you said that before. You also said the Aspects are part of you, not some external gods or something.”

“That is correct.”

“Look, Hea’Las,” Alex said, anger tinting his voice. “I don’t have the time for some stretched out lesson. How about you get to the point?”

“Haven’t you realized what Tristan’s primary Aspect is?” 

“How the fuck would I know that?”

Her amusement was a counterpoint to Alex’s building anger.

“In most people, the Aspects are so well balanced that it’s difficult to tell the dominant one, but even with them, in time you can tell which one it is.”

Tristan’s curiosity pulled him forward, even as he looked around for his father. He normally loved to badmouth Samalian beliefs. So where was he now?

“Then there are those, like yourself and Tristan, where simply standing by you is enough to tell which one dominates within you.”

“I’m not Samalian, so that stuff doesn’t apply to me.” Alex’s anger was slipping away.

Tristan could hear her smile. “Which one of you made the decision to come here?”

“I did, but it’s because he’s Samalian, it applies to him.” 

“Then why didn’t he make the decision?” she asked. 

“Because it’s all fantasies,” his father said.

“He was sick,” Alex said. “I explained it to you.”

“You also said he didn’t want to come. You had to force it on him.” 

“It’s still his religion,” Alex said, but sounded less certain.

“Is it?” his father asked. “Are you really falling for these lies?”

Of course not. This was simply good information to have, for the next time he made a mask of a religious Samalian. His father eyed him suspiciously.

“The Source isn’t Samalian. It isn’t a Samalian religion. The Source is everything, all of us. You, me, the humans intent on hiding what it is, those on other planets. They may call it something else, or refuse to believe in it, but they are still part of the Source.”

“Okay.” The exasperation was back in Alex’s voice. “So you’re saying the real problem with him are those Aspects. Fine, how do I fix that?”

“That isn’t something you can fix.” 

“Listen here,” Alex threatened.

“Please bear with me. Tristan’s dominant aspect is the Aggressor. You know of it?”

Alex sighed. “The stuff I read said that’s the god of violence, so I’m guessing it’s the part of himself that’s violent and destructive. That does fit him.”

“That is a simplistic view. The Aggressor’s first reaction is to attack a problem, to remove it from their path. Yes, those with whom the Aggressor is very dominant tend to be violent, but it doesn’t mean it is in the pursuit of destruction. Where you will seek to protect—”

Alex choked. “Excuse me? Protect? Did you hear about those humans I killed? Have you seen me fight?”

“Why did you kill them? Why are you training the young warriors?” 

“It’s what I do, it’s what he made me. I’m a killer.”

Tristan ignored his father’s ranting about the worthlessness of anyone who believed in a fiction like the Source. He wanted to hear what she had to say. He needed to know about Alex. Maybe this would be something he could use to break whatever hold the human had on him. 

“You said he made you a killer,” she said, not questioning it. “But he didn’t send you to kill them, it was your decision.”

“Just because he didn’t know about them. If he’d seen them, he would have been on them before they got out of their hover.”

“You are right. He wouldn’t have waited to see what kind of threat they posed. Because the Aggressor is so dominant in him, he would have acted on the instinct.

“Again, what does that have to do with the wall?”

No, he wanted her to talk about Alex, what Aspect was he? How could he use that information?

“It should be clear. You are asking him to build. The Builder isn’t strong in him, and it opposes the Aggressor.”

“Come on, he’s built plenty of things. You should see his workroom. He’s always taking things apart and rebuilding them.”

“That’s the Learner in him. And when he isn’t in crisis, his Aspects will be in harmony, although I’d be interested in learning what he learns about. Weapons maybe? But right now he’s in crisis, and in such times, the dominant Aspect governs his actions. The Aggressor dominates.”

“Then shouldn’t he just hit me? Kill me? I’m what’s in his way, he should remove me.”

“He’s bound to a promise he made. I expect that once that is removed, he may very well do so. I suspect you are aware of that fact.”

The silence stretched, then steps in the grass. Her light, barefooted steps moving toward the House’s entrance. Alex’s heavier, booted ones away.

Tristan cursed. He hadn’t learned anything that helped him deal with Alex, and while he agreed with some of what the priestess said, she was wrong on others.

“You believe her?”

“Of course not, I don’t go looking for violence. I just want to do my research. It’s others that force my hand.”

His father snorted. “Right, because learning everything you can about guns and explosives is so conducive to peaceful activities.”

“Are you saying you believe her now?”

“Watch your mouth, boy. I can still put you in your place.” His father’s eyes flicked to the side and Tristan spun, hand in the air, the sting of the damage not bringing him the comfort it had earlier.

The priestess stood, holding a clay jar, watching him impassively. When Tristan didn’t strike her, she indicated the jar. “If you let me, I’ll tend to your hand.”

How long had she been there? How much had she heard? If she heard his father’s words, she didn’t show any indignation at the insults.

“I could kill you.” He made it a statement, not a threat. He didn’t want to sound violent.

“I believe you. I hope you’ll prefer not to.”

“Kill her,” his father said. “Do it before she fills your head with her lies.”

She didn’t react to the words, and Tristan remembered his father was dead.

“What does that have to do with this?” his father asked. “You know she’s a liar, they all are. She’s going to try to make you weak.”

He offered her his hand and his father huffed in annoyance, which made Tristan smile.

“I wish things were simple again,” he said as she looked the injury over.

“I’m afraid the Source never meant for life to be simple.” 

“Don’t let her talk! It’s all lies! Kill her!”

Go away, he mentally ordered his father, and earned himself a glare. Maybe his father wanted him to commit violence, but Tristan wouldn’t initiate it.

“You shouldn’t be so angry at him,” she said, uncapping the jar. “He’s just trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need his protection.”

She smiled. “That may be true, but his Aspect doesn’t care.”

He didn’t react to her words. He didn’t show the eagerness he felt. Or the sting the unguent caused as she applied it.

“What is he?”

“Don’t you know? Can’t you tell?” 

Tristan growled.

She smiled again, and nodded to where the alcove at the end of his wall would be. “The Defender.”

No, he couldn’t be.

“Do you know why the Aggressor and Defender are always in adjacent alcoves?” she asked.

He shook his head. Her ears twitched in the affirmative. “You should try to find out.”

“I told you she’d try to make you weak,” his father said.

Tristan focused on the scent of the unguent, letting it fill his nose. The image of his mother, applying it to his knee while he cried. He forced it away. He didn’t cry. That had been before.

“There’s kaltobar root in it.”

“Yes, it’s one of the main ingredients. It has disinfecting qualities.”

Tristan nodded. “What else is in it? It smells different from the one my father taught me how to make.”

“Your father taught you how to make this salve?” Her curiosity was loud, but he didn’t mind answering; there was nothing there she could use against him.

“He wanted me to know how to survive, demanded it.”

Her eyes flicked to his face, and he realized he’d made a mistake. He’d said something she’d been looking for. “What?” What had he said? How had he missed she’d been prying for information? He kept his reaction hidden, but prepared himself to fight her.

Her ears flicked. “Nothing of matter. Just a little more understanding, that is all.”

He relaxed a little. Whatever she’d learned, she wouldn’t use right now. “Knowledge is never a little thing.”

Her ears twitched in the positive, but she didn’t add anything.