Passport to Paradise
folder
Dragon Ball Z › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
16
Views:
3,850
Reviews:
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Category:
Dragon Ball Z › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
16
Views:
3,850
Reviews:
12
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own DragonballZ, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 9
Chapter 9
The barbarians, or the Kir as they were known to
themselves and their allies, were desert people. When Alain told him this,
Vegeta thought at first that he was mistaken. The closest desert a week away and
even that was a short estimate. When they'd awakened the morning after Kakarotto
was taken, ready to start their journey, the camp in the valley was gone and so
were the Kir. There had also been no sign of their ships on the water when Alain
and the prince cast off themselves in one of the few surviving boats. The winds
were not that strong, and the ship was too large to be rowed, so Vegeta just
didn't see how they could have gotten such a head-start on them.
"They can use magic," his guide shrugged. "I guess they conjured
up a wind." Vegeta frowned at the reminder that the barbarians had the gift
of magic and moodily stared into the water. Trying not to imagine the horrors
his lover was going through successfully consumed all of his attention.
The survivors of Fisher's Cove had been given a document signed and stamped by
the prince that would prove to the king that they had been told to seek refuge
in the Saiya-jin kingdom. While there was not enough room in the castle for them
all, nor was there a city within a day's travel large enough to support them
all, he supposed that they could build shelter in the forest. There was more
than enough game to feed them all for quite some time if they hunted in
moderation and several clear streams ran amongst the trees. He had a feeling
they would be fine there; the ancient elven magic that protected the king would
likely protect them as well.
Alain had never sailed before so he hadn't known that he would be prone to
seasickness. Vegeta knew this logically, but he still couldn't be anything but
angry at his guide for springing such a thing on him. What little food and water
they had salvaged from the stone buildings that hadn't burned he wasted by
ejecting it forcefully from his stomach into the ocean. The sounds of him being
violently sick were getting to him, as was the sickly expression on Alain's
face, and so his temper was often short and vicious.
"I don't know why I'm still here with you," Alain said miserably, his
head hanging over the side.
Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Perhaps it's because were out in the middle of the
ocean with no land in sight. Unless you would rather swim to our
destination?"
He blushed very faintly, feeling like an idiot. "Oh. Right."
The prince sighed. He hoped that they spotted land soon.
When Kakarotto returned to consciousness with a start, he immediately wondered
why. When he could not figure it out within a few seconds, he decided to worry
about it later since his body was making its discomfort known. His stomach was
empty and grumbling in complaint, his bladder was full to bursting, and the skin
over his chest was so tight it felt as if it would tear with the slightest
movement. All in all he was in fairly bad shape.
Groaning with the effort, Kakarotto slowly tried to roll over onto his knees.
Before that moment he had never known just how many muscles were connected to
his chest. The resultant pain of his endeavor threatened to cause him to black
out again, but he held on to consciousness with a tenacity that surprised even
him and was able to use one hand to reach under his body and relieve himself.
Luckily he had not being lying downward on a slope.
"Why did they let me go?" The sand felt warm beneath his hands as he
crawled slowly and painfully away from the wet patch he'd created on the ground.
He looked down at himself, not at all surprised to see that he was still naked.
The cut on his chest had been inexpertly sewn up with overly-large and somewhat
messy stitches. He would have a nasty scar to remember the ceremony by. If he
managed to survive infection while avoiding starvation and dehydration, that is.
Kakarotto groaned aloud and allowed his weary arms to lower his body onto the
ground. Why had he survived? He had failed in the one thing he had been charged
to do and now the entire world would pay for it.
A harsh, grating cry startled him out of his gloomy thoughts. Turning his head,
he spied a crow perched on a large stone staring at him with one dark eye. He
hissed at the ill omen and weakly tried to shoo it away. Letting out another caw
that seemed to mock him, the bird flew off, its dark body marring the flawless
blue of the sky.
The day was not yet hot, but that would change within a few hours. Without any
clothing he would be at the mercy of the intense desert sun, but he usually
tanned instead of burned so it would be only a mild discomfort. Unfortunately
the heat would undoubtedly cause him to sweat which would, in turn, cause him to
deplete his body's supply of water and he had none to replace it with. Being
left in the middle of a desert with no sustenance whatsoever would kill him as
surely as pushing the ritual knife into his heart would have. At least being
killed by the knife would have been faster.
Now that he was out there, his innate determination wouldn't allow him to just
lie in the sand like a corpse. He was conscious and not in too much pain
so he had to go as far as his legs were able to take him. After that, he would
just have to crawl.
The moment the boat was on the sand, Alain dropped to his knees and laid his
cheek against it. For a while he'd thought he would never see dry land again.
They had been steering by the sun and the constellations the entire way, trying
their best to stay on a somewhat northeasterly course. Vegeta had voiced the
opinion before they'd embarked that it would have been safer to follow the
coastline, but that would have added a few days onto their journey and there was
no time to lose.
"Get up," the prince ordered, shading his eyes with his hand and
looking out onto the lifeless desert plain. Here and there he could see patches
of hardy plants and rocks, but there was no sign of anything living that walked
on two legs. "How far away is the nearest settlement?"
Alain rose and looked around, trying (and failing) to orient himself. "It
could be anyway from half a day to nearly a week. I don't know how far north we
went."
"Great. Kakarotto could be dying and we have no idea where he might
be."
The guide, being the hasty person that he often was, was more than ready to just
march headlong into the desert in search of Vegeta's lover and his revenge, but
the prince halted him. "I don't want to get lost," he explained as he
dug around in his pack and pulled out a bright red tunic of Kakarotto's. It was
one of his new ones. He had chosen most of his new shirts by how likely they
would blind you, it seemed. He tied the sleeves around the small oar lying in
the bottom of the boat and then forced it into the sand. "So we can find
our way back," he explained.
"Good idea." He took the small skin of what remained of their precious
water from Vegeta and they began to walk northward, eyes scanning the desert for
any sign of a person. Or what was left of one after the vultures constantly
circling overhead had gotten through with anyone unfortunate enough to die in
such a wasteland.
"You see that thick clump of birds right over there?" the prince asked
suddenly after about twenty minutes of walking. The flag he'd made of
Kakarotto's tunic was still in sight every time they reached the top of a sand
dune.
"Yes," Alain said, squinting. "Well, I think I do,
anyway."
"I doubt that's normal. It's like there's something newly dead over there
or-" He cut himself off and began to run as quickly as he could over the
shifting sand.
"What?" his guide asked, hurrying to catch up.
"Something might be still alive, but the vultures must sense that it's
dying. It might be Kakarotto!" No, he knew it was Kakarotto.
Something deep inside told him so.
His feet caught in the sand, causing him to stumble several times, but he picked
himself and kept going. The relatively short distance became one of miles as he
realized that there were quite a few sand dunes separating them, which dragged
the distance out exponentially. By the time Vegeta reached the area where the
vultures lurked, flying patiently overhead, his clothes were soaked with sweat
and his lungs burned with the effort of breathing. With a quick look behind him,
he saw that Alain was no better off, and that he had fallen some distance behind
and was doubled over with exhaustion. Another look showed him that the red flag
was so distant and partially obscured by the waves of shimmering heat rising up
from the sand that it looked like something out of a dream.
He climbed the last dune, the vultures hissing with irritation as if they knew
that their prey would be taken from right under their noses. Vegeta froze at the
top, his eyes hardly believing the sight in front of him. It was Kakarotto all
right, at least he was there somewhere under a thick coating of sand, and he was
not moving.
"What have they done to you?" he whispered brokenly, falling to his
knees beside his body. Tentatively he reached out one trembling hand to touch
his shoulder and roll him over onto his back. He could not see his chest move.
His face was relatively clean save for a layer of sand on the cheek that had
lain against the dune. The skin of his face was red and irritated and his lips
were dry and cracked from lack of moisture. Trying and knowing that it was
useless, Vegeta brushed the sand from him and revealed the nasty wound that
marred his chest. His heart clenched as he eyed it.
"Did they take your heart? How could those bastards treat you like
this?" He clenched his fists in the sand and bowed his head. "Why did
he give me false hope?" he whispered to himself.
"I'm not dead yet," a hoarse voice croaked. "Though I sort of
wish that I was."
Vegeta held his breath, but when no more words were forthcoming he thought he
had only imagined them. Shaking his head, he continued to clean his lover as
best he could while he waited for Alain to finally make it over to them.
"I love you, Kakarotto, and I'm sorry I was too late to save you. I'll see
to it that you're buried with your people and then I'll join you wherever you
are." Then he allowed the flood of emotion that pushed relentlessly at his
barriers to crash over him. Vegeta rested his forehead against Kakarotto's chest
and let the tears come.
It was like there was a wall between him and consciousness. Sometimes he was
able to create a hole in it large enough for him to interact with the world
beyond his mind, but then his strength faded and the hole closed up. In the
twilight world between sleep and wakefulness, he could feel himself swaying with
movement and two pairs of hands holding his aching body. He could almost, but
not quite, identify the ones gripping him under the arms as their small and
slender fingers had touched him many times, but could not put a name, or a face,
to their owner.
He had a vague memory of telling someone that he wasn't yet dead, but he did not
know whether or not he had spoken it in the Outside World. He couldn't remember
much beyond drinking something sweet and rich from a wooden mug, the sound of
male laughter flowing around him like water.
Chanting invaded his nightmares before he could pull himself out of them. The
words twisted like angry snakes in his mind, bringing with them a ghost of
burning, throbbing pain that left him breathless. Several times he thought to
reach out to the person tending to him, but he was not sure if his arms actually
moved or if he had only imagined it.
His body felt unbearably hot and tight and uncomfortable as the infection raged
within him. The angry pulse of the white-hot pain in his chest climbed as the
days passed until it filled his entire world with its blinding light. He
screamed as it brought with it memories of a blade slicing into his flesh until
his cries turned to whimpers as his voice gave out. His body thrashed around in
a desperate attempt to escape the pain, inadvertently making it even worse
because the kind hands could not successfully hold him still. He would slip into
sleep, then, exhausted from fighting the pain and the familiar hand would caress
his damp cheek until the darkness claimed him.
Sometimes he heard someone sobbing quietly as if their heart was breaking. Their
grief stabbed at him, filled him up to bursting, until he felt as if their pain
was a shared thing. He was not aware of it, but oftentimes their tears would
mingle on his cheeks.
The tenth day after he was rescued, his fever finally broke. The tears cried on
that day were of joy instead of sadness. But even though his body no longer
burned, Kakarotto did not wake.
Alain gave up hope after the seventh day, but Vegeta continued to hold on. He
wouldn't -- couldn't -- let go of the young man who had changed his world so
completely. Every day he tended to him, gently feeding broth to him so he did
not starve, bathing him regularly so that infection did not return, efficiently
disposing of his waste. He spoke to him often, describing in great detail what
they would do once he regained consciousness. At night he curled on the bed, his
arm gently around his waist, and dreamed of the moment when his love would
finally open his eyes and be with him once more.
And if the worst should happen and Kakarotto did, indeed, die, the tiny vial of
poison he carried always in a pouch on his belt was a solid reminder that his
own life was not a infinite thing and that he could, with little effort, join
his lover in death.