Duo Maxwell and the Sword of the Khan

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"Bring them over here." Bartoli's voice was calm, slightly vibrating with excitement. He was standing in front of the tomb of Kol-An-Anuum, the descendant of Genghis Khan, buried together with his mythical sword. Defended for ages by monks, searched out by those who longed for a glimpse of the object that would make them live forever…Live forever yes, that was a good start of his own empire. He couldn't do everything he wanted to do in his current lifespan. Marco Bartoli wished he had known about this sword sooner, but his mother had told him about the death of his father when she had died, well in her seventies. He had never known for his father, and never cared. Why would he care about someone he didn't know? His mother had never remarried and the picture of her husband was just a picture of a strange man to Marco. The only thing he had witnessed was the crumbling fortune of the family, and their palazzo wilting and dilapidating until they had to move to a damp, cramped apartment with wallpaper curling in the corners, and worn-through carpet and tapestries on the floor.

Noventa's mistake had been a godsend to Bartoli. After extorting and blackmailing the peaceful Marshall for a long time and with the last of the insurance money, Bartoli had finally been able to invest and see his money grow. His attempts to restore the family name had been fruitful, but not really rewarding yet. The sword would take care of that, and he wanted his captives to be the first witnesses to the unfolding apotheosis. He had brought life to the Fiamma Nera again, in his eyes nothing but idiots who thought they were entitled to ruling the world even though they were too stupid to tell time, but who had proven to be very handy assets to him. Except for when it came to killing off Maxwell and Yuy. It didn't matter. He would use a few bullets to kill them, after they witnessed what he wanted them to witness - their ultimate failure, Noventa's last chance for help, claimed in front of their eyes by Marco Bartoli, the head and patriarch of a new family who was going to upturn the society!

Caressing his fascia, he studied the Fiamma Nera insignia while his henchmen gathered the captives. Bartoli used the time to reflect on all the work he had done to find and uncover the tomb. Noventa's notes had proven to be a great source, and the monks at Burqug Lamaling had been very helpful when faced with a few submachine guns. Too bad one monk had been missing from the assembly; he had taken the shards with his father's blood to another monastery and no matter how much Bartoli had threatened, they wouldn't share to where the other monk had gone to. It didn't matter. Their library and knowledge held enough information for Bartoli to start digging close to the Annapurna, in this mountain range that was cold and harsh, but the Italian himself hadn't dug one meter, of course - it had all been the cultists, feverish by his spurring them on, in search for something that promised immortality. Pathetic, how mortals could be manipulated just with the promise of living a little bit longer…and even he had fallen for it.

"Signore," one of the cultists approached him carefully, "everything is ready."

"I know." Bartoli looked over his shoulder and turned around slowly. His captives were forced to stand in a line, with a burly cultist right behind them, weapons in hand. "I'm sure you're thinking of some way to escape," he said. "Do be gentlemen though, and wait until I finish this? It won't take long."

"You're an asshole," Duo said out loud. "The sword is not for you!"

"It's not?" Bartoli coughed. "For who is it, then?"

"It's for Sylvia," Noventa spoke up. "My granddaughter."

Duo, Heero and Wufei shared the same baffled expression as Bartoli.

"Your granddaughter?" The Italian started to laugh. Noventa flinched, but forced himself to stand up straight. "You want to sell the sword so she can have the money?"

"What about Sylvia?" Duo asked, ignoring Bartoli's comment. Noventa's lips quivered, and a small tear was sliding over his cheek. He brought up his hands, showing how much they trembled, in front of the others.

"This…disease is hereditary," Noventa said, voice hitching. "I was over sixty when it started. I thought it was old age when it began… but after I went to see a doctor, he told me that there was nothing he could do for me. I retired from politics and focused on raising my granddaughter. I never expected to live to this day, seeing how aggressive it was in the beginning. But recently, I've seen all the signs. I recognize the pain, the awkwardness, the discomfort. My life is over, her life is just about to begin… I don't want her to suffer."

"We can help her," Duo insisted. "My family physician, Professor G, is an authority in the field of immunology and biology…"

"I know," Noventa whispered, not bothering to wipe away the tear. "But there's no time left. Her health is rapidly deteriorating. If the sword… a cure wouldn't be found in time. If she would live long enough with the help of the sword, there would be hope…"

"Disgusting," Bartoli interrupted him. "You're right about one thing though, your life is over."

"You have no honor," Wufei spoke up for the first time since his captivity, "threatening an elderly man like that. What's next, Bartoli: taking candy from youngsters with a big sword in your hand?"

"You have no right to speak at all, Chang Wufei," Bartoli snarled. Heero could just hear Wufei's eyebrows being arched. "My network had information on you as well. I had to disappear quickly because you came too close with your investigation; it will be my pleasure to add you to the list of victims as soon as I'm done."

"Then get it over with," Wufei said, as calm as if nothing important was going on. "You're boring me with all your despotic, megalomaniac lectures."

Bartoli made a sound that could mean anything. Then he shrugged and walked to the large tomb. For a Khan, Kol-An-Anuum was buried with very little decoration: his tomb was a simple, rectangular stone coffin with some markings close to the bottom. The huge stone slab, properly removed, revealed the same markings, carved without any additional decoration. It was a simple coffin for someone who had reigned over an entire empire; Bartoli looked over the edge and reached inside.

Duo, Heero and Wufei couldn't help but to watch and lean a little forward, as if they could look into the coffin from this distance. Duo was trembling with excitement, despite the gravity of the situation. Heero was standing up straight, just like Wufei, back rigid as a ruler, but still curious. Duo leaned forward some more, the pain in his leg forgotten. Bartoli rummaged around for a moment, until he abruptly halted. The remaining cultists started to whisper excitedly among each other. Slowly, Bartoli pulled the sword from the tomb, the intense lights immediately catching the silver artwork on the sheath.

"Magnificent," Bartoli spoke in awe and for a moment everyone stared at the sword, gaping at its beauty, but mostly at the enormous jewelry that encrusted the object. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires… it was truly magnificent like Bartoli said, and the silence in the cavern was a reverent one, an admiring one.

"Truly becoming of a Khan." Bartoli marveled at the object, a greedy grin spreading all over his face. "Truly becoming of me."

"So now you have your goddamn sword," Duo said and his expletive crudely interrupted the trance. The cultists growled and the one behind Duo even poked him in the back with the shotgun he had confiscated from Heero.

"I have my goddamn sword, yes," Bartoli answered. "You don't know half of it, do you? You don't know how it works. That's why you can only be crude and yelling like any other loud-mouthed, boorish American I've met."

"For your information, I'm half British," Duo said.

"Pity." Bartoli unsheathed the sword. The blade was entirely made out of silver, glowing in the light. An entire prism of colors was visible, ranging from green to purple, to orange and yellow. The handle was just as lavishly encrusted with jewels as the sheath - it was a sword purely for decoration, not for war. Bartoli tested the tip, and it didn't cut his skin. He chuckled shortly, like a cat coughing up a hairball. "Blunt. Typical."

"Please, give the sword to me," Noventa pleaded. "For my granddaughter…"

"If you speak another word, I'll have you shot on the spot," Bartoli growled. "I don't care about you or your granddaughter. Your life is over, and hers as well. Two sniveling wimps dying shortly after another. Perfect."

"Asshole," Duo said.

"You're getting repetitive." Heero couldn't resist his remark. Wufei tilted his head, his ebony eyes narrowed to mere slits.

"Will you be as kind as to focus your attention to the gravity of the situation?"

"It doesn't matter." Bartoli spoke out loud, his voice echoing. "Just a few moments, then I'll order my friends over there to kill you. Not with this sword of course," another hollow laugh, "I'm just going to use that for myself."

"What?" Duo's eyes widened. Bartoli lifted up the sword with a sweeping, dramatic gesture, pointing the tip to his heart. Before anyone could react, Bartoli plunged the sword right into his chest, into his heart - even Wufei's jaw dropped. Blood welled up on Bartoli's suit, staining his shirt. The Italian's face was contorted with pain, and he made low, growling sounds in the back of his throat, refusing to yell out loud. He had pressed the sword so hard that the blade had gone through him, the tip extending from his back. Shaking violently, he fell to his knees, his hands tightly gripping the handle of the sword. The cultists broke out in a chant, their eyes closed in worship of their leader.

"This can't be happening," Duo said.

"Why would he impale himself on the sword?" Heero couldn't believe his eyes. "Did we miss something about it? Something we don't know about it?"

"Look," Wufei pointed at Bartoli. "Look at what it's doing!"

Bartoli's face was changing. The harsh edges and lines in his face were mellowing, softening. His thin lips became youthful plump, his dark eyes shining brighter, his hair darker and voluminous. Age was fading from him, it literally melted off of him.

"He's… getting younger…" Duo was leaning on Heero now, and he had forgotten about any pain himself, just watching at Bartoli and the sword. The cultists chanted louder, stamping their feet along with the words they repeated over and over again. Wufei looked over his shoulder, but the cultists behind them weren't participating in the chanting, even though their attention had definitely waned, focusing on the regressing Bartoli.

"If we act now…" Wufei started, keeping his voice low, but the decision was taken out of his hands. Noventa broke out of the line, taking a surprising fast sprint towards Bartoli.

"Marshall!" Duo exclaimed. Noventa was faster than he thought. The elderly man ran past Bartoli, turned around, took a deep breath and threw himself onto the protruding blade.

"Marshall!" Duo's voice rang out. He was drowned out by the startled cry from Marco Bartoli, who fell upon his hands due to the sudden weight on his back. He hollered a deep, growling "No! Get away from me!" but the rejuvenating effect of the sword was somehow cancelled due to Noventa's action. Instead, it started to reverse the process and Bartoli aged in seconds, his skin becoming as white as alabaster, with blue, thin veins running like spider webs all over his body, his hair graying and falling out, his eyes turning a milky blue and finally glazing over. Sputtering, his saliva dribbled all over his chin, followed by his teeth rotting and clattering on the ground.

One more sigh and it was over. Bartoli was lying on the ground, with Noventa on top of him. The cultists had stopped their chant, looking aghast at their aged leader… or what remained of him. He was instantly mummified, all bodily liquids drained from him, and his hand was turned upright, claw-like, in a futile attempt to throw Noventa off. It had happened so fast that the last line of cultists was still chanting, unaware of what had happened, until they were roughly elbowed and motioned to stop.

Heero wasn't going to wait until the cultists would project their anger of their leader's death on the three of them. He whispered to Duo to stand on his own for a while, and let go of him - he was going to need both his hands. Heero immediately attacked the cultist behind Duo, the one who held his shotgun. Due to the man's shock, Heero had the element of surprise and yanked the weapon out of his hands, using the butt of the shotgun to punch the cultist in the face. Wufei wrestled his katana free from the grip of another cultist, and cut through skin and bone to incapacitate him, not to kill him.

The shotgun went off - Heero had fired in the air. The cultists froze in mid-movement; not only Heero had a weapon, Duo had his Uzis back as well. Heero only had to look at a smirking Wufei with his bloodied katana; the cultist who had Duo's weapons, was rolling over the floor, nursing a large cut in both his upper arms.

"I have no intention to kill you," Heero said, not bothering to speak Italian. From the look on their faces, they understood him all too well. "But be warned that I can, and will kill you all if you try to attack us. For what you've done to us, you deserve to die - for what you stand for, you deserve to die. Unfortunately for me and fortunately for you, it's not up to me to dispense such divine judgment. Be gone, all of you; and try to find another hobby than to be a member of some cult. Get lost!"

"I love it when you're so commanding," Duo said as he hopped from one leg to the other. "You should do that more often."

"Only if you give me a chance to," Heero answered. Duo choose not to answer, but his smile turned devilish as he watched the cultists leave, a few of them throwing a murderous look over their shoulder, but the majority left without putting up a fight.

Wufei had walked over to the stone coffin and Bartoli and Noventa in front of it. He put down his katana and pulled Noventa at the shoulders, gently, away from Bartoli. As he saw Heero approaching with a limping Duo, he held up his hand.

"It's an ugly sight," he said. "The same happened to both of them."

"Dear God," Duo said. Noventa had been instantly mummified just like Bartoli, a grotesque caricature of the man he once used to be. Duo shivered. "Poor soul."

Heero pried Bartoli's fingers free from the handle of the sword and very carefully, pulled the blade out of the man's body. Wufei turned both Noventa and Bartoli on their backs, the two corpses cramped in their last position: Bartoli fetus-like, hands and knees drawn together, and Noventa angel-like, his arms wide open as he had wrapped them around Bartoli in his final moment. Heero sheathed the sword again, only to turn around abruptly when he heard the sound of footsteps. Had the cultists returned..?

It were the two sherpas, shuffling closer, eyes wide open and confusedly looking around. They saw the stone coffin and read the markings on it, starting to pray as they didn't know what else to do.

"We should better leave," Wufei said. "And make sure both entrances are sealed forever."

"We might not know everything about the Khan," Duo said as he leaned against the coffin, peeking inside, "but we do know how he died." He held up a part of Kol-An-Anuum's skull, fractured. "Someone bashed his head in."

"No immortality for him," Heero said. The adrenaline had worn off and fatigue was claiming his body. He knew the others felt the same way, and Duo was in need of medical attention. Heero couldn't imagine what he had to feel with that broken leg of his, but he was more worried about possible infections than the fracture itself. "We should leave, yes, and allow the Khan to rest in peace."

"Maybe he can find some peace as well," Duo said, looking at Noventa's body.

"Maybe." Heero reached for his lover and pulled him into an embrace.

"You're still holding the sword," Duo said.

"I don't need it." Heero dropped it to the ground. "I don't need for immortality. I just want to be with you forever."

"Agh," Wufei said. "I'm on my way to the exit. When you're done here, let me know."

"Watch out for any cultists," Duo hollered after him. "Oh, and could you send some champagne and smoked salmon this way? I'm famished, and thirsty!"


Duo Maxwell looked from a distance at the group of people gathered around the white coffin, covered with flowers and wreaths. Every official and representative of Earth and colonial politics was attending the funeral of one of the world's most prolific peace activist. Relena Peacecraft was delivering his eulogy, her voice clear and calm, reminiscing of Marshall Noventa as a tutor, a friend and a wonderful example for all.

Duo leaned against a white limousine in which they had followed the hearse. Noventa was buried with full honor and regalia, almost fitting for a king, but both Duo and Heero had chosen not to go public with any of Noventa's mistakes. Wufei, who had remained in China after saying goodbye to his friends, wouldn't talk about it either; he wasn't the person to defame the dead. In his eyes, Noventa had restored a lot of his honor by sacrificing his life, and that was all there was to it.

As he loathed funerals, Duo had chosen not to attend the service and just watch from a distance as the coffin was brought to its final resting place. Relena's voice was clearly audible, and he listened to her talking about Noventa and his activism for peace, and how much she had learned from him and her father, Foreign Vice-Minister Darlian, who had also given his life for peace.

"Are you all right?" Heero had stayed with Duo, claiming that he needed help with his crutches. Duo didn't need the help, but he was a perfect excuse for Heero not to attend the funeral either. He wasn't angry or mad with Noventa; the man was dead, the sword was safely at the museum and the Khan's coffin had been covered, end of story. All that Heero was looking forward to, was some peace and quiet himself; after returning to England, he had been busy with Duo and his surgery and physiotherapy for his leg. The media had bombarded Maxwell Manor with questions about the discovery of the sword and the sequential donation of it to the museum.

The service was over and the family, friends and guests who were attending slowly dispersed over the graveyard, back to their cars or to the aula, where they could mourn the way they saw fit. Two people had detached themselves from the crowd and came over to where Duo and Heero were standing. The man on the right was easily identifiable due to his gray, mushroom shaped hair, and the girl on the left was none other than Sylvia Noventa, dressed in a black dress that reached past her knees. Her black hat covered her hair, neatly combed and spread over her shoulders. Her face was a little pale, contrasting starkly with the dark color of her hat, but her eyes brimmed with determination.

She looked over her shoulder, at the grave of her grandfather and Duo was surprised by the bright, wide smile on her face.

"Thank you for all your hard work," she said. "I'm very grateful for what you did."

"There wasn't much what we did," Duo mumbled. Sylvia shook her head. Her thin fingers rested in Professor G's hand.

"It wasn't about the sword at all," she said. "It was about peace of mind. I have peace of mind now. I have accepted it. My grandfather died as a hero. He was willing to take a risk, any risk for me. He was human and made mistakes. I won't forget how far he was willing to go for me, and I have peace now. It's all right."

"Your grandfather was a wonderful man," Duo agreed. He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed very lightly. Heero bowed to her, impressed with the girl's strength. Even though her eyes were red from crying, she was smiling now, despite knowing the truth. She even had seen her grandfather's body when it was repatriated and she knew about everything that had happened, to the very last detail. To the press, there had been a communiqué issued that Marshall Noventa had died from old age after a short, but intense illness. The press didn't need to know about the sword or Gianni or Marco Bartoli. The Fiamma Nera was silent, and no one had been seen dwelling around the Annapurna in search for an entrance to the tomb of the Khan. Sylvia pulled out a tiny handkerchief from her purse and betted her eyes.

"Quatre Winner offered me a job in his research department," she said. "He also offered me full reimbursement on any medical costs in the future."

"That's Quatre Winner for you," Duo beamed. "That's great to hear, Sylvia. And what about you, G?"

"Miss Noventa has agreed to allow me to study her cell patterns and development of the disease," G said. "With her generous offer of cooperation, I'm sure I can find a medication to ease the discomfort of her condition and improve her quality of life."

"That's amazing." Duo was truly excited for Sylvia. With Quatre's help, she didn't need to worry about any finances, and with G's help, the prognosis of her disease wasn't looking as bleak and grim as it used to do. He was genuinely happy, glad that everything had taken a good turn in the end.

"Thank you for everything," she repeated. Duo moved away from the door of the limousine and opened it for her, so she could get in.

"Be well, Sylvia."

She stepped into the car, followed by G. Duo closed the door behind them and the limousine drove off slowly, the gravel grinding under the wheels of the vehicle.

"That's one strong girl." Duo squeezed Heero's hand.

"She's going to make it. She has the genes of her grandfather."

Duo looked up at Heero, trying to juggle holding his hand and the crutches for support. "I'm glad to hear you say that. I know you didn't like Noventa much…"

"I do feel sorry for his granddaughter," Heero said. "All that pain and suffering…"

"Maybe we should send her to Barkhang for more peace of mind," Duo said and dropped one of his crutches. "Aw, damn."

Heero picked it up and waved with it in Duo's face. "Concerning you, no more traveling, no more cold or exotic adventures until you're fully recovered, mister!"

"Now I don't like you commanding me," Duo pouted. "We should go home, though. Howard's keeping an eye on the reconstruction and I don't want him to add another wing to the manor. Give the man a few fingers, he'll gnaw your hand off…"

"I love the way you exaggerate." Heero gave the crutch back to Duo and waited until he was in balance before he started to walk. "And I can't wait to get a decent cup of tea."

"I'm so glad Hillary and his father are back at the manor again," Duo said. "He's the only one who knows how to perfectly prepare my cup of coffee."

"With sprinkles on top."

"Lots of sprinkles."

"You know, I really hate graveyards."

"Me too. I love you, Heero."

"I love you too. Let's go home."

End

 

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Chapter 13 |