Prologue: Land of Confusion—Part Three

Morgase, queen of Andor, sat upon the lion throne in a state of supreme calm despite the ornately carved and flawlessly gilded chair's worst afflictions; the lip of the seat was a bit too sharp and bit into the back of her leg, a bur on the surface had worn through the cushion, there was a rough patch on the arm that irritated the skin just below her elbow. She would talk to Reene Harfor, the First Maid, to see about repairs although she wasn't entirely sure what good it would do, the entire chair was simply too rigid forcing her to sit like a plank of wood. Her back and shoulders were always stiff after and would sometime take hours for the tension to leave her limbs.

But she would endure. This was too important for her not to.

It was the same battle she waged everyday at this time as she listened to petitioners who sought her judgment in all manner of things. Some of what was brought before her was the most inane drivel she has ever heard and never would have reached her if they were of lesser rank, but because of who these nobles were, the problems they could cause if these matters were not resolved quickly and fairly. Nothing like the plotting and scheming that took place down in Cairhien, but even a fraction of that was too much.

An oppressiveness filled the room, as if the air itself gained the weight of a thousand stones. She wasn't the only one to notice the change; several of the nobles were casting glances around the large chamber, keeping the movements small so as not to be noticed. A fair number of guards' hands itched closer to their swords; even Gareth Bryne seemed on edge, which was saying something considering the man would face a thousand Whitecloaks alone, with nothing but his bare hands and never once appear as if anything was out of sorts.

Most telling of all was that Elaida had set aside her knitting. She was just beginning to stand when a bolt of lightening flashed from directly overhead. It struck in the center of the room, tossing those closest a good five paces away. Those further away were knocked aside by the sheer force of the bolt, a concussive wave that flattened everything as it radiated outward. Even upon her dais, protected as she was behind Elaida's hastily erected barrier, Morgase felt the pressure of that wave. There was a tense strain on Elaida's face as she held the wall erect; Morgase could only imagine how much strain the other woman felt.

Where the lightening bolt had struck a smoking crater nearly three paces across now sat, the marble floor was cracked like a shattered mirror and pieces fused together like polished silver. A miracle or some other twist of fate that no one had actually been struck by the massive bolt, but impossibly four people had somehow appeared, deposited there by the lightening. Three were women, two with dark almost black hair and the other with short blonde, and one man with close cropped sandy brown hair. Unlike the three women the man was on his feet though clearly disorientated. The blonde hair girl was just beginning to push herself to her knees while the other two women were lying on the ground as if they had somehow absorbed the brunt of the force that brought them here.

Their clothes, while oddly familiar were made even stranger for their similarities; trousers were trousers and shoes were shoes, but she had never seen anything that compared to what they wore. The man's shirt fit him with a snugness that more then suggested a sleek torso and smooth arms without showing anything that wasn't proper, it was dark with long sleeves and tight against his throat. His trousers were an interwoven grayish black material, but the weave was finer then any she had ever seen before. They were tight along his thighs and upper legs but oddly loose below his knees, and he wore white shoes that were laced up the front.

The older woman was the only one of the three women to be attired in proper clothes; a dark pleated skirt and a pale rose colored blouse, but she was wearing dark boots with some type of interlocking metal running up the inside. The younger girls were both dressed in men's style clothes, breaches with shirts that would have made decent small clothes if there had been more material. The blonde's was barely a string that draped over her shoulders. Metal pierced her flesh in places none but an Atha'an Miere would dare pierce and possibly a few they wouldn't and colorful tattoos covered even more of her lightly bronzed flesh.

As most of the petitioners were pulling themselves to their feet and deciding that now would make an excellent time to withdraw. Gareth Bryne put himself in front of Morgase and shouted quick order to the guards that Morgase only half heard as she turned her attention toward Elaida and demanded, "What can you tell me?"

"I have never seen the power used in such a way." Her voice sounded strained. "I sense no ability in the women and I would even at this distance."

It was man's work, the thought was like ice water splashed in her face. She had suspected, but to have Elaida's words confirm her suspicions. She glanced back; the man was clearly frantic, possibly even a bit mad. "Can you shield him?"

"I shall endeavor," Elaida answered, a look of concentration creasing her brow.

Morgase nodded and turned back. She knew Elaida would not fail. The woman never failed at anything she set out to accomplish. Guards, groggy to be sure, were closing on the group, swords drawn and at the ready. More soldiers were rushing in, alerted to the disturbance by the press of fleeing nobles. The man staggered, his palm pressed to his forehead.

The blonde tilted her head, staring directly at the guard approaching her, his sword held in a steady hand. If he said anything it was too soft for Morgase to hear. The next instant the guard hurtled through the air, crashing into several others as if tossed away by an angry Ogier. They went down in a tangled heap.

"That's torn it," the man said, or something very close. The next instant he moved, rushing at the largest group of guards. They appeared to have been carved from stone he was so fast. The first guard he hit flew back at least six paces and probably would have gone further only the retreating crowd engulfed him.

In that single moment four other guards were already out of the fight. They moved so slowly compared to the stranger, as if they were fighting through jelled water while nothing inhibited the stranger.

"Elaida," Morgase said sharply. For the first time in quite some while she was able to detect panic at the edge of her voice.

If her voice was strained Elaida's was still winter's ice from the highest peaks. "I am trying. The man is impossibly strong."

"You need to go my Queen," Bryne said urgently, with far more force then was proper for a soldier speaking to his queen.

"I am not leaving," Morgase answered in a voice that wouldn't be budged and Bryne scowled darkly at her. She understood that she was making his job far more difficult then it needed to be, nearly impossible, but if her soldiers were willing to die for her she wasn't about to run out on them.

"You should heed Lord Bryne's advice while we have the situation contained," Elaida insisted with a hiss. Her brow was knitted with the effort she was exerting and it did look as if she had managed to hinder the man. He was still moving, but he no longer seemed to be a blur, streaking through her man and dispatching them at will. The Palace Guards were finally able to strike back, for all the good it did them. Razor sharp steel struck flesh and stopped without drawing the tiniest welt of blood. At one moment she thought the fight was going to be over quickly when a guard slipped in behind him and drove a heavy bladed dagger home with a strong arm, only the blade snapped as if it were tinder. "It is like trying to stop an avalanche with my bare hands." The words were so soft that Morgase wasn't sure she heard them correctly.

The escalating violence had roused the mother and daughter. Despite the confusion in her dark eyes the older woman quickly grabbed hold of her daughter and tried to make them as small as possible. The girl saw the fight taking place and broke away with a strangled cry of, "Dad," on her lips. She couldn't have been any older then Elayne and showed about an equal amount of prudence as she threw herself into the heat of the battle.

Morgase watched in horror as the girl tackled one of her guards, driving her shoulder into his ribs. He reacted instinctively, years of intense training taking over as he was knocked off stride. He twisted, driving the pommel of his sword into the side of her head and she crumpled to the floor, laying in heap.

"Heather!" the mother screamed.

Green mist enveloped the guard and he flew up and back, smashing into the wall with a clatter, spun round and round like a mad pinwheel caught in a windstorm before dropping to the floor, discarded by whatever force that held him there.

"Heather," the mother wailed again and rushed forward only one of the guards grabbed her and was unprepared for her fury as her fist connected with his jaw and her knee with his groin. He dropped to his knees and she darted toward her daughter again, but the guard grabbed hold of her ankle and pulled back. She fell, face first to the floor.

A good portion of the petitioners had already fled the hall, showing uncommon sense, while the majority of Courtiers were still in attendance. Most of the men had their swords drawn, quite a few had even attempted to aid her guards in arresting the man and now lay on the floor, some groaning softly others unconscious and unmoving like a good many of her guards.

The blonde was hovering over Heather, feeling along girl's neck with her first two fingers; she shifted, listened to her chest for a moment and shifted again. She laced her fingers together, the palm of her left hand pressed onto the knuckles of her right and placed her hands over Heather's chest, over her heart and began to press down and then relax, down and relax; in a slow, steady rhythm.

The mother kicked out, the heel of her boot smashing the guard's face and she scrambled away from him. "Heather," she called out again surging towards her daughter.

The man's punch struck clean and the guard flew back and crashed into another guard and both went down in a tangle mass of limbs and swords. He brushed aside another sword, unconcerned about its razor sharp edge as he turned to deliver another punch, only his fist stopped a bare hairsbreadth from the man's face. He stared at the two women, one lying unmoving and the other crawling rapidly across the floor on hands and knees. "Lisa… Heather."

A look blossomed in his eyes that Morgase had never seen before, madness wrapped in seething anger. The stranger rushed forward, tossing armed guards aside as if they were nothing more then straw-men. Elaida grunted as if she had just been kicked in the stomach, and she clutched her head as she dropped back onto her stool.

"He's too strong," Elaida whispered. She didn't sound pleased to be making that admission. Even sitting Elaida appeared dazed and seemed to be having some trouble staying upright.

The blonde girl had moved again, tilting Heather's head back and pressing her mouth to Heather's and appeared to be breathing for her. It was a technique Morgase had never heard of before.

This needed to be brought to an end; Elaida was incapacitated, her guards were being overwhelmed by a single man who was stronger and faster then anything she had ever seen before and seemed all but impervious to their weapons.

One girl, who possessed a sort of power similar to Aes Sedai, yet wasn't the One Power, was trying to save the life of another girl no older then Elayne, and a mother who fought with the passion of cornered lion.

"Stop!" Morgase ordered in a voice that was heard in every corner of the vast hall. Her guards responded immediately to the sound of her voice and followed her command without question.

The man didn't care as he shoved his way past them. The woman, who was closer, reached their daughter first, scrambling up to the two girls. There was a good deal of blood on the floor from the gash along her scalp.

"She's not breathing," the blonde said as she looked up into the woman's haggard face. "There's something broken," she nodded towards Heather's head, "and I can't find a pulse. I would've healed her only I'm no good with head wounds… Nothing this serious."

Morgase descended the stairs at the far end of dais; both Gareth Bryne and Elaida following close behind, Bryne more hovering then following while Elaida seemed to be choosing her steps far more carefully then she normally would have.

"You can heal her?" The man asked skidding to a stop.

The blonde twisted her head around, sympathy and anguish glistening in her wet eyes. "Any other part of the body she'd be as good as new, but I've never been good with the brain. I'm sorry, if I hadn't—"

"Don't," the man cut in harshly. "We all screwed up here."

Considered softhearted by the vast majority of her detractors, there was no denying that seeing parents kneeling over their fallen child touched a place deep in her heart. She couldn't help but picture herself and Elayne in their place. As queen she has had to make many difficult decisions, but her soldiers' lives were worth far more then her pride and if she allowed this skirmish to continue she would be risking the one for the other. "Perhaps we may be of some assistance," Morgase offered in her most regal voice while still managing to sound sympathetic.

"My Queen," Bryne snapped sharply, "we know nothing about these people. Who they are? Where they're from? Why they are here?"

Morgase silenced him with little more then a flicker of her eyes. "Look at them Lord Bryne. Do you see anything about them that is other then two parents concerned with the welfare of their child," she challenged her Captain General. He acquiesced almost silently, grumbling under his breath, but he did give over and she turned glittering blue eyes back on the strangers in her court. "Do you swear that is all you are?" She demanded in a voice hard as steel.

"What else would I be?" The man answered, his voice seethed.

"What else indeed?" Elaida asked moving forward. It put Morgase in mind of a spider weaving its web. "I should warn you, I'm not at my strongest with healing. If the girl is dead then there is nothing anybody can do," she said unfazed by the blood as it parted before her and she knelt behind Heather's head. She placed her hand on the girl's forehead and sat unmoving until she looked up and said, "She's already beyond my help."

"No," the man snarled. "There has to be—"

"I am sorry," Elaida snapped but the emotionless tone of her voice gave her the lie. "The girl is dead and I am not the Creator," she said emphasizing each word.

"Can you fix the damage?" The blonde asked quickly. "If you can do that, I can restart her body and brain. A little electric shock, just like jump starting a car."

Morgase felt ice form in her veins at the girl's words, what she was proposing was impossible. The dead could not be returned to life; no one had such power. No Aes Sedai in history, none would even attempt such a feat. Only the girl sounded so very confident in her ability to do just that.

"Such a thing is not possible," Elaida assured the girl vehemently.

"Maybe for you…" Lisa growled viciously.

"Can you do what I asked?" The girl demanded.

"…On our world people have been revived after being dead longer then this," the mother finished.

There was a sense of desperation in her voice and Morgase wondered what the woman would say or do to save her child's life. Morgase could well imagine sacrificing near anything if it was Elayne lying there. "Elaida," Morgase said with quiet steel in her voice, "if you can do as she asked—"

Elaida sighed, a deep exhalation. "I am unsure if such a thing is possible," she admitted, "but I shall endeavor."

Once again there was a palpable pressure building in the hall, only now it was centered on Elaida. For several minutes nothing appeared to be happening. Morgase noticed Bryne had placed himself within arms length of the man and frowned, the corner of her eyes tightening at the dangerous position the man had placed himself in. She had never seen anybody move and fight like the stranger, he was stronger and faster then any warrior she has ever heard of, so strong that a single Aes Sedai couldn't hold him with air. He was about a forehead taller then Bryne and much slimmer through the shoulders, chest, and waist. "You're a very gifted warrior," Bryne finally said with a grudging admiration.

Blue eyes shifted slightly as the man glared at Bryne. "If you say so," he said in a tone that made it clear he was in no mood to talk.

The wound in the girl's temple closed slowly, the flesh returning to a creamy complexion. Elaida pulled her hands back and grimaced as if she had put something foul tasting in her mouth. "It is not so difficult as I thought it would be. Something even an accepted should be able to accomplish without much difficulty."

"Yeah, great. Good to know, but if you don't mind… Move," the blonde said forcing the Aes Sedai away from Heather. She shot a quick glance at Heather's parents, her cheeks coloring as her left hand rested between Heather's breasts and she placed her right hand on Heather's forehead. Her hands glowed brilliantly and pulsed softly. Again and again, several times with nothing but the grimace on the girl's face to indicate there was problem. "It's not working," she mumbled through clenched teeth. "This should work… Why isn't it working," she growled. Her gaze becoming more intense, the energy she was channeling altering somehow.

"It's okay," the father said taking a step forward.

She shook her head angrily. "I'm not—she'd be all right if I hadn't…"

"You've done everything you can."

"No," she hissed as a concussive wave burst outward knocking everybody there off their feet. "There's something holding her, fighting me. Powerful, dark… He doesn't understand—" Several people were back on their feet, mostly those further away from the epicenter. Elaida, Bryne, and Lisa seemed stunned, but Morgase noted the father was already moving forward. Morgase pushed herself up and rushed toward the girl. A soft green glow had sprung up around her and Morgase could just hear the words, "He isn't keeping you," before she threw herself at the girl. She crossed the barrier at almost the same time as the father. A chill seemed to course over her body, as if she had just been immersed in frozen water.

She blinked, opened her eyes.

Gareth Bryne was putting himself in front of her, shouting orders to the guards, calling for reinforcements as the petitioners were making hasty withdrawals. Guards were already filing in, alerted by the press of departing nobles. "What happened?" She whispered to herself.

"I have never seen the power used in such a way." Elaida answered, her voice sounded strained. "I sense no ability in the women and I would even at this distance."

The father was looking around, confusion bright as day on his face. She knew the feeling. Morgase wasn't sure how, or if she even wanted to know but somehow the girl had transported them back in time to just after their arrival, before the fighting broke out. She looked around; her eyes seemed to be glazed over, smiled faintly, and then collapsed to the floor. Heather was at her side almost instantly.

"Stop!" Morgase shouted and everybody did exactly that. She had the chance to keep everything from spiraling out of control, to prevent Heather's death. She didn't know how the girl accomplished such a thing, but she had and it was up to her to take advantage. "Elaida, the girl appears in some distress, perhaps you might be able to do some small thing for her."

Elaida frowned but it was Bryne who spoke saying, "My queen." His voice was rough and too familiar sounding, almost chastising. "We have no idea who these people are, what their intentions may be. They need to be kept under guard until we can determine if they pose a threat to you or to Andor."

The father tensed, his knuckles turning white as his fist tightened. "The only thing I'm a threat to are pinheads that put my family in danger." The threat in his voice was clear to anyone listening and Gareth wasn't the only person to stiffen. That was hardly the way Morgase saw things. He was quite possible the most dangerous man she has ever seen. She didn't know a single man that could fight like him, was as strong as him, was impervious to steel as he was.

Lisa placed her hand on his forearm and said, "Michael," in as soothing a voice as possible.

"I'm not doing it again," Michael hissed, gaze like molten ice as he stared at everyone, but he didn't move away from the contact. "I've just spent a year playing the lab rat with you and Heather held hostage against my good behavior. I'm not trading one cage for another."

"And I would never ask you to stay in one," Morgase assured him in a firm tone. "But you, your companion, and your family are a complete mystery to us. Not just your means of arrival but where you come from. Your culture, your history. You can see why it would be unwise of us to simply toss you out the front door. Nor do I believe it would be the best course of action to lock you away in the palace dungeon, no matter what my advisors counsel."

Michael frowned as he looked around the room, Morgase could see his mind working, racing to figure a way out. She knew he could easily fight his way past her guards, Elaida couldn't hold him with air, and there was too much risk of injuring others if she used the power in a more offensive manner, not that Michael knew that. Elaida would do it, she seldom saw people as anything other then stones on a board.

"Your word," Michael said suddenly cutting through the slight murmur of the nobles present. "We stay here, do this whole cultural exchange thing and my family won't be harmed?"

"Watch your tongue," Bryne snapped. "You speak to Queen Morgase, ruler of Andor, not some tavern sla—"

"I could care less if she was Pope and President rolled into one," Michael said cutting Bryne off. "First thing you're gonna learn about where I'm from, is we speak our mind and tell it like it is and if you don't like it too bad. Where we're from our government guarantees our freedom of speech, our freedom to assemble, our freedom to protest anything we like including our government right in front of the Capital Building. Where we're from ordinary citizens elect the people in the government, our senators and congressmen, even the President. Six hundred million people all getting together to chose our leaders… And the best part about the whole thing is if they do something wrong they're still punished under the law same as everyone else. We can oust our leaders if they do something illegal or unethical. You can call that your lesson for today."


The bitter wind cut through the black duster, the heavy leather did little to protect the man's already cold flesh. The sun was an angry ball that hung low in the west. It was weak and provided little warmth.

Spike grumbled as he rolled over, his hand plopping messily into something cold and wet. With a grimace he forced his eyes open and flinched back at the feel of sunlight on his face. The prickly heat along his flesh that accompanied the forgotten sensation didn't occur like normal. It didn't take Spike long to figure out why; the sun hanging like a ball just waiting to fall below the snow capped mountains far to the west wasn't the blazing yellow he's seen everyday of his life. It was a blistering red, swollen and mean.

"Bloody," he growled as he rolled onto his back, arms thrown wide. "Brilliant you jerked up wanker." His hand delved into a deep pocket and groped his pack of cigarettes. "Slayer must have finally had enough of your sorry ass…" Fingers made contact with cellophane wrapped cardboard. "…couldn't bring herself to stake a harmless little nit like yourself so she has red dump your fangless excuse for a fiend off in some out of the hell dimension." He pulled the pack out, then had to rummage around for his lighter. "Just when you gotta go and get yourself all infatuated with the bint."

Finding his lighter he plucked it out of another pocket and quickly lit the cigarette. He inhaled deeply, allowing the smoke to calm him. For the moment—since there was nothing else for him to do—he enjoyed the warmth of the alien sun—weak as it was—on his face and tried to relax.

He wasn't very successful.

Images of Buffy kept crashing wildly in the tumultuous landscape of his mind. Some of them were real, fights they had over the years even that day they had been engaged; he could still feel the Slayer's legs squeezing tight around his waist. He was going to kill Willow once he got back, no vampire should have to suffer like he has. Others were pure fantasy. Madness he would have said weeks ago. A product of him being chipped, kept captive, like some puppy dog forced to lick at its masters hand for a bit of affection, a perfect example of Stockholm Syndrome. He should have gotten the bloody hell out of Sunnydale when the getting was good and stayed away no matter how much he wanted to paint the town with the Slayer's blood.

He wasn't in love with the Bloody Slayer, no matter how many dreams he's had about her. That she pervaded his every thought was in no way indicative of his feelings, or even if it was it was his frustration being twisted around into this unnatural infatuation. Maybe being trapped wherever he was trapped wasn't such a bad thing, it would give him time to settle his feelings for the Slayer in his own mind, purge them once and for all, before he would be forced to deal with her.

Satisfied with his resolution Spike crushed out his spent cigarette in the frozen marsh he was lying in and paused, sniffing the air. Somebody else was sharing this little patch of the world with him. He concentrated, getting as much information as he could while twisting up to his knees. Not more then twenty-five feet from him a young girl lay sprawled out on the icy marsh. Her breathing was shallow, but he couldn't smell blood. A simple white dress covered her small waifish body, a soft tan darkened her otherwise cream like skin, a wreath of interlocking white flowers rested around her head and made a stark contrast to her lustrous, raven black hair. A simple band of gold circled her ring finger.

"Pity the bastard," Spike grumbled feeling a spark of kinship to whoever had lost this dark haired diamond. He knelt down next to the girl and put his hand to her flesh and mumbled, "Hell," to no one but himself. There wasn't a lick of difference between her temperature and his. It was frigid when he had expected something closer to glowing amber.

The cold didn't bother him, it didn't bother any vampire. While he preferred seventy and cloudy it didn't mean much of anything, he spent the majority of the last three or four years in California where the weather was always ninety and sunny.

He could leave her. No one would ever know. She'd probably just slip away without ever regaining consciousness. A small copse of trees wasn't that far off, no more then a mile or two and while he wasn't much of a woodsman he could probably construct some sort of lean to for the girl, even dig a decent fire pit. Maybe rustle up a bit of dinner, if there were enough trees to be called a forest or even woods, then there had to be things that lived in them. "Bloody puffed up natter…" He mumbled bundling the girl up in his coat as he scooped her up.


Bearlon was a squat town surrounded by a twenty foot high log palisade with wooden watch towers scattered randomly along its length. The sun glinted weakly of slate and tile shingles. Narrow dirt streets, barely wide enough for two wagons abreast, carved their way through warehouses and the occasional high wooden fence.

Min didn't really care for Bearlon, truth was she rather hated the town. It was always dirty; dust when it was dry and when it rained the mud was so thick you thought it was trying to suck you under. During the winter, from the time the first snows fall until the trails opened back up with the spring thaw, Bearlon was all but abandoned. The only people in town were the ones that lived there year round. Once the snows melted Bearlon was flooded with miners that had just spent those months with none but each other for company; they smell, they were fouled tempered, they drank in excessive amounts, and were a bit too free with their hands.

Despite the recent influx of miners and a bit of crowding at the Stag and Lion, Min found herself with a bit of unexpected free time… Not that she was complaining, she was glad to be out of the inn for a little while, something that went against her normal grain. Most often she stayed inside, around as few people as she could get away with and still keep her job, preferably people she's known for some months now.

Today though, Min had felt this need to be someplace else. She couldn't really explain it, not even to herself, it was simply a desire to be out. It had started in the morning, an itch right behind her eye and had just gotten worse all day long. To the point where she considered plucking her eyes from their sockets, but Min had the distinct impression taking such an action wouldn't have accomplished anything other then blinding her.

It was as if something was calling to her.

And she didn't much care for it.

Somehow she found herself looking down upon the main road from a small second story store room window. For the first time all day Min felt like she was right where she belong.

Less then a minute later a young woman, no more then a girl, stumbled out of the alley across the street, but Min barely saw her. Overshadowing everything about her was a hazy, indistinct almost translucent patch of darkness; infinitely small yet monstrously huge, if it unfurled its massive bulk Bearlon would be crushed under the creature's heel. The air itself seemed to frost over, the light appeared to shrink away, as if were afraid to come close to the darkness. Min sensed that whatever it was, it was somehow contained within the girl as it moved and flexed, testing the limits of its prison.

As if it knew it was being watched it lifted what Min thought was its head in a rolling sort of motion. Her skin suddenly felt as if was being peeled from her body with a dull knife as a quartet of angry red lights blossomed within the darkness. As if seeing her was a spur it suddenly uncoiled, lightening flashing across the sky seemed slow; long, massive arms that rippled with inhuman muscles reached toward her, taloned fingers sought to rend flesh; its maw gaped wide, impossibly wide, as twin mandibles swung open revealing row upon row of spiraling teeth descending into the dark pit. Each one was the size of a large man.

With a startled yell Min threw herself across the room and stayed hunkered down, hands covering her head as she waited for the beast to rip the building to shreds. There was no use trying to run from it; it would find her no matter where she hid.

Only a minute passed and nothing had happened. Cautiously Min moved back to the window and peeked out. She expected to see that awful, inhuman face hovering just under the window.

It wasn't. It was gone. Nothing of it remained.

The girl was still there, looking less confused then a moment ago, seemed more focused and Min used the moment to get her first good look of her; dark hair was raven black and fell in luxuriant waves past her shoulders. Like herself, she wore a man's coat and breeches, but the style and material of her clothes was like nothing she has ever seen before. Coat and breeches alike were black as her hair, and they were made of leather with bits of metal here and there, and the sun glinted off their surface. It was possibly she was from some far off district, but Min didn't think so.

She was looking up and down the street as if seeing it for the first time and she definitely didn't like the view. Her right hand tightened on the hilt of a wickedly curved dagger. Blood stained the blade.

Min saw other things around the girl, images that hadn't been there earlier, or they had been somehow submerged by the apparition. Min wasn't sure. There were so many images flashing around the girl Min had a hard time keeping track of them. The one image that remained was the face of a blonde girl—light to this girl's darkness. The two were connected in some way Min didn't understand; closer then sisters, more intimate then lovers.

She hadn't seen so many images from any one person since the Aes Sedai Morainne and her Warder Lan left more then a week ago. Their type always had images.

The girl seemed to sense the scrutiny from above and looked up, dark eyes zeroing on Min. If possible they hardened even more and Min swallowed. They were more frightening then the apparitions for the intelligence gleaming in them.

She stepped forward, right into the path of four Whitecloaks. Words were exchanged, heated words that made those nearby anxious to be elsewhere. Whatever was said caused things to escalate rapidly, it was like watching a horseless carriage careening wildly down a hill. Min wished she could hear what was being said, but she was too far away. Whatever the girl was saying certainly had the Whitecloaks incensed; their faces were purple with rage and their eyes seemed about ready to pop from their skulls. Hands that normally hovered close to sword hilts were suddenly gripping them as if they were the only piece of reality left for them to cling to.

Their leader, the only still capable of forming intelligent speech responded to the raven hair girl. She smirked at whatever he said and between one heartbeat and the next she struck, her right fist slammed into the side of his head hard enough that his knees sagged. Instead of falling to the ground like a sack of discarded potatoes the girl hooked the fingers of her left hand under his breastplate, spun and hurled him clear across the street with one arm as if he weighed next to nothing. He crashed against the wall and fell to the ground with a clatter.

People who had wanted to be elsewhere at the start of the confrontation abandoned decorum and fled at the display of inhuman strength, scattering like startled quail. Min couldn't have agreed more, unfortunately she found herself rooted to the spot watching the girl fight, not that it was much of a fight. The other Whitecloaks were unconscious before any came close to unsheathing their swords. For the first time Min noticed the girl's dagger was no where to be seen, that it had disappeared sometime before the Whitecloaks arrived and she hadn't seen what happened to it.

Without hesitation the girl quickly rifled through the prone Whitecloaks, relieving them of their pouches, along with sword belts, and whatever other valuables she came across. She slung the sword belts over her shoulder and then glanced back up at Min and smiled.

With a startled yelp Min bolted from the window and raced down the back stairs. She should have run the first chance she had, while the fight was taking place, she couldn't believe she had been so stupid. If she remembered correctly a fence ran along the back of several buildings so the brunette would have to go the long way around. It would take her time, time Min would use affecting her escape.

Watching the girl fight Min came to understand just what the apparition meant and her blood ran cold. Someway, somehow the essence of that horrific creature had been bound to the girl imbuing her with a portion or maybe even all of its awesome and terrifying might which would explain how she could toss about four Whitecloaks as if they were stuffed dolls. The girl obviously enjoyed fighting and she was very good at it.

After nearly a minute of twisting and turning through the narrow alleys Min came to a stop gasping for breath. Leaning against the wall Min came up with a suitable plan; go back to the Stag and Lion and never come out again. Her chest heaved rhythmically as she sucked in great gulps of air, she was as used to physical labor as anyone, but had never seen much point in running. The muscles burned from her spontaneous exertions. Bent over with her hands on her knees Min was considering revising that opinion.

A slim, ivory handled dagger blossomed in the ground at her feet. Muscles that, a moment ago, had been screaming for rest were tense as her head swiveled this way and that trying to find the girl, only she was no where to be seen.

Her foot barely twitched and a voice from above advised against it saying, "I wouldn't."

Min looked up and there she was, crouched easily on the corner of a slate tiled roof. If she felt any discomfort at being more then thirty feet above the ground she hid it well. The stolen swords rested easily across her knees and there was a speculative gleam in her eyes as she casually flipped a second dagger in her left hand. Naked steel slapped menacingly against her flesh.

"If you run, I'd be forced to…" she paused and Min was sure it was for dramatic affect. Gleeman did it all the time. "Throwing daggers, it's a real crapshoot. Once it leaves your hand, there's no telling where it's gonna go. Be a shame if you were to spend the rest of your life walking with a limp… If you could walk at all?"

Min didn't know much about throwing daggers, but she didn't believe for a single second that this girl would hit anything other then what she wanted. "I'm not going to run," Min assured her captor.

"Well that's good," the girl said standing. The dagger disappeared into its sheath, then she stepped forward off the edge of the roof and dropped casually to the ground. "People tend to hold it against me when I stick knives in them."

"Does that happen often?" Min asked. It wasn't until the words left her mouth that she heard what she said. She didn't think agitating the brunette was the smartest thing to be doing at the moment.

For an instant, as she slipped the sword belts over her shoulder, deep regret lit her face, but it was gone the next moment, buried under a layer of rubble it would take an army of Ogier to dig back up. "More'n you'd expect." She stepped forward covering several feet with quick purposeful steps and put herself well within Min's personal space.

Min tried not to cringe away from her, knowing that creature she saw earlier was contained inside this girl. She was on edge, wanting to scream, her heart was pounding, beating faster then she can ever remember. Her skin felt prickly.

"Don't worry," she said with an insidious smile as she plucked the dagger from the ground, "I won't bite." She stood up, practically sliding up Min's body. Less then an inch separated the two girls; the one leaned in close, her breathe hot on Min's flesh as she whispered, "Unless you want me to." There was a promise in those words that Min never wanted fulfilled.

The girl laughed suddenly, a rich, robust sound that was so different from just a moment ago. She backed up chuckling to herself. "You need to relax girlfriend. Find yourself some stud to pop that cork."

Her tone left little doubt as to what her innuendo meant. Min's cheeks bloomed like a spring flower and she floundered for some kind of retort.

"And I thought B was easy to get flustered," she mumbled with a small disbelieving shake of her head. Becoming more serious she caught Min's eyes and for a moment the walls she hide behind flickered and Min could see just how young she was; at least half a dozen years younger then herself. The second passed and the walls were back up, as high and unbreachable as before. "Look I'm sorry about before… I wasn't gonna hurt you or nothing. It's just… I think I'm really, really lost here and could use someone to play tour guide." Sensing Min's hesitation she added, "You don't have anything to fear from me. That thing with those assholes, religious fanatics have always set my teeth on edge… Never heard that line before, repent and walk in the light…" A mischievous smile lit her face as she continued, "Guess he didn't like where I told him he could shove his light—"

Min listened to the girl with a growing realization, while she didn't understand most of her references—Mother Superior, Jehovah's Witnesses, and Born Again Christians—Min none-the-less paid rapt attention to what she was saying, how she was saying it. But one thought kept bubbling to the top of Min's mind, She doesn't know.

"So how about it?" She asked, a hopeful smile lighting her face. "Take a couple days, give me the lowdown, the full four one one?"

"Someday, I may understand what you just said."

"I'm Faith," she said.

"Min," Min answered.

Faith quirked a little grin at her and in a voice full of cocky arrogance she said, "Hang with me long enough Min and you'll be the only cool person in this town. Other then me," she added and Min had to wonder if the bluster was Faith or something added by that other.


Morgase sat in silence, the faces of her two most trusted advisors masked in shocked with the news she had just delivered, though Elaida's was more contemplative as if she were trying to decipher some tricksome riddle.

"It's impossible," Bryne muttered darkly as he paced. He stopped, turning to face Morgase and declared, "It's a trick of some kind. Somehow the girl deceived you. Showed you some sort of vision, something designed to entice you to keep them close so when they're ready to strike." He smashed his fist into the palm of his hand making a loud smacking sound.

Morgase wanted to throttle the man, but managed to hold her temper in check, but there was no disguising the irritation in her voice as she asked, "And somehow manage to have everyone act as he or she might have under similar circumstances?"

"It is possible, with the power, to achieve such a feat. If it had been the girl working the power, then I would have seen the weaving and it would have to be the girl, this Ava. I've only studied the man for a moment—" Elaida paused with a frown, picked up her tea filled porcelain cup and took a sip. She looked into the dark surface. "He may have the strength of a thousand men, move with speed like lightening and be impervious to steel forged by men. So far he shows no indication of being able to channel the power. Even Ava shows little aptitude for learning to embrace Saidar." She reached into her pouch and removed a gemstone, a finely cut emerald and held it out saying, "She did, however, provide me with a small demonstration of her power." It had been more then half a day and the girl claimed to have regained little of her strength, even now she was still abed. The emerald was about the limit of what she could do right now.

Bryne snorted as he asked, "What could be so special about a simple emerald?" While taking the gemstone from Elaida.

"Nothing," Elaida answered as Bryne studied the green stone. "Except that it is one of almost thirty that used to be paring knife." Bryne's eyes widened in astonishment but Elaida barely seemed to notice as she continued. "Ava wasn't embracing the power. There were no weaves, nothing that I could sense. One moment the knife was a knife, the next cut gemstones sat on the table, a few rolling over the edge before an unseen force caught them and returned them to the table."

"And what did you do with the rest?" Morgase inquired.

"I kept a few to study, compare against normal gemstones. The rest I left with Ava. I didn't see any harm in leaving them with the girl. If she truly wanted out of the Palace she would leave and I very much doubt she would need to bribe your guards in order to accomplish it."


The smell was the first thing that broke through and pulled Liz back towards wakefulness. It was the sharp smell of wood mixed with roasting meat of some kind. She twisted in her sleep addled state knocking the heavy blanket that covered her off; a bitterly cold dampness was more then eager to replace the blanket and she shivered at its touch bringing her most of the way from her slumber. Instinctively she grabbed the blanket and wrapped herself back in its warmth. She breathed deeply, frowning slightly at the blankets odd aroma. It smelt of harsh tobacco and hard liquor, and of blood… Old and new. It was steeped in the heavy leather.

She frowned slightly as her eyes continued to adjust to the dimness. She was outdoors, of that she was positive. The only light, dim as it was, filtered in past her feet. To her left a thick layer of branches had been lashed together forming a nearly solid wall. Someone had constructed a similar wall above her head while the thick bole of a massive tree to her right formed the third wall to her primitive hut.

It was obvious someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to build a shelter for her. A stranger if the heavy duster was anything to go by. One of her friends taking care of her wouldn't have left her with the chill that settled in the pit of her stomach, but a complete stranger; it was like knowing a voyeur was stalking your neighborhood.

Suddenly she became aware that the light seeping into the lean to had vanished. She shifted her weight, leaning on her left elbow her right hand pointing directly at the shelter's angled opening. A dark shape hovered there and she could sense hungry eyes roaming over her and she tensed. Whoever was out there hadn't made the slightest sound.

"Unless you got yourself a shotgun hidden up some magic sleeve, you might want to put that hand down. A person might take offense. 'Specially after they went to all the trouble of making you this neat shelter."

Of all the things she had expected to hear, a rough cockney accent would have been far down the list. The voice was friendly enough, but there was an edge to it. A sort of dark playfulness.

"Who are you?" Liz demanded, keeping her voice hard. She wasn't about to let him worm his way into her good graces. No matter what he had done to help her.

He sighed, almost sadly as he shifted giving her a slightly better view of him. He was wearing a pitch black T-Shirt; the cloth was a stark contrast to his skin which was almost creamer white. His hair was bright white and looked like he had dunked his head in a ten gallon vat of peroxide. It put her in mind of Billy Idol.

"Name's Spike. My friends—" He stopped abruptly and gave a short bark of a laugh before saying, "Who the bloody hell am I trying to kid. Ain't never had much use for friends, my minions called me Master. You wouldn't want to be a minion?"

Liz stared at him trying to decipher what he said, and not because she had to concentrate simply to understand his accent. What she could make out had Liz gawking at him, questions about his sanity swirling in her mind. She could feel his smile, sense his mirth, but neither assuaged her concerns.

He stood up with an effortless sort of ease saying, "Come on girlie, didn't catch dinner just so it could go to ash while you try an' squeeze in a few more hours of beauty sleep. Wouldn't do you a lick of good anyway," he called out over his shoulder.

It took Liz a moment to wriggle out of the shelter; the flickering flames cast dancing shadows in the sheltered clearing. The ground was hard as frozen rock and patches of snow covered a good bit of it. A small area around the fire pit had been cleared of snow, or perhaps the heat from the fire, god only knew she wouldn't mind soaking up as much warmth as possible, had melted it. A pair of small animals; rabbit or squirrel or something else that had been equally furry and cuddly, were spit over the fire. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what kind of animals, the aroma of roasting meat had reminded her it had been quite some time since her last meal. While her stomach turned at the sight of seeing something that had been alive until very recently, hunger gnawed at her. Not an avid meat eater, she still enjoyed a nice juicy hamburg from time to time, just so long as it came on a bun with lettuce and tomatoes and cheese melting all over and looked nothing like the animal it used to be and she didn't have to watch the cow being slaughter or the rest of the process that turned it into ground beef.

"Go ahead," Spike said from where he was lounging against the trunk of a fallen tree. His eyes were closed and he almost looked as if he were sleeping; only that wasn't quite right. "It'll just go to waste otherwise." Despite the freezing temperatures Spike made no attempt to reclaim his jacket, a fact Liz was all too grateful for.

"Aren't you having any?" Liz asked squatting next to the fire. She held her hands out trying to soak up all the heat she could.

He smiled at her as his eyes crept open. "Had my fill earlier." His eyes seemed to laugh with some sort of hidden mirth.

Cautiously Liz reached out and took hold of a wooden spit. It was warm to the touch making it moderately uncomfortable to handle as she tore off a chunk of meat. She sniffed at it as if that would give her any clue as to what type of animal it had been. With a tentative nibble she bit into the roasted flesh and much to her surprise she found it far better then she had expected. It was actually very good. "This isn't that bad," she said taking a larger bite. "What is it?" She asked around a mouth full of meat.

Again that half smile twinkled in his eyes. "It's probably best if you don't linger on it too much," he suggested gravely.

Liz swallowed what was in her mouth and forced herself to take another bite even though what appetite she once had had fled with his words. Her stomach tightened with queasiness. She forced herself to take yet another bite.

"We should sketch out some sort of plan. Figure out what we're gonna do come morning," Spike suggested.

Liz swallowed what was in her mouth and said, "What we should do is pick a direction and start walking until we come across some sort road. Either way a road will lead us towards civilization."

Spike closed his eyes, gave his beached blonde head a subtle shake. "By definition that's a plan." Again there was that mocking quality in his voice. It was quickly becoming a bur under her skin.

"If I had my cell…" She murmured wishfully.

"Been meaning to ask you about that," Spike said as he sat up a little, reached behind him and pulled out a small pouch. "What kind of honeymoon you expect to have bringing this along?" He added tossing the pouch to her.

Liz blew out a disgruntle breath as she caught the small purse. "This isn't even the worse," she said pulling the cell phone out. "Try dragging along your sister-in-law, plus your best friend, your husband's best friend, and just for that little bit extra awkwardness, add in ex-boyfriend."

"Yours or his?" Liz shot Spike a withering glare which rolled off him like water on a vertical surface. "Kinky," he smirked.

"What the hell?" Liz mumbled with a frown. She held the phone up as if it was the condemning piece of evidence. "This was a full battery," she accused; her dark eyes glittered in the dancing firelight.

A shadow, or a darker piece of darkness seemed to flicker, coalesce into a black shape. It seemed to seep out of the deep shadows in the form of a tall man dressed in sinuous black armor of overlapping plates. Its cloak and armor were darker then black, like pitch, a dull absence of light. The cowl of its cloak was thrown back revealing a man's eyeless face, smooth, pasty white flesh that had never seen a solitary second of daylight.

Liz could feel its gaze despite its lack of eyes. Her stomach curdled as if she had just drunk a gallon of milk that had sat in the sun for three days. She wanted to tear her gaze off that eyeless face; she would have an easier time ripping the flesh from her own skull. In that gaze was all the hatred in the world, hatred for humans and humanity.

Hatred for her.

Its gaze shifted off her and settled on the back of Spike's head; it had only been on her for an instant yet she felt like she'd wallowed in a sewer for a year or more. It felt as if her face had just been peeled off a red hot skillet. She could still feel its overwhelming hatred, but it was a distant thing now.

Even before Liz shouted, "Behind you," in a voice that was no more audible then a hoarse whisper, Spike was already alert. Her fear was like the rumble of thunder on a clear day. It had come from nowhere, simply flashed into existence. It was rich; a robust bouquet to the vampire's sensitive palate, reminding him that he was a vampire. That while it was blood that sustained him, fear was its sweet ambrosia.

The expression on Liz's face, the extreme terror written there twisted his guts. He hadn't known Liz long, minutes really, but he could easily superimpose Dawn's face and that was a look he never wanted to see on the Platelet.

Spike whirled to his feet in one smooth motion, turning to face the inhuman, nearly human man that had slipped out of the shadows. It happened so quickly that Liz didn't see Spike move. One instant he was lounging against a fallen tree trunk, the next his back was to her.

The creature was gripping its sword hilt as if it was the only thing keeping it from plummeting over the side of a cliff. "Human," it spit out in a dry hiss like snake scales sliding against each other, "what are you?"

If Liz didn't know better she would say fear laced its voice; as if it wanted the answers, yet didn't even more.

Spike took one step forward and the creature bared an inch of its black blade. "Your darkness, it calls to me. It sings, it burns in my veins. Shai'tan swallow you human," it cursed with its sword leaping from its scabbard with a thirsty rasp. It flowed forward in one sinuous movement, its armors overlapping plates enhancing its snake like movement.

Spike didn't move and for a moment Liz thought he was trapped like she had been only that didn't feel right. He seemed too relaxed. In a blink, too fast for Liz to react the creature was upon Spike, black blade sliding though Spike's gut.

Liz gasped at the sudden violence and raised her right hand but Spike still stood in her way, as if the creature had done nothing more violent then giving him a tight embrace. Casually, as if the sword through his guts was no bother at all, Spike back handed the creature sending it sprawling to the frozen ground. He pulled the sword out of his body and then slammed it half way through the tree trunk he had been lounging against.

Turning his attention back toward the creature Spike said, "You and me are gonna have ourselves a serious discussion about pointing swords at people." He stalked toward the fallen creature; there was something primal and predatory about Spike. The creature pushed itself away from Spike, scrambling through the frozen mud. Its flight lasted until it bumped against the base of a towering tree. Spike reached down and hauled the creature up, holding it against the tree with one hand. The creature wrapped both hands around Spike's forearm but couldn't budge the limb. One of its hands shot out grabbing hold of Spike's throat and squeezing for all it was worth, but that hardly seemed to bother Spike as he said, "You can seriously injure somebody. Maybe even poke out an eye," he added almost contemplatively before his left hand casually reached out toward the creature's head. It shifted all of its attention to stopping that arm, thrashing its head about; punching and kicking at Spike, but all of its attempts were in vain as Spike grabbed the creature's head and held it steady.