The majestic Maxwell Manor was drenched in a downpour of rain. It had been raining all night until the early morning; 6 AM to be exact. The Manor was quiet, except for the muffled footsteps of Hillary Wilson on the tiled floor. It was the duty of a butler to be silent and discreet, two qualities that had been developed to perfection in the Wilson family; Hillary was the eldest son and in the service of the Maxwell family since adulthood.
He was carrying a breakfast tray consisting of a small bowl of miso soup, a bowl of steamed rice and several side dishes: pickles, tamagoyaki and seasoned nori. Hillary had never thought he'd be making those dishes again, but young master Maxwell and young master Yuy had…reconciled. He was happy for the both of them, he really was, but he wondered if their relationship was meant to last. Their love for each other was undeniable strong and passionate, but still… so many things had happened, so many ghosts were still surrounding them, things that hadn't been spoken of in a long time… were they ever going to be able to smooth out the mistakes in the past? Hillary straightened his back and increased his pace, just a little. It wasn't his job to worry about that. He was just the butler, and a fine one at that.
Since the arrival of master Yuy at Maxwell Manor, the daily grind had changed just a little. Heero Yuy was an early riser, and preferred to have his breakfast in the dining room in the north wing. It was the same wing where Duo Maxwell had his private quarters of course, and it also housed the gym, the pool and several offices. From the entire manor, the north wing was the least beautiful one; the other wings were showcasing the magnificent and rich history of Maxwell Manor: woven tapestries representing ancient myths and legends, original paintings varying from Monets to Matisse and van Gogh, the infamous mannequins dressed in authentic uniforms from several eras of war.
Hillary knocked on the door before entering. Anything about the north wing was practical, and the dining room was no exception. The only furniture was the large table with chairs, and one of those chairs was occupied by Heero Yuy himself. He didn't acknowledge the butler, but stared at the screen of his laptop, no doubt scrolling through the many RSS-feeds to get up-to-date with the daily news. Hillary ignored modern technology for the most part. Next to the dishes and silverware on the breakfast tray was The Times, a very early tradition started by Duo's grandfather who wanted to read the newspaper before anything else. Hillary had folded the latest issue of Current Archaeology underneath it and put the tray down on the table.
"Good morning, master Yuy," he said and arranged all the dishes neatly on the table, saving the newspaper and the magazine for last. "Another article on the Never-Ending Circle."
Heero looked up from his laptop screen, his blue eyes fixating on Hillary. The butler continued to work and Heero's eyes shifted to the magazine.
"Thank you," was all he said. Hillary simply nodded and left the room. He inhaled the scent of the hot miso, wondering how the butler had picked up on his Japanese ancestry. Heero himself had never requested for this type of food, Hillary had taken it upon himself to serve him this way. For that matter, Heero was grateful; he didn't know much of his roots, and this was a careful, yet gentle reminder of who he was.
He picked up the magazine and immediately leafed through it to the article Hillary mentioned. It was fairly in-depth and the author had published a picture of Duo next to it. Heero studied it meticulously. The picture had been taken two years ago, and it showed how carefree and happy Duo had been at that time. He showed a bright smile, his eyes warm and open, and love all over his heart-shaped face; their relationship had just taken off. In two years, Duo hadn't changed physically, but there was a depth to his eyes now that wasn't there before. In two years, Solo Maxwell had died tragically, and Duo had a brief stint with too much alcohol, life-consuming guilt and sadness before Quatre Raberba Winner commissioned him.
The search for the Never-Ending Circle had brought them back together. The circle of life and death had been broken, mended and broken again. Would Shinigami ever find his beloved Inochigami again? If he did, the world would change into a true paradise, where no one would have ever to be afraid of death again, where life would be celebrated, instead of trampled… Heero looked outside the window. Maxwell Manor was surrounded by acres and acres of green grass land, and all he could see was nature, blessed peaceful nature. Shinigami would never find his love, he thought ruefully. Not until people had learned to abandon violence. He heaved a sigh. It was silent in the dining room and he pulled the bowl of miso towards him. One hour or so of more blessed silence, then Duo would wake up and start his exercises…as always, accompanied by loud, blaring hard rock music of the deafening kind.
'Infernal racket', as Hillary loved to call it, but he would never chastise his master for blasting the music in the gym, thunderous sound with heavy drumbeats and bass as Duo worked through his exercises. Both Hillary and Heero would be alarmed if Duo would be silent; silence and Duo Maxwell didn't go well together.
Heero finished his breakfast, studied the article a little while longer (not much news value, though) and checked his e-mail and several other Internet sites out of interest. He could hear the music vaguely, happy to not be in the same room with Duo as hard rock wasn't his choice of music either. After another hour, Duo waltzed into the dining room, freshly showered, his long hair still wet but already braided, and he walked around the table to give Heero a hug.
"Good morning dearest," he said and ruffled Heero's hair, much to the other's annoyance. Duo liked to add more spikes to Heero's already unruly hair, and he laughed at him when Heero put up a grimace. "All right, all right, don't touch the hair, I know."
"So, what's for breakfast?" he asked while sitting down. He had barely finished his sentence when Hillary, perfect timing as always, entered the room with a more American-style breakfast: pancakes, scrambled eggs, two slices of French toast. Unlike his forefathers, Duo took more after the ancient American roots in his family than the British ones. He despised tea and was more than content with his mug of coffee to start up the morning. Wolfing down his breakfast, he asked Heero if there was anything interesting in the news.
"Romefeller has disbanded, just as Winner predicted," he answered. "They severed connections with Khushrenada, but it was too late. They lost all their status within the archaeological world, and choose to disband rather to rebuild."
"Khushrenada has really taken the fall," Duo said, his mouth full with scrambled eggs. "I wonder what he's doing now."
"Probably sweet-talk his way into another organization," Heero said monotonously. He wasn't interested in whatever happened to Treize Khushranada, the man had done enough damage as it was. He looked over his laptop screen at Duo. It seemed that he had recovered pretty well from their adventure in the Sanq Kingdom. Being possessed by a God of Death was not something you did on a daily basis. Shinigami had brought no harm to Duo but a few memory gaps. He had lost every recollection of things between pulling the second scythe from the statue until the moment he woke up at Quatre's estate. On their way home, Heero had filled in the details, but he hadn't told Duo everything. He never wanted to revive that memory again, of seeing the man he loved possessed, wielding a scythe no mortal ever could, and talking about death as if it was his second nature. Every now and then bits and pieces of distorted memories surfaced in Duo's sleep, but he thought they were nightmares, unaware that they were actually memories.
"What are we going to do today?" Duo had finished his breakfast and cradled his cup of coffee to his chest. Heero turned his laptop around so Duo could look at the e-mail program.
"Several requests for interviews, speeches and lectures, and your presence would be highly appreciated at certain fundraising events and dinners. New requests for group visits to Maxwell Manor, as well as individual requests to study the Maxwell collection."
"Wow, I hit it big time, didn't I?" Duo said, without sounding bitter. Heero just grinned.
"Everyone knows you're back in business, Duo. And you have to admit: you bring much more life into the archaeological world than all those boring professors who can drone on about once fragment of bone found in a shallow grave."
Duo checked his own e-mail in his office. He reclined comfortably into his chair, scrolling through all the requests and other mails he had received. It was tempting to honour a few of those requests. He didn't have much cash; all his assets were stuck into funds meant to upkeep and maintain the Maxwell Collection. It would be a waste to draw funds away from the magnificent collection, and Duo hated to disappoint his father. Besides, he was too fond of the collection himself to allow it to be endangered…even if it meant he had barely any pounds left in his wallet. He could ask a nice compensation for the lectures, or a few interviews, that would solve his cash flow at the moment.
The doorbell rang far away; Duo didn't pay attention to it. Hillary doubled as tour guide if there were any people coming to visit the collection. He stared at his screen, fingers absent-mindedly combing through his braid. His other hand was on the mouse, scrolling through the mails. Heero sat in front of him, printing out leads to other interesting artefacts. They both heard the footsteps at the same time; someone was approaching the door. The knock was expected; after Duo's "Come in!", Hillary opened the door.
"Master Maxwell, may I present your visitors: Miss Sylvia Noventa and her grandfather, the honourable Marshal Noventa," Hillary said. The respect and awe in his voice were completely justified. Duo jumped to his feet, along with Heero, like two soldiers ready to greet their superior officer.
Sylvia Noventa entered the office first. She was a young, pretty girl with strawberry blond hair that was kept out of her face with two small crystal hair clips. She wore an average office suit: black skirt with black shoes, a white blouse with a black, charcoal striped blazer on top. She carried a brief case and smiled shyly, stepping aside to make way for her grandfather. Marshal Noventa was dressed in a dark grey suit, slightly darker than his hair, combed sleekly back to reveal his high forehead. The decorations for his contribution to peace treaties during the Gundam wars were pinned on the left lapel of his jacket.
"Miss Noventa, Marshal Noventa, what an honour," Duo said. "Please, take a seat. Hillary, coffee for our esteemed guests."
"Ah, tea please," Sylvia said, her bright smile disarming all the men in the room. Hillary nodded and made a bow before retreating. The young girl waited until her grandfather had chosen a seat and took the seat next to him, smoothing out her skirt and putting the briefcase next to her on the floor. Heero waited until Duo was seated until he sat down himself; his eyes went over the young girl and her grandfather for a moment, curiously.
The Gundam wars couldn't have been ended without Noventa's intervention. As a good friend of Vice-Minister Darlian, Relena Peacecraft's father, they had both advocated peace and pacifism, stressing the importance of negotiations instead of outright violence. Noventa had negotiated with Gundam pilots, rebel factions and leaders of nations to lay down the base of what was going to be the Earth Sphere United Nations, the current governing body for the Earth and the Colonies, build on mutual respect and the universal wish for peace.
Heero was impressed; what would this man, an icon of modern balance between the nations, want of him and Duo?
"Marshal, what can I do for you?" Duo asked, his voice softer than usual.
Noventa leaned on his cane. He didn't look fragile, but age was catching up to him. He wrapped his fingers around the tip of his cane and leaned a little forward.
"Mister Maxwell, Mister Yuy…"
"Duo," Duo said, "Duo and Heero, please."
Noventa nodded. "Duo and Heero," he said, "what I am going to tell you is something that remains to be confidential."
"I can guarantee you that no word will leave this office without your consent," Duo said confidently. "Heero has personally proofed and secured this room."
"I am aware of mister Y… Heero's proficiency with computers," Noventa smiled. Sylvia sit still, as quiet as a mouse, but her kind eyes were on her grandfather only, watching his every move. There was a brief interruption as Hillary entered the room again to provide everyone with their drink of choice, and he also left a large tray with scones, cake and cookies for the guests.
"I have seen two wars," Noventa started off, stirring his tea. Sylvia added milk and cream to it, after retreating into herself again. "I have seen horrors and I have seen bravery and courage. I've seen inexplicable things."
Everyone in the office was hanging onto his every word. "War brings out the bad side of people. In times of despair we become selfish, egocentric, we want to rescue our own hide, and not help others out of fear of being caught. Resistance is difficult, yet there have always been people wanting to take that risk, to take that chance, to oppose to all that was wrong in the world. Violence is everywhere, and sometimes peace is spoken of as the last resort of cowards, of betrayers. People don't want to see how precious it is, how fragile it can slip away between your fingers…"
He sipped of his tea. "I doubt you want to hear me rambling on about war and peace," Noventa continued, apologetically. "Like I said, I've seen war, and I've seen both good and bad sides of people. What I have come to you about… no, let me rephrase it… why I have decided to visit you, is to tell you about an artefact that has also seen wars, and was the origin of wars for a long time, back in the earliest days of mankind."
Turning towards Sylvia, his granddaughter nodded and picked up the briefcase from the floor. She opened it and handed paperwork to Noventa, who gently lied it down in his lap.
"You might not believe it, but I was quite the explorer myself when I was young," he said. "Before the wars… demanded my attention, I travelled all over the world. My family was quite rich, so I found myself in the privileged position to travel instead of searching immediately for a job after I graduated. It was a chance that I'm still grateful for, and I dare to say that my travels have shaped me into who I am, have taught me about different civilizations and cultures and to embrace them, instead of shun them."
Noventa flipped the top picture of the small bundle of paperwork in his lap over.
"A sword," Heero said, after glancing at the picture. While studying archaeology, Heero had always been fascinated by ancient sword and had even considered collecting them, if it weren't for it being such a pricey hobby. It still had maintained his interest, even after all the years he graduated - and his keen eye told him this was a Mongol weapon, a curved sabre, with a blade of steel and a handle made of ox horn and rosewood. The sheath was extremely intricate, made from exquisite silver, engraved with dragon, tiger and several other animal heads, enveloped by a cloud pattern.
"This, gentlemen, is the sword of Kolanuhm," Noventa said. Duo stood up to take the picture from Noventa, and scrutinized it.
"Kolanuhm, or Kol An Anuum as his legend goes," Noventa continued. "He would've been as powerful and dominating Alexander the Great if the Gods didn't stop him. A khan of the Mongol Empire, rumoured to be a descendant of Ghengis Khan, and obsessed with conquering China and the rest of Eurasia."
Duo whistled. "Interesting. What do you mean by 'if the Gods didn't stop him'?"
"Kolanuhm lived an extraordinary long life," Sylvia surprisingly took the word, her voice clear and bright. "He was already over a hundred and twenty years old when he assumed the throne. He was perhaps poisoned, or stabbed, who knows? But what is extraordinary, is that in history he's described as appearing very young for a great part of his life, only appearing middle-aged at the time of his death."
"He ruled for over hundred and fifty years," Noventa said, "making him two hundred and seventy years old. Unfortunately, the dates of his birth and death, as well the exact time when he ruled, are shady in history. No one has ever succeeded to pinpoint exactly when he lived or died."
"Two hundred and seventy years, hm?" Duo handed the picture of the sword back to Noventa.
"As long as Kol An Anuum had his sword, he was youthful and strong." Sylvia picked up another picture from her grandfather's lap, showing a middle-aged man with strong Mongolian features, a small nose, a modest, light-grey moustache and beard and high eyebrows.
"So he owed his vitality and longevity to the sword?" Heero asked.
"More than probably." Noventa nodded. "He was never seen without it. However, this is the only picture that remains of it. I take it that Kolanuhm didn't want his own sword depicted, making it easier recognizable for his enemies. After so many years, people were bound to ask how it could be that he lived for so long."
"Even if his cause of death is unknown, I guess it has to do something with the sword," Duo said. "The moment he lost it, its… effect was over. No sword, no youth."
"I would like you to find this sword," Noventa said. His slightly trembling fingers took up the rest of the papers in his lap. Heero got up and took the weight from him, transferring the small stack to Duo's desk. "I have no illusions that it really exists, or can actually be found. It's just that…"
Sylvia suddenly started to cough. In just a few seconds she had paled, and she quickly took a tissue from her briefcase, dabbing her face.
"Miss Noventa? Are you all right?" Duo asked.
"I'm sorry," she muttered. "It will pass. I'm sorry…" but the last words of her sentence got lost in another coughing fit.
"Sylvia drove all the way to the Manor," Noventa said, shaking his head. "It was too much exertion for her. Sylvia, maybe we should…" his voice died away just as well. He didn't want to leave yet.
"Just a moment," Duo said and pressed a button on his phone. Sylvia pressed another tissue to her mouth as to smother the coughing. Hillary was at the door within moments.
"Hillary, will you show Miss Noventa to one of the guest rooms?" Duo asked. "And call for a doctor."
"Certainly, master Maxwell." Hillary was already at Sylvia's side, but she frantically shook her head.
"No, no, I'm fine! Just give me a moment…"
"Sylvia, please lie down for a moment," Noventa said. He had put his hand on his granddaughter's knee, and his voice was soothing, the voice of a negotiator who knew what was best for her. "You need to rest up for our trip back. I can talk to Duo and Heero about the sword."
"But grandfather…"
He patted her knee. "It's all right."
She heaved a sigh and gave in, standing up from her chair. She lost her balance immediately and Hillary was just quick enough to hold her steady by taking her at the elbow.
"This way, miss Noventa," he said and led her out the door. Noventa watched her leave, and when the door closed behind them, heaved a soft sigh. He suddenly looked even older.
"My apologies," he said. "My granddaughter… Sylvia… we don't know what's wrong with her. We've visited many specialists, but so far we don't have any results to work with. She tires quickly, she coughs and gets dizzy spells…"
"I'm sorry to hear that, marshal," Duo said. "Hillary will call our family doctor, who will take good care of your granddaughter."
"I will reimburse any costs," Noventa immediately said, but Duo made a gesture that he didn't want to hear about it. A silence fell in the office, not awkward, but not too comfortable either. Finally, Noventa resumed talking.
"You probably wonder why I'm talking to you about some sword when my granddaughter is sick," he said. He folded his hands together. "Sylvia was the one who found my diaries and notes about my travels. I had dumped everything in a big chest and stashed it in the attic of our house. She stumbled upon it, I don't know why, but one evening she showed me the diaries and wanted to hear everything about it. It made her so alive, I was so happy to see that spark in her eyes again, and a few stories revived her spirit after being mangled inside out by hospital tests." He paused for a moment. "I told her about the sword and that I was looking for it as I travelled through China and Tibet. It was the most detailed journey I ever chronicled… who knew my granddaughter would get… sort of obsessed by it?"
"It distracts her from her illness," Duo said. "It gives her a reason to focus on, not on what's going on with her body."
"I guess you're right," Noventa nodded. "I hadn't seen it that way. I was just… taken aback by her enthusiasm, and I wouldn't be surprised if she suggested we would resume searching for it. But both our physical state doesn't allow for it. She's sick, and well, I… I am old."
"Marshal Noventa…"
"I haven't told her everything about the sword either," Noventa interrupted Duo brusquely. "But I'm going to tell you about it."
"Sir?"
"I wasn't alone when I travelled through Tibet." He leaned on his cane, but his eyes looked far away in the distance. He wasn't in the office anymore, he was back in Tibet, crossing the Himalayas, fighting the cold and the snow. "I was crossing the border together with an Italian," he said. "I met him in at a bar in Chengdu, a traveller just like me. He was drinking hot tea and had just ordered something to eat. He asked me to share his meal, and we both spend the evening chatting and drinking, like old friends."
"This was before China closed the borders," Noventa's voice had a distinct melancholy to it, "but we were young and stupid, so we decided to act like tough guys, and take the difficult route through the Himalayas, instead of hitchhiking to Lhasa. Gianni...that was his name… Gianni loved to do things the hard way. No pain, no gain, he always said, and I, I was young and just as reckless as him. We went on our way with too little provisions, too little clothing, too little preparations."
Heero exchanged a look with Duo. He was listening attentively, occasionally stroking a chestnut bang out of his face.
"We got stuck on a mountain pass. It was so cold… we didn't have the right footwear. We were trekking out of sheer stubbornness, and we encouraged each other to go on. Such fools we were, young, stupid fools… there was no one else in that pass, no sherpa, no guide to be found. I was praying to myself, praying that we found shelter, a convent, a monastery, a farm, anything… but we were hopelessly lost, and Gianni… he was dying."
Noventa looked up, his voice hitching. "I could see it in his eyes. Those dark eyes of his were…blank, staring into the distance, blinded by the white snow and yellow sun. He couldn't feel his feet anymore, he couldn't feel his fingers anymore. We found a cave, and we decided to rest a little and warm up." He shook his head. "I couldn't find any wood in the mountain pass, but I did find a few signs; there was a monastery up ahead, just a few more miles. We could get warm there, ask for shelter, recover and admit our stupid mistake. I went back to the cave to tell Gianni the good news."
Duo shifted in his seat. Heero was listening just as attentively, his gut feeling already telling him what would be coming next.
"He was dead." The marshal clenched his fingers so hard that every knuckle cracked. "I should never have left him alone. He couldn't even get his blanket out of his backpack. In the short time I was away to find some wood, he had frozen to death. I was devastated."
"I don't want Sylvia to find out about this. What can I say? 'Your grandfather was so stupid as to abandon his friend? To have him freeze to death?"
"You didn't abandon him," Duo immediately said. "You were young, you both were inexperienced…"
"It's not an excuse," Noventa said. His hands had started shaking. "I shouldn't have gone along with his plan. He was bragging over beer that he could climb the Mount Everest bare-handed. He said that no mountain pass was difficult enough for him. He wanted to see Lhasa and he would get there, one way or another. He wanted to be able to tell his children that he single-handedly crossed the mountain paths to visit Tibet. He was a fool, and I was even a greater fool."
He heaved another sigh and took a few minutes to collect his bearings. "I took his body with me and carried him all the way to the monastery," he said. "It was so hard, and I was crying and yelling out loud, apologizing, begging God for forgiveness. Even though I didn't know Gianni very long, he was my friend, and his death made me swear to always respect human life, and to never lift up my hand in violence."
"The monks buried him and gave his wallet to me, so I could inform his family. When I left Tibet, I travelled to Italy to find his parents and tell them the bad news. I couldn't find them, but I found his wife and his young son."
"That must've been really hard," Duo said.
"It was. I had to tell them what happened, and his wife was in tears.. yet she thanked me, that I hadn't left him in the cage, that I was there to take care of him. She said that she always knew his recklessness would get him into trouble, but she hadn't expected this.. just like I never expected him to be married and have a young son. He was travelling like he had no care in the world, no family to say goodbye to. But he had a wife, he had a son…Marco. Marco Bartoli."
Chapter 2 |