A/N: I don't know what the heck happened, but the length kept going on and on and on... personally, I think there is much to be said about movies, in only that they provide a better way of "showing, not telling" of detail. But I digress... books are better than movies at any rate. My personal opinion of movies is that they provide a physical background—sounds, sights, and feeling—but as story-tellers, inadequate for the job; movies based on books at least. Beetlejuice, for instance (the one by Tom Burton, 1988), is an excellent story in its own right. But when you're talking about something like The Lord of the Rings... Oh myyy!
On another note, I would like to make a character—perhaps as a side one?—who is as scatter-brained as Mrs. Amanda King (in the TV series Scarecrow and Mrs. King), and yet always gets things right in the end.
And, last but not least, I actually have a viable excuse for the delay on The Cerinian Earth (halfway through revising Chapter Seven; don't worry)—One, procrastination, my ultimate bane: Two, I've been reading way too many books from my library: Three, I've gotten behind my college essays (thank goodness it is only one class): And Four... why are you even reading this? Move alone, move along...
Enjoy, folks. (Remember, I value your opinions, thoughts, and critiques, so don't hold back when you review!)
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Enroute to Estëmár
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O, what I would do to have the kind of faith it takes
...
To step out of my comfort zone into the realm of the unknown
Where Jesus is, and He's holding out His hand
Miyu watched the glowing, swirling fields of hyperspace move dreamily by her with a vague sadness. This was the third time she had come to this retreat today, and the expected comfort was not coming.
The realm of hyperspace looked like a rainbow had been simultaneously frozen and shattered into a million pieces—then sent to drift with an almost molasses-like consistency, with clouds of various colors forming and disappearing at random intervals in the beautiful display; lines shooting through those clouds with bullet-like force, scattering them unexpectedly. The first time she saw this wonder, almost a week after the His Majesty's Ship (H.M.S.) Silmarilli departed from Zoness, she'd been stunned and stood stock-still in fascination and amazement. The Ardan crewmen had assured her this was the normal view of hyperspace when she asked them about it. Her experience with it had been a disorienting kaleidoscopic confusion of pale red, blue, and purple lines (with faint hints of other shades and hues of other colors) converging from a single point of infinity on the horizon before her and whizzing by her space-fighter with astonishing speed. This new form left her enchanted—it seemed to flow like the colored wax heating and cooling inside "lava-lamps"—and so she spent whenever possible to gaze out onto infinity. Of course with Caenda and Raye demanding much of her attention—the former, because she was only a child, and naturally needed it; the latter, because Raye was Raye and, furthermore, she couldn't bear to leave him out of her sight for too long—these moments were rare, so she tried to pretend each time was forever.
Behind her, outlined in the glowing, mesmerizing forms of swirling color—all the more so, because she had turned off the lights—was the Stardeck (in the Ardan language, it was called Elrond), a small observation chamber for the sole purpose, so she thought, of watching the stars in realspace. A curving table made of an exotic dark-red wood with swirling patterns in the surface abutted the window, ornately-carved chairs lining it, and went back to the shadow-covered wall on her right. What could be seen of the walls, with strange dancing forms flitting across it from the light show outside, was a delicate shade of blue entwined with other colors. Occasionally some flickering light would fall upon a collection of fire-crystals—so-named because they were harvested from an active volcano on an Ardan-affiliated world—upon the table, and be reflected into the darker portions. On the back wall behind her hung two enormous portraits, located in an area where the light could not reach them, save for flashing dots of light. A dark-green carpet with a beautiful design of an alien tree—it looked like an ocean-ash with the spindly branches of the arrowood growing out of it, both trees found on the world sea of Aquas—covered the floor from wall to wall; and was so soft to the touch one was tempted to leave her shoes by the door on entering. An LED clock on the wall read 20:00—"nighttime" aboard the Silmarilli.
If there was one benefit which came from watching the hyperspace fields, other than a contented dreaminess, it was peace and tranquility. Sometimes she needed to get away from the concerns of other beings, no matter even if they were her child and husband (and friends, but those she could forget about easily enough), and this was the perfect retreat. Whenever she left, though it tugged at her heartstrings to even consider leaving, she felt refreshed and well-rested; and ready to face any challenge—even Krystal.
But as of recently it was getting harder to feel rested. It always escaped her now. No matter how many times she came here she felt even more lonely than before. Nothing else seemed to help. It wasn't that fox which always, on a good day, had her frustrated—oh no.
It was Raye, her husband.
As her thoughts turned to him, her petite lips curved into a frown. The lights reflected off her blue eyes, but she did not see the outside now; her mind had turned inward, back to why she kept coming here.
The first time she and Raye were alone she had tried to tell him that everything had gone smoothly, in the hopes he wouldn't be too harsh on Krystal. She faintly shuddered, remembering the little conversation they had had those two years ago, before their separation, about how the Blue Bitch had brutally tortured him to death.
But alas, he already knew of her troubles with the fox—about how she kept snubbing Caenda, defying Miyu's will, refusing to go outside (or come back in once out), and the many hundreds of other infractions against his family. His mind was already made up by the time she got to him. (She suspected Fay had told him about her troubles. Thank goodness the canine did not know who the fox really was.) He told Miyu curtly to leave Krystal alone—in his words, "If she will not listen to you, then give up trying"—and did not talk about it again, no matter how many times she brought it up.
Caenda, sadly enough, only added to the problem. The first time Miyu saw Caenda horsing-around with Krystal (along with James, her accomplice-in-crime) she nearly fainted and stopped them both; afterward, Raye told her to also leave Caenda alone—in his words, "Let the girl be, Miyu. It is time she had fun with her pet"—and, like before, considered the subject closed. Morgana did not see why she should stop James, and repeatedly told her to stop worrying about it. On the contrary, it made Miyu feel sick not to worry. Fay was absolutely no help—she either did not care or thought like Raye did.
To add insult to injury, Raye had also lifted her restrictions on Caenda, like watching TV or eating junk-food, giving her unprecedented freedoms to which the girl took to excitedly, no matter how many times Miyu had told her not to do this or do that. It seemed Miyu's voice was no longer heard, and she felt helpless and maligned.
Miyu let out an explosive sigh and bumped her head against the window. Why me? she asked, Where did I go wrong?—
"Mi'lady, what a pleasant surprise."
The lynx jumped in fright and quickly looked back at the door.
"Oh," she said in relief, "it's you." Her fur slowly relaxed from its fluffed up state, but it took a little longer for her frayed nerves to do the same.
Captain Maedhros—with the funny pronunciation of my'thros, the "thros" enunciated quickly—walked serenely into the Stardeck and took a seat. His captain's badge gleamed from his cap in the myriad shifting colors outside; underneath the cap stray wisps of auburn hair peeked out. His strange-looking eyes—a combination of the fiery and the shadow—common to nearly every Ardan she'd seen aboard the Silmarilli showed concern; faint, but perceptible even through the barriers of race and culture.
"Each time I come here I always find you," he said, leaning back contentedly, "Are you enjoying yourself? Perhaps thinking of life within our culture, free from your interstellar troubles?" He placed an arm on the table and started tracing one of the wavy patterns with a finger.
Miyu chuckled. "No sir, I was thinking nothing of the kind," she said, her feline face turning into a rare smile. She turned away from the window, glad for some company.
He returned her smile. "Then what is it that you're thinking about, ma'am?" he asked, his tone somehow knowing. "Thinking of what to do when we arrive at our destination?"
"No sir, I am not."
Miyu turned away from him and looked back at the silent explosions of color outside. Then she sighed. "My'—My'thr-o-s," she began slowly, trying to pronounce his name right, "I—I have a... a really... big dilemma." Her reflection looked back at her in the transparisteel "glass", pale and sad. It was a most marvelous substance that could, in the words of one Ardan, "stand the heat of dragon-fire, survive being dipped in ice-cold water, and not break when one hits it with a dwarven hammer". It also had the amazing ability to turn opaque as it did that one time when a star suddenly went supernova; waves of deadly radiation had washed over the Silmarilli but because of its shields (she had never known a Cornerian or human ship with such shielding) and the "glass" it had survived. No one who had been by the windows—her included—became sick or needed their eyes saved. (And that without even considering the armor...)
"Do you mind if I listen?" the captain asked, leaning on one arm.
"I... I wouldn't mind." Then, as if a floodgate had been opened, she related—gushed actually—all of her difficulties to him. Everything about her problems with Raye, with Krystal, her daughter, her friends, about the pain of separation from her husband for nearly two years, being held in contempt by everyone on Zoness—virtually everything which had transpired since the end of the Star War. She talked, it seemed, for a very, very long time; yet the captain showed no sign of weariness but listened thoughtfully, nodding in certain places and making sounds of agreement.
"...and now I feel helpless, watching my daughter play with that... with that creature who might bite her head off at any moment—and I can do nothing about it if it had happened!" Miyu ended exasperatedly. She sank back into her chair both emotionally and physically exhausted, chest heaving, and closed her eyes.
Maedhros looked at her intently, lost in his thoughts it seemed, thinking hard. What went on behind those alien eyes is unknown. Finally he spoke: "So you feel your authority has been undermined in addition to being nearly abandoned and ostracized by your former society. Is that correct?" he queried, smiling faintly. Miyu nodded. "Also you try to do everything to defend that authority, and failing, right?" Again she nodded.
"Yes, that's that," she said. "But why. Why would he do that? I've taken care of my little girl for two years, held out on my own, and here he comes sweeping in"—she moved her arm around—"and takes everything over." She dropped it. "I don't understand."
"You have every right to feel oppressed, mi'lady." Maedhros said consolingly. "But it is irrational to feel that way. Yet," here he looked meditative, "at the same time, also quite rational. A paradox of sorts. You had been the dominant person in your household, a dictator if you like, and had controlled everything and everyone—yet you are afraid. Very afraid. Am I correct?"
"Y... Yes, captain," she admitted reluctantly. Though she felt miffed he called her a dictator. How dare he call me a dictator!
"Call me Maedhros while we are in this informal setting."
She smiled again, "Then call me Miyu, Maedhros." At last she was able to get it right, though she stumbled a bit.
"As you will," he responded, returning the smile. It was a warm, contagious smile, one that she couldn't help but trust. Miyu found herself smiling even more; even the mild reproof did not seem to hurt her now. "Now," Maedhros went back to the conversation, "You have had built a defense against your countrymen, against their suspicion and fear, and against your own fear too. It had served you well in your years of exile. Now you are here among friends, where there is no need for it, and you feel threatened by the change. Correct?"
Even though that was not her problem (or thought so), she nodded slowly. Perhaps he was getting somewhere with this.
"But through this "superiority-complex" of yours," he continued, "which you've built for protection, you have made yourself miserable; an alien from society. To elevate or eliminate the pain you try to rule over others, your daughter and pet; to try and instill in them the same feelings which you feel. You also tried to do the same to your husband, and that failed." He nodded. "It is a natural reaction, one I've seen in my brothers... and my father." That last ended on a sad note.
"Me? Bu—But I have not been miserable," Miyu protested. She had never felt anything of the sort. The very idea was absurd. "I had never thought like that, ever. And why would I make my child or Raye be afraid?"
"You may think you have not, but I can see it quite clearly." he said slowly, fingering his beardless chin. "When your beloved Raye stepped in the picture, to claim his part of parenthood, you reacted against him; badly. You thought he was trying to demean you by usurping your authority. You thought that he was an interloper; an alien also. You thought he was acting against your will, for he does not behave like you do." He nodded knowledgeably. "That I understand all too well. If you get the chance to meet my father, he'll tell you a very similar story. I believe you'll identify with it."
"What do you mean, Ma—Ma—captain?" she asked curiously, temporarily distracted by the seemingly non sequitur. What could he have that might help me? she wondered.
Maedhros faintly sighed, showing for once some emotion other than a detached sympathy. "My father and his father have always been at odds with one another. I personally see no point to it," he said sadly, "My father believes Grandfather was wrong to remarry after the death of his first wife. He believes Grandfather should have honored Grandmother by not taking another." He shook his head sadly. "Oh the hypocrite. Who is he to say what his father can or cannot do when he has his own wife who has suffered no complications through childbirth, and has seven sons, myself being one, to show for it? He still does not recognize his step-mother as his father's wife—he calls her "whore" and "mistress", causing no end of grief to everyone. He is literally one step away from hating her; perhaps he already does, and is not admitting it."
"How could he do such a thing? How—How selfish and cruel!" Miyu exclaimed vehemently, her eyes blinking with sudden reciprocal emotion. "Why should he deny his father happiness when he has never suffered loss like that?—I understand your grandfather's grief, Ma—Maedhros," she said gently, her eyes sympathetic, laying her hand on his knee; "I lost my first husband too."
"To that woman you call Krystal?" he asked.
Miyu nodded. Thank goodness she had turned "Krystal" into two persons, one the Blue Bitch (who was dead, to be honest) and her fox. To get away from it—to avoid any awkward questions he might have—how could she explain to him something she didn't fully understand herself?—she asked instead, "Does your grandfather have other sons?"
Maedhros nodded, smiling. "Yes, two. Also two daughters. All have married and given him many grandchildren to lighten his aging days. I love my Grandfather, as do my brothers, and my father's disgust is both saddening and sickening." This time he sighed deeply. "I hope that one day, somehow, father and son will be reconciled, before the elder departs for the Halls."
Miyu nodded. "How does this relate to my situation?" she asked, wondering how this little story held meaning for her and Raye.
"You are my father; your Raye is my Grandfather. Your daughter is my dearly departed Grandmother." he answered. "You despise the fact that Raye has taken over your authority over your daughter, just as my father despises Grandfather for taking another wife in place of his mother. In your case, however, it is very different. You do not have years of hatred dividing you. You can go to your Raye and ask him to forgive you at any time. The easiest way of healing is often the one we never think about until it is too late."
Miyu was flabbergasted. "Forgive me?!" she exclaimed. "Forgive me?! But where did I do wrong?"
"Where you went wrong is assuming that he has taken over and thrown you out in the same breath." he answered, looking hard at her; his tone changed. "You have done wrong in hating him for it, even though the blame rests upon you for rejecting his right to be a father to Caenda. You have done wrong in appealing to your friends to help you. You have done wrong to restrict your beloved husband's rightful charge over his own flesh and blood. You have done wrong to dispute his decisions. You have done wrong to force upon everyone your fear and aggression which you have grown in isolation upon the Cornerian planet."
Miyu head sank lower and lower as he pointed out each of her weaknesses, until at last she looked like a frightened cat before a dog. Her ears were flattened in shame and her eyes downcast. "I... I did not know," she mumbled at last, when he reached the end.
"I can go on to an hundred others," Maedhros said, "but these are the most serious, for they lead into one another and to all the others I have not named. I have seen the destruction and poisoning of my father's relationship with Grandfather; will you see the dissolution of your marriage, Miyu?"
"No." she said softly.
"Even if you have no need of forgiveness, what you did is worthy of it; an hundred times over." he continued unsparingly. "Go, ask your husband to forgive you, and become once more a dutiful and caring wife who loves her husband and her child. If he asks you why, just say to him whatever comes to mind—I will not tell you what to say to him; that is up to you."
Miyu sat in silence for a long time after he ended, thinking; the beautiful light outside forgotten. She could see now her real problem. What she had thought was helplessness over her own ability to be a parent was in reality rebellion against Raye. Maedhros was right. Raye was Caenda's father. He had every right to do what he had done. In retrospect she could see that he had not really usurped her rights but rather relaxed her oppressive orders. Of course, watching television and eating of junk-food was wrong, but every now and then wouldn't hurt Caenda. Besides, wherever they were going to there would be plenty of other things to do.
Also, she could see in a way how it related to Krystal. By keeping the fox in fear she was actually increasing the possibility that Krystal would snap and do something horrible to either her or Caenda. What she had thought was kindness to her was actually making her afraid Miyu even more. True, there were things Krystal had done that needed to be cracked down upon—many, many things—but Miyu had done so one too many times. This was no way to make Krystal become the woman she used to be. With a sinking heart Miyu realized, far more clearly than ever before, that what she had done was not helping Krystal in any way—she was rather taking her revenge through "kindness". There was a time for discipline, but there was a line between discipline and tyranny.
At last she nodded. "All right," she said affirmatively, looking up at him. "I'll go and ask him for... for forgiveness." The words were bitter in her mouth but what she said had the ring of truth.
"That is a good decision, Miyu," Maedhros replied.
"But what should I do if he continues not to listen to me?" she pleaded.
"Accept it for now. He'll see what you're doing soon enough," came the cheerful reply. "Unless, of course, he is both blind, deaf, and dumb—I cannot see you staying with an imbecile for long, mi'lady."
"Thank you, sir," she replied, smiling broadly now. Raye would understand quickly. He was an intelligent young man, even as a clone. Then everything would be normal again, she thought happily. With changes, of course," she admitted. With that settled, she looked for other avenues of conversation. Casting her gaze around the room, she pointed at the two portraits in shadow. "What are those pictures? I've seen them many, many times but I don't know what they are."
He looked at where she pointed. He made some sort of gesture and the window darkened into a section of wall, temporarily throwing the room into darkness; consequentially, the lights came back on. "You mean these?" he asked.
"Yes." she replied.
Both portraits were large and went from wall to floor. Each were encased in golden frames that featured intricately carved patterns—faeries, leaves, animals, geometric designs, and other strange motifs abounded. As amazing as the frames were it was the pictures themselves which commanded attention. Both were oil-paintings, done in subtle colors that bespoke of solemnity and power, making good use of shading in many areas which threw into high relief the lighted parts. The first portrait, to Miyu's left, showed a grand panorama of mountains with a city seemingly growing out of its base, clouds covering the peaks and giving a sense of the fay about it. The other was a beautiful portrait of a man and woman, both dressed in clothing that was at once both regal and rugged—the man looked most especially noble in his kingly armor and flowing cape. The woman looked elegant in a simple sky-blue dress, stars studding throughout.
"The first," Maedhros said, pointing to the mountain panorama, "is the Misty Mountains Range, also called the Hithaeglir, a vast range that extends the length of the northern lands of the great Eastern Continent of Middle-earth. The city you see there is Rivendell. In the days of yore it was a house of wisdom, especially during one of our darkest times of history. Should you get the chance you go there you can find many wonders more beautiful than anything else in the known universe."
Miyu smiled. "I would like to go there one day. Is it where we're going?"
He shook his head. "No, we are going a colony-world; the Mountains are on Arda, our mélamar or home world as you call it."
She nodded. "And what of the other picture?" she queried. "I like it best of all."
"That is a portrait of our greatest king and queen. Manwë Súlimo, High King of Arda, and Varda Elentári, the Lady of the Stars." He fingered his chin. "They began their reign in the Times of Trouble, a most grievous civil war which nearly tore our civilization apart. After much fighting they finally broke the back of the rebel Lord Melkor, Manwë's elder brother, and peace was restored. No other conflicts which have divided so many worlds has ever happened in the times since."
"When was this?"
"Oh, nearly a thousand years ago, your reckoning," he replied airily. "Those of Arda have very long lives, but not so long to be immortal. Nothing truly is immortal in this world. Only in the Timeless Halls is there true immortality. Do not worry though," he added at her gasp, "it is only of the race of the Ainur who live long lives; we Quendi, a common folk of Arda, must make do with a little less than an hundred years of time."
"Thank God," Miyu exclaimed. "There was I thinking you'd outlive me."
He laughed. "You have no fear of that, my lady."
Miyu stood. "I must get going," she said hurriedly. "Raye will be wondering where I am." And I must make up with him, she thought guiltily. Oh well. There was always a time for reconciliation; why not now?
Maedhros also stood.
"Take care, Miyu." he said. "If you like, my mother Nerdanel is very welcoming of visitors. She'll be glad for company, and would love to meet your child."
Miyu nodded slowly—then embraced him. "Thank you for listening to me," she said gratefully, reaching up on her toes (goodness he is so tall!) to kiss him on the check. "Thank you very, very much." Then she let go and turned to leave the room. Moments later Maedhros was left alone in the Elrond.
"Take care, mell heryn." he said softly, smiling. In his tongue "mell heryn" meant "dearest lady"; dearest as in "very fond of". Then he too left the room.
Outside, the eerie realm of hyperspace moved on—a mystery of the universe.
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"Come on Kryssy, stop hiding—come out, come out, wherever you are."
Krystal lay huddled inside a locker underneath some padded, softy-feely stuff she couldn't identify. Her ears and muzzle twitched each time Caenda or James came near to the locker door, and buried herself deeper until they moved on. It was funny that they had searched everywhere for her yet didn't think to open any of the lockers. All the better for her—at least.
What did I do to deserve this? she thought angrily, listening to the halflings calling to one another. If they did not leave the area soon they'd quickly figure out where she was—and it would be bad for all of them. If she had her way she wouldn't have gotten mixed up with the halflings and their so-called "play"; she'd have stayed in bed, for the duration of the trip if it were possible. But no! she had to, or else. Damn the man and blast him and his brat to hell and beyond, she thought nastily, baring her teeth in silent, impotent rage. If she so much as growled both her hiding place would be discovered and Caenda would run screaming to "daddy"... who happened to be the cause of all this to begin with!
The first day after the H.M.S. Silmarilli had entered hyperspace Krystal had been sleeping in her cage without trouble—in fact, she had forgotten they were moving to another world. So when she was roughly shaken awake she had been genuinely surprised to see, not Miyu, but an enormous anthropoid being looming over her. Even more surprising was the voice:
"So, we meet again, Krystal," said Raye, squatting before her cage door, "You have been having fun, I hope? Ignoring and snubbing my wife and my child, making their lives uncomfortable because you're a little "helpless" animal and not a woman." He smiled—one which had no humor. "Miyu has been soft on you. That I can see well enough from the spaceport. However to your credit you have not attempted to injure my daughter in the time we've been separated. That is very good; better than I had expected." Then his countenance had grown firm, and when he next spoke his voice was hard as flint:
"This time I am in charge, Krystal McCloud, and to make myself clear, here are the three rules you will follow, to the letter, if you would like to have a peaceful life with us: Rule Number 1—Obey any and every command I or Miyu give you. Rule Number 2—Do not attempt an escape or you will be sorry." And here his voice had deepened into a growl: "Rule Number 3—You will become a part of my family whether you like it or not, and this means Caenda is your playmate for now and forevermore. But, if you do any sort of bodily harm to her or my wife, I will personally ensure you are sorry." Here he had leaned into her cage and grasped her head-fur to look at him full in the eye. Krystal had whimpered, not from pain, but in submission. "Do I make myself clear?" he had asked her.
Do I make myself clear?
Even now, hiding as she was, Krystal could hear those five words echoing in her brain, warning her and keeping her in check whenever she contemplated striking back at her little tormentors. She didn't know what would happen if she hurt little James, but Raye's warning was enough to make her... compliant, for lack of a better word.
"Caenda—come quick, I think she went this way!" James suddenly said—too close to her locker. Krystal drew back further into the stuffy chamber, nearly smothering herself underneath the soft stuff. A quick pitter-patter of footsteps went by the door, the shadows indistinct as they temporarily crossed the light. Then there were none. The brown fox sighed explosively in relief.
Thank the Spirits, she said automatically, relaxing all of her muscles from tension. Throughout the long months of exile with Miyu—she'd started to lose count—she had also started to lose any belief in her childhood deities of Cerinia... Besides... they weren't actually"gods", more like household spirits... It had been a very long time since she'd even thought of them at all. Invoking their name was as automatic as saying "by gum" or whatever the Cornerians swore by.
Getting up Krystal stretched her back, hearing pops in her bones and feeling muscles un-knotting. When everything was straightened out and felt much better, she nosed at the door.
It didn't open.
Huh? that's funny, why isn't it opening? she thought, tilting her head in the semidarkness. She reached forward and nosed at it again. Didn't budge. Oh no, oh no, oh no...! How did it lock behind her? She didn't close it—how in the name of everything did it lock behind her?! She growled and headbutted it this time. Clang. Again. Clang.
Someone get me out of here! she whined, standing up on her hind legs and scratching furiously at the metal barrier. Anybody, please, help! She started barking, the sounds deafening inside the tiny chamber. Help me!
Suddenly light flashed into her eyes and she pawed at air—caught off-balance she tumbled forward, and landed hard on the cold metal floor; moments later a bunch of the softy-feely stuff which had protected her inside the locker fell on top, squashing her lithe body. Whining out of relief Krystal tried to open her eyes, but immediately shut them because of the painful light.
"Krystal, what are you doing here all alone?" asked an unfamiliar voice somewhere above her.
I can ask myself the same thing, she thought grumpily, still whimpering in pain. Running for my life from a bunch of imps... She started to get back on her feet, not knowing nor caring who opened the door—at least it isn't those hooligans—when suddenly her legs left the ground. Whaaa..!?
"Come along," said her carrier, shifting her comfortably in his arms. "Let's get you somewhere safe." With that the unknown person stated off, booted feet making clicking sounds on the floor.
Let me go, you little cretin! she snarled and growled all at the same time—but all she got in answer was a chuckle. "My, my, we are feeling feisty today, aren't we? Has my little brother been teasing you again?" the unknown person asked her, softly chuckling. Who the hell is your brother? she "screamed", not wanting to be carried around like this like a pet. You! yes you! let me go!
"Calm down, Krystal, or you'll slip from my arms."
Uh, nope, not going—let me go! Krystal redoubled her twisting and struggles to get away from this unknown person (she was sure it was Pierce, that dratted medic); then stopped when he said, "Oh look, I see Caenda coming."
Tricky, sneaky bastard, she thought nastily, going still, attempting to look like a little brown bag in his arms. She couldn't hear Caenda, but then again her head was stuffed between the crock of his left arm. As Krystal lay still she attempted to look for a way out—but the smooth grey floor bobbing underneath her looked very far away, a glowing light reflecting off from the countless lamps above, and she did not want to fall and get hurt. Furthermore, that light hurt her eyes. Even closing them didn't help; then she felt sea-sick.
The long hexagonal-shaped hallway stretched far, to her eyes, into infinity, numerous lockers peeping out from behind smaller walls jutting out into the corridor; like something she'd seen in a sci-fi flick. Like Galactic Quest, one of those adventure flicks Caenda had been watching recently, perhaps? Everything was a uniform, utilitarian, dreary, grey color with a light-blue highlight tint, like those galaxy-sized ships (those things are absurd!) in the flick. The harsh overhead lights made everything feel exposed and vulnerable. Just like she was.
How far did I go? she wondered idly, looking around as best as she could as they went on. Only mere minutes before she had torn through this hallway with the halflings in hot pursuit—how could she not remember where she came from? I hate this place, I hate this guy, I hate Caenda, I hate every—Ow, what in blazes?! For the person had suddenly turned and Krystal, who'd slowly been trying to wriggle through, hit one of those protruding walls hard. Head ringing and eyes stinging she gave up the fight and resigned herself to wait.
"Please, Krystal, try to not move," said her carrier, shifting her more securely (her head was now between an arm and his side), "else you'll get hurt again." Thank you for a warning that came too late—let me go. She tried to bite him but the way she was positioned and the way he held her made it not only impossible but damned uncomfortable to move. Krystal huffed and growled and snarled but those protestations grew weaker and weaker as her carrier continued on serenely—and finally they stopped, leaving a dull silence behind.
After a time he turned, went through a doorway—the floor changed from a dull grey metal to cheerful red-and-yellow tiles—and finally sat down. Krystal was still stuck between his arm and side (Funny, she thought, inhaling deeply against her will, he smells good.) but eventually, once he determined she wasn't going to make a break for it, he eased her out of confinement. Krystal blinked her eyes and looked around, her ears going up in curiosity.
A pretty little suite of rooms met her eyes; she was in what looked like the... the... what was it called? the parlor? It wasn't Raye and Miyu's, that was for sure. This one looked more friendly—a lot of strange smells too, all of them pleasant. Across from where she lay was the doorway—two sliding doors, hexagonal, like in every entrance-way on this ship—now closed. Between her and it was a large wooden table, as low-tech as it could possibly be (Why couldn't it be plastic? Or something else?), and a beautiful blue-and-green carpet embroidered with flowers on the tiled floor.
To her carrier's left—on the far wall—sat a couch covered in green fabric; on his immediate right was another door which led into the kitchen. Craning her head over his left arm she could see a smaller side-table, a vase of flowers sitting on it, abutting the wall—which was a pale creamy-white color—and an archway, also hexagonal. That either led into the bedrooms or into another living room. Hanging on the walls were all sorts of pictures, strange and alien, like the ones she saw in the Belial suite. She never paid much attention to them.
Something soft and pliable yet firm started going down her back, smoothing her ruffled fur. Unconsciously she arched her back in pleasure, much as cats do, and sat down. Spirits, this feels... nice... she thought contentedly, closing her eyes as he continued stroking her fur. Her muscles, which had been all tensed up in trying to escape, relaxed once again; her tail went limp and lay down the side of the chair, touching the floor. Krystal lay down and stretched out on his lap. The soft pressure was so alluring, she couldn't help but calm down. Ah... she sighed. Almost against her will, she started to fall asleep, the gentle stroking of his hand continuing down her back...
"Oh good, Timothy, you've found her. Jamie and Caenda were frantic with worry; remember the time she was in Engineering?"
Hu—Huh? who, what, where? Krystal thought groggily some time later—much later—being chased out of faerie-land and back into reality by that voice; it was feminine, but not Miyu's. For a moment she had slipped into a blissful sleep, and it was quite pleasant. In fact the hand continued to smooth her fur, tickling the skin underneath. Krystal didn't want to open her eyes—she wanted to ignore the distraction and go back to sleep, with that gentle hand petting her, but, alas...
"Don't worry, mother, she was inside one of the lockers—poor thing locked herself in them." said the person above her (must be Timothy... who the heck is Timothy?), now scratching her behind the ears. She growled softly and curved her neck in enjoyment. "I've never understood why Mr. Belial insists on treating her like a pariah."
"Well, you know him," the other replied, "The war had never been good to him. I heard rumors he'd run into Star Fox and came off second best. It affects a man, you know. They never treated their prisoners well—in direct violation of the Galactic Code, too." Then she sighed. "But mercenaries will always be mercenaries. Star Fox was the worst of the lot."
Huh, Star Fox? Oh... I get it... Krystal in vain tried to shut out the memories of her sadistic torture of Raye, the man who now controlled her life completely. They didn't go away. She hid her head underneath both forelegs involuntarily, in attempt to shut them out; which incidentally brought her nose into contact with the fabric of whatever this man—Timothy—wore... and again she smelled that smell; it was good, very good, like some scent she could just barely remember. Something from Cerinia. But even that could not completely shut out the look of anguish on Raye Belial's bloodied and sweating face, and her own remembered sadistic pleasures in connection...
"I think it best if we leave all talk of the war in the past, Mother," Timothy said quietly, still stroking little Krystal's fur. "I too do not have pleasant memories of Star Fox. Besides, you're waking Krystal."
A sigh. "I guess you're right, Timothy." Then a chuckle. "I see even the most recalcitrant of animals can be taught to obey."
"Not taught," said Timothy. "Just give them some love, which unfortunately the Belials haven't shown her, and they'll surprise you with what happens."
"You always did have a way with them, Timmy." said the other voice approvingly.
"Thank you, mother."
Wait a second... Krystal tried to remember, still on Track I, as far as her memory could go, when she had met a man named Timothy who didn't, as he said, "have pleasant memories of Star Fox". Was he turned down by Fox when he applied for a position on the team? Oh no. Even thinking of Fox brought back a wave of fresh regrets... all of which were blurry and faded; time-worn. Nothing was clear, not even her own Arwing. Shaking her head she tried to get back on track. The only persons she could think of were the team itself—in fact, not once during the war did anyone request to join, even though they were one of the best fighters in the war.
Whoa! Her head suddenly shot up in surprise, dislodging his hand. She craned her head to look up at this Timothy. A pair of pale, green eyes slowly came into view, followed next by black hair (nicely cut, military style), and a melancholy look to his blurred features. Then the face came into focus—and Krystal suddenly growled, her fur going up on end.
"Calm down, Krystal," Timothy said gently, smiling down at her, caressing her fur more vigorously. "Everything is okay. Caenda is not here—"
A filthy human has been touching me!? her thoughts screamed—but before she could do anything about it, a more pleasant (yet one she'd come to loathe) scream interrupted.
"Kryssy! There you are, we've been looking all over for you!"—"Yeah, what she said!"
Next moment her vision was obscured by a mass of speckled brown-and-white "fur", with a lot of sheer happy noise bombarding her ears, followed by an equally confusing mess of black... skin? No, it wasn't fully skin; there was fur, but a lot less than on Caenda. Krystal whined in complaint over being pinioned between the two halflings, being hugged roughly and vigorously, her personal space (what little she had) being violated by a lot of little hands—her fur was being pulled in all sorts of directions, messing up Timothy's delicate work.
"Kids, kids, please, give the poor thing some breathing room," said the female voice. After squinting hard through the smothering confusion, Krystal saw who it was; a vague silver-grey anthropoid form with hands on her hips, a faint blur moving behind her rhythmically.
Oh, right, it is that woman Morgana... She didn't know much about her, other than that she was Miyu's friend and had some friend of Raye's for a husband. Not that she even cared, having been chased by her dratted brat of a son who was now musing up her beautifully manicured fur which Timothy... which he had just brushed. She screwed up her face in puzzlement, looking, for the moment, even more squashed by the kids. Now why did she feel disturbed about that fact, when it was a human creature who had touched her...?
James and Caenda moved back, each the picture of friendliness. Caenda looked almost exactly like her mother, including the fact she had a tail and long ears, while James was coal-black, blacker than the blackest panther Krystal had ever met, tall for a kid of his age, and those silver-grey eyes of his looked very disconcerting. Like Morgana's, only more liquid. Not like that gigantic black man whom everyone—Raye included, as odd as that seemed—looked up to.
"Kryssy, we thought you'd gone into Engineering again," Caenda said, more kindly than she'd ever been before. "Please don't do that again. We were worried that you'd gotten hurt." She shrugged. "Well, you know what I mean." Beside her James shifted uncomfortably on his feet, looking sheepish.
Krystal remembered, rather belatedly, the first time she got lost aboard this impossible and confusing—from her viewpoint as a fox—spacecraft. It had been a wonder that she'd even got into the Engineering Deck, section 37, considering the sliding doors were kept locked and behind shields unless there were crew members working. Of course it wasn't her fault she didn't know that the little glowy panel inset into the wall deactivated the shield and opened the sliding doors together when touched even slightly—who in blazes would even set the panel that close to the ground where her tail would just somehow seemingly brush up against it; and then why did her tormentors have to show up at that moment?! (Of course she wasn't supposed to have left the cabins in the first place... except for Caenda and James, of course.)
She inwardly shuddered, remembering how close she came to being vaporized in that reactor. James had thought it funny to back her up against the edge of the catwalk, forgetting that it was dangerous for all three to be in there, let alone play in it. Krystal had very nearly been on the verge of losing her balance then, and so ending her existence. Fortunately, for all of them, someone had came upon them at that moment and stopped it before something bad happened. Krystal didn't know what happened afterward but she heard Caenda and James being yelled at by their respective fathers, and both mothers sobbing alternatively, as she tried to recover from... Raye's punishment...
She wondered if that someone had been Timothy.
"Now, now, Caenda, she was in the lockers; hadn't even left the cabin deck," Timothy reassured her, still stroking Krystal. "I would suggest you give her some time alone now. This is, what, the third time this week you've scared her silly. You've been wearing her out more than you have I."
Caenda, to her credit, hung her head. "Sorry, Timmy," she mumbled. James looked, if possible, even more sheepish.
Ha, yeah, right, Krystal "sneered" at them, baring her teeth, that's it, grovel before me—ow, hey!? She shook her head and looked up. Timothy looked at her with a warning gleam in his eye. "Do not do that again," he said, lifting his hand slightly. Krystal merely snorted and laid down again. Moments later she felt Caenda's hand pet her head—her eyes flickered up.
She was surprised to see Caenda's eyes watery.
"I'm sorry, Kryssy," said the halfling contritely, still patting her lightly. Then, as Krystal looked at her, she reached forward and pulled the fox into a choking hug.
Ow, oh, ow, ple—please le—let go! she "gasped", making little whines in protest. Yo—You're kil—killing m—me...
Morgana made quiet motions to James. Her son looked curiously at her. The pantheress jerked her head to the kitchenette, her expression not something to argue with. James sighed, knowing when she got that look, he'd better listen and obey; and turned away, following her. "Why don't you want me there?" he asked sotto voice.
"Give them some time alone. Timothy doesn't want you messing things up," his mother explained, also sotto, as she started getting bowls and spoons out. "Besides," she added, winking, "I need a man's strength to help me on this."
James' eyes went wide when she opened the freezer and pulled something out. He suddenly grinned (like a Cheshire cat), and all thoughts of staying with his friend left. He moved forward to help her eagerly.
Caenda released Krystal—who let out an explosive gasp of air (most un-foxy-like)—and smiled at her. "Are we friends, now, Kryssy?" she asked innocently, holding out her hand.
Uh... Krystal looked at her with a beady eye, trying to assess whether it was a trick or not. I... I guess... we are... she admitted reluctantly, after a while, leaning forward slowly to nuzzle Caenda's palm. Something in the girl's gesture had touched a spark deep down inside Krystal's tortured soul, something that, for a moment, warmed her briefly—a light shone inside her, bringing back memories of laughter and joy long forgotten.
Caenda squealed in delight when Krystal began licking her hand—unconsciously, too. Krystal quickly realized what she was doing moments later, but she didn't care... it felt, natural, almost.
Above them both Timothy smiled at the tranquil scene before him—two enemies forgiving one another. He never saw animals as others did. He tended to think they were like people. Smaller, yes, and perhaps more limited, but "people" none the less—especially when they started to reciprocate affection. Raye had warned him that the fox was a bad-tempered bitch, but, to him, if one showed her just a little bit of love she would open up. This one display had proved the older man's warning to be false. True, little Krystal had been rather mean-spirited before but he knew it was because none had showed her any kind of affection. Not even Miyu had shown her much love.
This he found puzzling, for the Cornerians were technically animals (like their wilder cousins) yet they treated their younger "siblings" like dirt. As far as he knew, no one in Lylat owed dogs or cats or any other kinds of animals that the colony-worlds of Earth did (the mother-planet being an exception because of overpopulation and overspecialization; there was literally no farms anywhere on the surface). But right now, during the little scene before him, of animal and superior showing affection towards one another however short-lived, that was all that mattered. He remembered to ask Mrs. Belial if he could help care for Krystal, since the poor woman had almost no idea how to.
Just then Morgana interrupted. "Ice-cream everyone!"
~X~X~X~X~X~X~
~X~X~X~X~X~X~
In another area of the Silmarilli, in a room similar to the Stardeck, Raye rested in a chair, attempting to read a book. Behind him was the transparisteel "window", which showed the glories of the hyperspace realm.
Like the Stardeck this room was sumptuously furnished with all manner of fine woodcraft; many portraits hung from the subtly colored walls; a vast silver-green carpet with a golden border lay across the entire floor; many kinds of fire-crystals upon the various tables mingled the hyperspace light with their own internal radiance. Unlike the Stardeck this room held bookshelves, which lined the walls, and a central ebony-colored table. The lights were turned off, save for one by Raye's chair and the fire-crystals.
He turned a page, and frowned. He did not know how to interpret the strange "words" written within; Tengwar, the Ardans called it. But even if he knew how to read the strange words, neither they nor the brilliantly drawn pictures accompanying could distract him. In fact, nothing could have distracted him, not even Krystal—which was a feat in itself as for the first few days aboard the starship he'd kept an unceasing vigil on her—for he was disturbed by the apparent rejection of Miyu, his wife.
Where did I go wrong? he asked, identical to Miyu's rhetorical question.
As he flipped the ornately illuminated pages, his mind continued to dwell upon it, refusing to go anyplace else. At last he stopped pretending to read and laid the book down. He leaned back, and placed a hand over his eyes, as if pained. Where did I go wrong? he asked again. Why is she cold towards me? He had come up with many scenarios in answer to this, and none of them stood the light of day—except one. It always came back to this; always. It was a problem which went back to the closing days of the war—Miyu's rejection merely exacerbated it.
He was a clone. Not the Raye whom Miyu had fallen in love with. That was for certain. He was a clone, grown in a vat and "flash-trained" with the memories of a dead man. No matter what the Director had told him, he was a clone—inferior to the man Miyu had loved. Sick bastard, he thought, remembering the Director's words, selling out his own race just for power—and for what? Nothing. As horrid as the Director was (before, of course, Jessica had him executed), Raye felt even worse. Everything he did since his "re-birth"—even the most horrible of things, many of which he regretted now—he had done so for Miyu and his daughter... or were they even his?
During the long ceasefire between the two nations he'd wrestled with his dilemma. Constantly he had turned it over and over in his mind, trying every conceivable way to rationalize it away. In desperation he turned to the "good Book", which was starting to see a revival in the Empire, for answers. Curiously enough, even though the late-but-not-lamented Emperor Ezekiel professed himself to be "faithful" to the religion of Earth, he instead actively suppressed it like the ancient fascist and communist regimes of pre-Galactic civilization did nearly three hundred years ago. In its place he had substituted a kind of worship of humankind, with himself at the head naturally. It was short-lived—after his death the new Empress abolished it to popular acclaim.
All he had found was a single passage in the fifth book of the Old Testament which remotely approached the problem: "If brothers are living together and one of them dies without a son, his widow must not marry outside the family. Her husband's brother shall take her and marry her and fulfill the duty of a brother-in-law to her. The first son she bears shall carry on the name of the dead brother so that his name will not be blotted out from Israel." It said nothing about clones. Of course, clones in the science-fiction flicks of the twentieth century and onward all saw themselves as "brothers" (or sisters if of the opposite sex); with good reason, for like twins, they were genetically identical. So it was not the problem of Bible—it was the "the first son... shall carry on the name of the dead brother" phrase that got to him. It took absolutely nothing of the second brother in account.
Of course, it was different, again, in his case. He knew himself to be Raye Belial—he was literally "Raye Belial", not "Jason Belial" or suchlike name. But this command in the Bible disturbed him—if he had any kids by Miyu, they would be kids of the "other" Raye, not his; even Caenda was not his, intellectually—and "physically"—speaking. All of his memories of "other" Raye were just that: Memories, not things he experienced for himself. His life began the moment he left that tank, not as a continuation of the "other" Raye.
Right? Or was he getting all backwards?
Help me, please, he thought desperately. Anything to relive the agony; anything!
"Raye? What are ye doing in here all alone, son?"
He looked back, startled, for the voice was so close. The kindly face of Cadfael, his favorite military instructor (the only one he had admired), looked back at him over the chair. "Oh," Raye said dully, "Hey there, sir."
"Now lad, no "sirs" here," Cadfael admonished him, pulling up a seat from one of closest tables and sitting beside him, "Just Cadfael. Just good ol' Cadfael."
"Alright Cadfael," Raye replied slowly, feeling the name rolling over his tongue with difficulty. Cadfael had been the closest thing to a father to him, both to "other" Raye and him, and calling him by his Christian name was awkward. Not in such intimate circumstances, at least.
"What's on your mind, Raye? Anything I can do to ease thy conscience?" Cadfael asked, leaning his considerable bulk, all of it muscle, into the chair. It creaked in protest.
"Y—Yes... Cadfael," Raye answered, looking back down at his unattended book.
"Is in yon book there?"
For the first time since his coming here for reflection Raye burst out laughing. "Oh no, sir," he said, forgetting Cadfael's insistence to call him by his first name, "if it were that, I'd have asked one of them Ardans, those tight-*sses." He grinned at his mentor, who guffawed with him.
"Better not let them hear ye speak of them like that," the elder warned, tears of mirth sparkling in his eyes. "Else ye get landed in the brig!"
Raye smiled, broadly. In a way, this had released the tension. "Cadfael," he asked suddenly, feeling emboldened, "I have a problem—one I think you can help me with."
"Fire away, my son."
Raye told him. Cadfael showed surprise over his revealing of being a clone, but wisely stayed silent until the tirade was over. When Raye had finished, concluding with his inability to find an answer in the word of God, the elder looked thoughtful, steepling his fingers. At last he spoke. "I never thought ye to be a professor of the Bible, Raye," he said quietly, "I thought it beneath ye."
"Cadfael, you know me. If I want answers, I go looking for them—the Bible just happens to be the place with the right ones," Raye answered; "But this time, I don't know what to do. I've tried and tried again to understand those verses, but I can't seem to come to anything that helps."
"Still... a lesser man than ye would have thrown away the Good Book." Cadfael nodded in appreciation. "I commend ye for giving it a chance."
"You being a man of God, that is high praise," Raye replied warmly. "But can you help me? Am I "Raye" or am I another man?" he asked again, feeling very uncomfortable.
"From what ye told me, you are another man—but, because ye are a clone, ye are the same man. You have the memories of Raye, unconditioned by training or mental trauma; you remember your beautiful wife, and your child. In my experience with clones—which is admittedly flawed—if they are not conditioned to be men, their own men, they will assume the memories, personality, and all the other things of their template."
"But that's just it," Raye protested. "Why should I get the remembrances of a week-dead man, who just happened to love a Cornerian and get her a kid, and not those of the hundreds of other Rayes who'd gone before me, or who're out there oblivious of my existence—or even the original Raye! Why me?!"
"I have no answer for you, son," Cadfael said kindly.
"Am I an aberration? An anomaly to that law?" Raye asked, not hearing him. "Please, what is wrong? Am I outside that law?"
"Of course not, son!" Cadfael denied adamantly. "That law is as true today as it was when the Good Lord spake it to Moses. Remember what Jesus said "For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth disappear, not the smallest letter, not the least stroke of a pen, will by any means disappear from the Law until everything is accomplished?" There is nothing that is an anomaly to God's word. For did not John say that all things are made in Jesus? Whatever you are, being outside is not one of them."
"Then..." Raye wondered, almost to himself. "Then must I deny myself and be my dead brother?" He turned to Cadfael, his eyes pleading. "Must I subsume my individuality, the man I am, and try to imitate my brother?"
"Oh no, why should ye?" Cadfael said, laughing, "That'd be a slap in the face of the Almighty—and to Miyu, thine wife!"
"Then, please, Cadfael, what must I do?!" Raye suddenly burst out.
The elder stayed silent after that, no longer laughing. At last he spoke. "I have no answer after the manner of men, son," he said slowly. "But I do believe I have one from the Lord Himself."
Raye looked at him pleadingly. "What is it?" he asked helplessly.
"You were meant to be the Raye who loved Miyu." Cadfael said affirmatively, "You were meant to be the one to raise his child, and to take care of his wife as your own. She is your wife because the Lord Himself has willed it. It is a mere chance in a million (divine providence, as I call it) that you have received the life of that Raye, and I tell ye, do not waste it. That is what the passage in the Good Book means. You have been, to use a cliché, chosen by the Lord to fulfill your brotherly duty to your wife. No one else has—it is you, son."
Raye thought of that for a long time, looking off into space. At last he sighed, then smiled at his mentor. "I guess you are right." Then he became silent. "But why has she rejected me? She's become cold towards me. If it is not because I am a clone, then what?"
"Ye have given her the cold shoulder, son," Cadfael said. "In her eyes, you have shunted her aside, and resents you for it."
"What?" Raye said, bewildered. "I would never do something like that. I only want her to be happy."
"Nonetheless, my son, ye have done so," Cadfael replied sternly. "For starters ye have kicked her out of parenting her own child. What would that do to a spouse, I wonder, hmm? Nothing good. Many a couple has split because of the children, one parent taking custody of them and leaving the other out of it. Would you see your wife take you to court? She still loves you, but how long will that last?"
"But... But... I thought I was doing her a favor!" Raye protested. "She was clearly overworked, managing both Caenda and Krystal! I thought I was lightening her load."
"Still, good intentions, as the saying goes, are the bricks that pave the road to Hell," Cadfael responded, eyes flashing dangerously. "Ye have done her wrong. You should have consulted her over it, not unanimously change her word. Her daughter no longer listens to her, if ye have noticed—I've seen it. Caenda listens only to you now." Then he added, as a matter of course, "I also suggest ye lighten up on that pet of yours. Allow my son to manage her for a time."
Raye sank back into his chair, thinking again. He nodded finally. "I understand... father." he said; then adding. "I hope Timothy can handle her. She isn't the most pleasant of creatures." That was fully true, considering who Krystal really was.
"Nonsense," Cadfael scoffed. "If there is a better man to handle the worst kind of animals, it is he. Trust me."
"Alright... father." Raye said, nodding. "I'll think about it."
Cadfael clapped him on the shoulder. "That's a good boy." he said exuberantly. "Now, thy next course of action is to go and ask for Miyu's forgiveness. Admit to her ye have done wrong in taking over her rightful charge, and she'll forgive you. Woman was not made to be ruled over by man," he added sagely.
"I'll be the first to admit that," Raye remarked ruefully, remembering the many times Miyu had kicked his *ss in the cave whenever he tried to dominate her.
"A brilliant commentator of the Good Book," Cadfael continued, seemingly not hearing his comment, "named Matthew Henry (a Welsh man, I'll add), has made this observation on Genesis 2:22, concerning the Creation of Eve—"The woman was made of a rib out of the side of Adam; not made out of his head to rule over him, nor out of his feet to be trampled upon by him, but out of his side to be equal with him, under his arm to be protected, and near his heart to be beloved." Treat ye your wife as a true help-meet, not as a servant, and you'll find that most domestic troubles go away."
Then he leaned closer to Raye conspiratorially. "I have done so with my Morgana—else she'll give me hell," he whispered, grinning. "I've earned hell many times with my behavior, yet she loves me enough not to; but if I start treating her wrongly..." he chuckled.
Raye smiled. "I shall do so, Cadfael. Thank you for everything."
The elder sat back beaming. "It is of no problem," he said, "I'll be happy to help ye out any time, my son; as your pastor and counselor, it is my duty to help folk like you in need."
Raye nodded. "Thank you again, father." This time he meant it truly.
Cadfael laughed. "Again, I am glad to help." Then his face changed. "I've been meaning to ask ye, son. If ye are a clone of Raye, the one I knew, then what happened to him? You would know. How did he die?"
Raye grew troubled, unwanted memories (fully, truly, his own) coming to the forefront of his mind. "I... I..." he stammered, remembering the awful pain of torture, the brutal, inhumane slowness by which it had been conducted by. He still, even after all this time, could not shake the feeling of pain from his body, phantom as it was. Nor could he close out that awful expression of glee Kursed wore as she murdered him. "I... I..."
The black man patted him on the shoulder. "It is all right, son," he said compassionately, "If it bothers ye, then I shall not press any furth—"
"No! No—I mean... no." Raye objected. "I—I wouldn't mind telling you. If you are my counselor, then you should know; you'll figure it out sooner or later."
"What has happened to you, son?" Cadfael asked softly. "The Raye I knew wouldn't be so quick to reveal everything."
"My death is what happened to me." Raye responded coldly. "I've changed. Before that I wouldn't have touched the Bible, let alone open it—now I have, and I've memorized the books of Ruth and Joshua already. Death has... opened my mind to religion... and I've been sorely lacking in the Word." Raye admitted. "I wouldn't mind sharing with you. You—You were the only one I ever looked up to in training." He looked down.
"I thank ye for the compliment," Cadfael said quietly. Raye looked up suddenly; he could sense a change in tone. He saw tears coming down the older man's face. "I thank ye greatly," the elder repeated, cracking a smile. It was painful, even for the ebullient Welsh man.
"You're welcome." the young man said in reply, smiling. It quickly faded away. "My... death... if you will, wasn't... an accident." he began slowly, trying to frame his thoughts into something coherent. "It was murder—"
"I see, those Cornerian pilots blew y—"
"No, it wasn't a battle. I—I was caught, bound, and—and taken to a prison somewhere," Raye recounted, jarringly. He didn't know where that place was in which he'd been tortured; perhaps the Great Fox? Regardless of the answer, he did not ever want to go back to that place. "There I was... broken by... by..." He stopped, unable to go on.
"Someone trying to get info out of you?"
"Yes..." Raye said, "but nothing like what you'd think. I—they were trying... to... to find my family. Miyu, Caenda, Pierce, and Fay—all of them would have been in danger."
"I understand exactly what you mean, son." Cadfael replied softly. His head was bowed, nearly hidden in the semi-darkness where the table-light did not reach. "I understand. It was a dangerous time for all of us mixed families." He looked up. "But there is more to the story than that, Raye. Is there?"
Raye nodded. "I was... was... murdered... by the Blue Bitch." he spat out violently. "She murdered me with those abnormal—"
"She did what!?" Cadfael roared, standing up suddenly.
Raye hurled himself over his chair's side out of reflex, rolling and coming up into a fighting stance before he knew where he was. His shadow, cast by the hyperspace lights, formed an exact mirror image of his stance.
"Are ye telling me that the Blue Bitch herself killed thee?" Cadfael asked, shaking his finger at him, his Welsh accent becoming thicker in rage. "Well? Did she?!" He looked like thunder and lightning incarnate, so terrible and sudden was the change.
"Calm down, Cadfael—" Raye began but was violently cut off.
"Don't ye darest to tell me to calm down, ye son of a bitch," Cadfael roared again, spit flying, "She murdered ye right? Where didst ye see her last?!" He started to move towards Raye. "Where is she?!"
"Calm the f*ck down, Cadfael!" Raye shouted. "It is over, done with—she is dead, I tell you. Saw her die with my own eyes aboard the Eternal Fire. It's over—it's over!" He looked at him warily. If it came to a fight, as excellent as he was in hand-to-hand combat, he was no match for the physically fit (and better trained) man. Cadfael had trained him in physical combat, amongst others. Nonetheless, if Cadfael broke, he was ready to defend himself. "It's over!" he repeated quickly.
Raye tensed his muscles, arms up and ready.
For a long moment Cadfael did not look like he would calm down—his eyes still flashed, his enormous muscles continued to bulk out, and his nostrils flared outward still—then, at last, he relaxed. Raye came out of his fighting-stance.
"I'm sorry, son," Cadfael said quietly, checking his movement forward. "I am truly sorry. It was reflex, completely involuntary. I did not mean to shout at you." He held out a hand.
Raye, after a moment of looking at him, went over and shook it. "It is okay, father," he said.
Cadfael smiled weakly. "Thank ye."
"Was there something she did to you, father?" Raye asked. "Something like what had happened to me?"
"No, son, nothing like that," the elder responded. "It was worse—far worse," he said softly, almost sotto.
"Can you tell me?"
Cadfael stared at him for the longest time. His golden eyes did not waver from Raye's own dark ones. Raye noticed perspiration beading on his face—a droplet tricked down. Then he spoke abruptly. "I'll tell ye another time, Raye," he said gruffly. "You are sure she is dead?" he asked a second time.
"Yes, she is—why do you ask?"
"Because if she ain't, I'll do it myself. The Good Lord will understand." Cadfael replied harshly; and there was a wild look in his eye. "He most certainly would understand." Then he sighed deeply, and said, "I need a drink."
"But Cadfael, your wife—!" Raye tried to interject, but the black man exited the room, the door closing behind him with a hiss.
He looked at the door silently, wondering what on Earth Kursed could have done to Cadfael. Then, with a shudder, he remembered what the Erinyes had said to Miyu."If you do not help her, she'll live her life out as a beast of the field, reflecting upon all that she has done, and perhaps she will learn her lesson before she dies as a beast." Whatever Krystal—or Kursed—had done... it had been paid in full.
Or had it?
Then he remembered Miyu. Steeling his resolve—remembering that he only wanted her to be happy, no matter what his faults—he strode to the door. It opened at his approach. Raye stopped suddenly and looked back at the room. The myriad hyperspace colors glowed in the darkness, bringing a sense of encouragement to him. Feeling reassured he turned and went through the door.
It was time to make up to her.
~X~X~X~X~X~X~
~X~X~X~X~X~X~
Miyu leaned upon the table in their kitchenette. She played with a little spoon idly; her tail moved slowly from side to side. Beside her, empty, was a bowl of something she'd dug out of the freezer; undoubtedly she'd stayed up late. The lights were dimmed, the white tiles gleaming dully. As Raye entered, silently, she sighed, tail moving down in union with her ears.
He stopped and looked at her. Bent over as she was, he still could remember what it was about her which had attracted him. It wasn't lust, oh no. No kind of lust could sustain any union for long, no matter how passionate. Nor was it merely emotional or physical need, though they both felt that in plenty—he in particular. It was something else. A kind of recognition that both were... halves of sorts. Halves which needed one another, in a deep, primal way that nothing in the world could understand or explain. Despite their many, many differences—not the least of which was physical—they had somehow become husband and wife in that lonely cave, not merely lovers or even the "friends-with-benefits"-variety. He didn't believe they were meant for each other—that was stupid—but he did know that there had to be a reason for the marriage. Whatever it was, he would not sacrifice it for anything.
Then, smiling suddenly, he moved forward.
Miyu was in the midst of her thoughts when Raye's hands closed on her shoulders. "Hello, beautiful," he said softly, blowing upon her head-fur. She purred in pleasure, leaning back into his embrace to look up at him.
"Hello, Raye," she replied softly, her blue eyes sparkling in the light.
He smiled and leaned in for a kiss. She closed her eyes and received it, still purring. "What have you been doing, my love?" he asked gently when they broke apart, "You should be in bed."
"I would ask you the same thing," she responded, eye still closed. "But I was thinking..."
"Funny, so have I," he said, pulling up a chair and sitting beside her. As she laid her head upon his shoulder, purring that cute purr he found delightful about her, his conversation with Cadfael came back to him, chasing away any more "sweet-talk". No more chit-chat, he thought regretfully. "Umm," he coughed, "I have something to ask you, Miyu."
"Yes, Raye?" she asked, fluttering her eye-lashes up at him, still in dreamland.
"Can you forgive me?" he asked. Miyu's eyes opened, and she looked at him in surprise; and he hastened to explain. "I have... have not been a... a good husband..." he continued haltingly. "Can you forgive me for taking Caenda away from you? It was wrong—I can see that now. I've been blind, thinking I was do—"
"Raye... Raye..." Miyu said, placing her fingertips on his mouth. "That is sweet of you." Truly though she was both touched, and flabbergasted—he was apologizing for something she had done towards him?! Inconceivable. "Can you forgive me for the same reason?" she asked. "I am guilty of being a poor wife, for the same reasons too—can you forgive me?"
Raye wondered if being married meant these sorts of surprises would always come. Heh, heh, he thought ironically, Both of us are guilty of the same thing! How much sillier can it get? Smiling, he chased away those thoughts, and leaned down to kiss her again. "Then you're forgiven," Raye answered, closing the gap between them.
"As are you." she purred.
They sat at the table for a long time, reveling in one another's presence. The misunderstandings each had about one another cleared away like the clouds at storm's end, the sun coming out to shine on the darkened world underneath at last. It was like that in a way, but different, more sublime—the wonder of love, healing all hurts and all wounded minds. Neither of them needed to say anything, just the mere touch of one another was enough.
"Mommy, mommy, mommy!" Caenda screeched, running through the cabin door; behind her Krystal trudged slowly in, tired beyond belief, ears and tail drooping.
Miyu and Raye broke apart suddenly. "Yes, Caenda?" Miyu called, sitting up. "We're in the kitchen"
Caenda ran in and hurled herself into her mother's arms. Raye smiled and moved closer. Miyu looked up from her little girl and, loosening an arm, encircled his broad shoulders. The trinity of the family was formed, at that little table, in that little room.
"Caenda," Raye said quietly, "Where have you been all this time?"
"With Mrs. Johnson," chimed the little halfling, still hugging Miyu tightly. "She gave us all ice cream—and peanut butter to Kryssy!" She neglected to mention that Morgana had caught her trying to sneak some down to Krystal, and the peanut butter was to amend that. And, like a dog, Krystal had taken to the treat with gusto, unashamedly licking it.
Miyu sighed. "What have I told you about eating ice cream, Caenda?" she asked disapprovingly, frowning down at her.
"Aww, mom—" the halfling whined, trying to look innocent.
"Enough is enough, little one," Raye interrupted. "Listen to your mother."
"But you said—?"
"Once in a while is fine, little one," he said, nuzzling his little girl's head, "But not all the time."
Miyu beamed at him and was rewarded with a wink. "Now, Caenda," she said, pushing her chair back. "It is time for you to go to bed. Mrs. Johnson was right to send you back—Raye, will you put Krystal to sleep?" she asked him, nodding at the parlor. Before he could respond, their girl chimed in.
"You should have seen Timmy, mommy! He tamed Kryssy!" Caenda said excitedly. "She allowed me to touch her without growling once!"
Raye lifted up his eyebrows, recalling what Cadfael had told him. "Well, that is something," he said appreciatively. "Good man, that one is." He motioned to Miyu, who nodded. She hoisted up Caenda, leaned over for Raye to kiss her goodnight—the halfling was falling sleep even as he touched her—and then trotted off. He watched them go with a smile on his face. Cadfael was right, he thought, say you're sorry, and everything will be all right. Much more than merely "saying sorry"—an apology straight from the heart.
He went into the parlor. There, curled up without a care in the world, slept Krystal, her brown tail touching her nose. Flecks of peanut butter were visible on her muzzle—but other than that, she was asleep. Unconsciously he smiled, faintly, went over and picked up the sleeping fuzzball. Krystal did not even move. For a moment Raye looked at her, wondering if there was really something more in her than that which met the eye. Then, shrugging, he carried her over to the couch—a blue colored one, looking otherwise identical to the one in the Johnson cabin—and laid her down; and placed a blanket he took from the back of the sofa on her. She looked so peaceful it was hard to remember she had been a murderer.
Perhaps Cadfael was right, he thought soberly, watching her lithe body move with each breath she took. Maybe I should let up on her. It had been nearly two years since he'd last seen her, lying helplessly at the feet of the Erinyes, punished and defeated. True, discipline was needed—but any more than that would be cruel. He remembered to thank his instructor, and resolved in the same instant to seek out Timothy, in the morning.
Turning, he left the room. He and Miyu had not shown each other much affection during the time aboard the Silmarilli, most noticeably in the marriage bed. Tonight he was determined to make up to her for everything—and, perhaps a new life might be made in the process.
Behind him Krystal in dreamland remembered a soft hand on her back and the love which had been given her.
~X~X~X~X~X~X~
~X~X~X~X~X~X~
A/N: The story Maedhros told Miyu is true. Go to your local library (or if you own one), grab The Silmarillion, turn to chapter six "Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor", and read how it happened. (Keywords, Fëanor and Finwë.) Or look it up online—there is a free version.
Also, when I wrote Cadfael saying "You were meant to be the Raye who loved Miyu", I thought of Gandalf saying in the same instant, "Behind that there was something else at work, beyond any design of the Ring-maker. I can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker. In which case you also were meant to have it. And that may be an encouraging thought." You are free to think of it in the same tone of voice.
Yes, sue me for putting the Tolkien legendarium in here. I like crossovers—no matter if they are in the "Crossover" section or not. Hehehehe...
Anyway, your thoughts and opinions are welcome and I value your critiques. This will be the last of me you see for a long while, so make them count.
Cheerio!