Chapter Nine: The Sum of Ourselves

The icy rain poured down around her, turning the spongy turf into moist, cold, brown mud. Her ragged clothes were spattered with it, and they stuck to her skin, as the damp chill threatened to seep into every pore of her body. She shivered and her breath steamed in the gray air, but the cold didn't matter. All of the world: everything she ever hoped for, every happy moment, every fear, every dream, every joy, all of it was gone. Nothing mattered anymore.

What have I done?

She wanted to believe that she did what she had to, but she simply couldn't. Her conscience wouldn't allow it. For so long, she had walled her heart away, wanting to feel nothing, afraid to feel anything. She even had believed that she wouldn't feel anything at all. She was overwhelmed by indescribable shame, and self loathing. There was no going back now, no undoing what she had done, even though she suddenly wished with all her heart and soul that she could.

What was left of the walls around her heart crumbled into dust in a moment. The moment that she knew that she would regret forever.

It was too late. She had made a choice, and Duncan was dead.

It was an eternity before she saw the man who was staring at her. They stood there, motionless, staring at each other through the freezing gray curtain of misty rain.

He was young, very young.

He can't be more than seventeen, from the southern provinces of Kadish.

Like so many other Kadashmen, he had the olive complexion, black hair, and strange piercing blue gray eyes. Those eyes studied her with a harsh, puzzled, almost sad expression. He reminded her of Rahmoud, and the tears started to flow. She had to look away.

The world spun in a fiery white daze of pain, and she was face first on the long grass and mud. He had backhanded her. She felt numb, distant. The pain barely registered, but her teeth had cut the inside of her cheek. The coppery taste of blood was on her tongue.

He grabbed a handful of her hair, and painfully jerked her head up. She had to grab his arm to prevent him from pulling it out by the roots as he hauled her forcefully to her knees.

She didn't really care. She decided to stop fighting it. Fate had taken her home, her memories, her sense of herself, and now at last, her soul. She was tired. Tired of all of it.

All that she had wanted now was release. She wanted everything to just stop. She wanted an end. Her only wish for so long had always been simply to be certain of herself, of who she really was. Now it didn't matter, because she hated herself. Whoever she was, now her conscience wanted justice, and an end to the guilt. She wanted to let this happen.

Forgive me, Father.

The words appeared in her mind of their own accord, and she knew they, like the guilt, came from some part of herself that was long forgotten. She drew in what would be her last breath. She trembled as she waited for the moment of sharp pain that would be the last sensation she would ever feel.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, each beat feeling like an eternity. It beat again, then a third time.

What was he waiting for?

She opened her eyes, and looked up into the face of her executioner. He was standing there, paused in mid swing, a tenth of a second from the killing blow. Duncan's men were ringed around her, and all of them were frozen in time.

Her breath exploded from her lungs into a white cloud. The sound made her jump in surprise. She hadn't even realized she had been holding it.

It was so quiet, and so cold.

She hugged herself for warmth, but she began to shiver violently and her teeth chattered. Every breath was felt like a thousand tiny daggers stabbing her lungs. It was so cold! Far worse than the rain or storm could have ever been. She knew what it was. She had felt its touch ever so briefly once before, a long time ago.

It was the touch of death.

What is this?

The world was eclipsed in a fog that obscured her vision to a short distance beyond the circle of soldiers. He emerged from the mist without a sound.

Dungeon Master stood still in front of her, unaffected by the cold, but he had aged visibly since she had last seen him. He was still blind, trembling as he walked slowly toward her, using his staff to guide his way. He looked so frail that he might have blown away with a strong wind, but the sense of his presence, his power, was undeniable, stronger than ever.

In spite of everything, she suddenly wanted to rush over and hug him, to tell him what happened. She wanted him to tell her that something could be done to set the world right again.

She froze. He can see!

His large blue eyes were stern, even hard, but the expression on his careworn face was one of such sorrow that she was stunned into a shamed silence. She could see the tears as they streamed down his face. He didn't have to say anything.

He knows.

He knew what she had done, and he was ashamed of her. After all that had happened between them, his opinion of her shouldn't matter, but it did.

It did.

She bowed her head, and remained kneeling there in the cold, wet grass, unable to look him in the face. His appearance and her sudden reprieve meant nothing. All that she could feel was that shame, so intense and so painful that she couldn't bear to look at him.

"Hello, Sheila," he said.

Sheila. He always called her by that name, but Sheila belonged to another world. She knew that was who she was supposed to be. Dungeon Master and Presto had told her that she was Sheila, but even though she had so many of Sheila's memories, she wasn't entirely convinced she had ever been the person they described.

She couldn't think of what to say, so she simply answered weakly in a voice that sounded as if it had no real will of its own anymore.

"Don't call me by that name," she begged him. It was more out of reflex, than anything else. It was an old litany in any conversation between them, the words spoken so often that they had actually lost their meaning.

Please don't call me by that name. It hurt too much. That name forced her conscience back into the light. That name forced her to face what she had done.

Please, don't.

"It is who you are," he said. His voice sounded old, quarrelsome, and tired.

She felt anger creep into her voice, giving her the courage to look at him instead of away. "No, it isn't. She's gone. I'm all that's left. You lied to me. What happened to me didn't take my memories. You did."

He didn't answer. She had suspected it for a long time. She wanted to hear him deny the unspoken question. "It's true, isn't it?" she pressed him, surprised at her own nerve. She had finally asked, and now she wasn't sure she wanted an answer.

"It was a terrible thing, that wounded both of us," he admitted at last. "I did as I thought best, what I had to do. You are still Sheila, in your heart and soul. Memories aren't the entire sum of ourselves."

"And that made it right?" she demanded. Hearing him admit it hurt, but it also made her furious.

"No, it does not," he said quietly, "but I meant no ill. That is no consolation, but it is all that I can offer you. I won't ask for your forgiveness. I do not deserve it." He paused. "You attacked Duncan," he said.

It was a statement, but it felt more like a counter accusation.

"I had to! I had to protect Bobby!" she fired back, suddenly unsure of herself.

"You wouldn't even trust him with the truth," the old man said flatly. "Like yourself, if I am guilty of lies, they are lies of omission. We all keep secrets, hoping to protect ourselves, and to protect the ones we love. You should trust your brother as he trusts you. He's not a boy any longer, but a man."

He is lecturing me, about truth and trust, after what he did?

"He's my little brother!"

"So you would do this again?" Dungeon Master asked her, staring at her with those eyes, as if he could see into her soul.

"YES!"

"Really listen to your heart. Do you truly believe what you are saying?"

She stopped herself just as she opened her mouth. He was right. She didn't believe it.

"No," she whispered softly, "I am so sorry. I wish I hadn't done it. I may not be the same person he loves so much, but I'd give my life for him."

"You were my pupil once," he hissed at her angrily. "I have never been so disappointed, never so ashamed. Do you even realize what you have set into motion?" he demanded. "No?" he asked, not waiting or caring for an answer. " Someday soon, you will."

Dungeon Master's voice had become as cold as the mist, and his face was stone. He had never been so bitter. Every word stung her to the soul like a lash. She couldn't help but flinch. He shook his head. "Yet, something of that girl remains in you. Your love for your brother and that regret still give me hope. "

Sheila! Nnnnoooo!

She heard Bobby's voice as clearly as if he was standing next to her. The desperation and fear in his voice actually caused her pain. Her brother was reaching out to her. He was in terrible danger.

"Bobby?" she whispered.

Everything inside of her that was still Sheila wanted to run, to find Bobby, to keep him safe, but she couldn't move. Dungeon Master's iron gaze held her fast.

"His fate rests with you. You are the last hope. There is no going back. The past cannot be undone. Fate cannot be stopped, but you may still be able to change its course. Go to the Valley of the Unicorns. Find the Eye of Merlin."

Then as suddenly as he appeared, he was gone.

There was no time to think. Her body moved of its own accord. She rolled to one side, barely avoiding the axe that would have finally set her free. She was to her feet in an instant, as she pulled the hood of her Cloak over her head.

Duncan's men stared at the empty space she had occupied for only one long second of surprise, but it was enough.

They swung at their swords at nothing. She shoved her way between two of them before the shock wore off and they realized what had actually happened. They couldn't stop her as they stumbled back in surprise. She wouldn't let them.

She ran. She ran as fast as she could, not thinking, not caring about the men who had just tried to kill her moments before, or the fact that she had actually wanted them to.

How Bobby had accomplished it, she didn't know, but it didn't matter. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her lungs burned, but she couldn't stop. She wouldn't.

For a few moments in the long span of her life, empty despair had been all she thought she had left. It wasn't true. Bobby had snapped her out of the guilt driven daze. He was her reason for living. He always had been. Bobby meant more to her than her own life. She couldn't let anything happen to him. He was why she refused to give up.

No! I have to save him! I have to get him safely home!

She stumbled and fell to her knees. Ignoring the pain as if it didn't exist, she dragged herself to her feet again. She managed to run a short distance further, before she stumbled again. No matter how hard she tried, how stubborn her will, she couldn't rise from her knees.

She pulled down the hood, so she could see herself as her left hand went to her abdomen. She stared at her hand. The rain washed the warm crimson blood between her fingers.

The swords hadn't missed her, after all.

"Don't make him suffer for my mistakes! Help me! Please! Not Bobby!" she screamed at the storm. Somehow, the old man was responsible for her brother's call. The lightning cracked again, as the world began to spin. She collapsed forward. She no longer had any strength, as her life leaked out between her fingers.

"Spare him. Take me..." she whispered weakly. "I'm so sorry...not Bobby..."

She blinked. The rain no longer stung her face. She couldn't feel her body any longer, and she closed her eyes. She was cold and drowsy. The pain faded away, and she felt herself begin to drift. All she wanted to do was go to sleep.

She felt the fire build in her chest, waking her up, and driving the cold away.


"Master, we must hurry," it said urgently. Shadow Demon was seldom this insistent, but it knew that he would be displeased if his plans failed. It was afraid that he would blame it if they did not arrive in time.

Duncan was lying on his pallet.

He was unconscious and alive, but barely. The wound he had suffered from a bolt had almost killed him outright. It was plain to see that the wound was mortal. His breathing had a pronounced gurgle. Soon he would die, unable to breathe at all. It was only good fortune, and a testament to the man's strength of will that he was still living at all.

There was still time, if he wasn't too weak. Venger stepped forward, but then stopped.

They weren't alone.

"Show yourself!" he growled.

Kareena faded in, rapidly gaining substance until she was no longer a transparent apparition, but almost flesh and blood.

He looked at her. She was much the same as she had been the last time he had seen her in life.

Even as a shade, she was no longer the sister, the hated rival, that he had known. After his defeat and entrapment by Sheila within the Ring of the Mind, Kareena had chosen inexplicably to ally herself with their father. Even though she had hated Dungeon Master more than he.

Even stranger yet, she had chosen to age, and had become a woman before her death.

Her long blond tresses fell freely about her shoulders, but she had their mother's face. She was pale and tall, a distant echo of their mother's memory. She wasn't wearing the customary red of their family colors, signifying her deliberate choice to reject her past. A choice to reject her family. Her shade was still wearing the same pale blue gown she had worn the day she had died.

"Do not do this, brother," she said sternly. "It is his time. Let him go."

He paused for only a moment. He wasn't sure if it was a demand or a plea, but his dead sister's desires meant less than nothing to him.

"Brother?" he asked curiously. "Am I your brother, sister? Am I speaking to Kareena or to Sheila? Can you even tell yourself?" he asked in a mocking tone. "You entwined your own soul with hers. Now you are as much her, as she is you. If you want his freedom, then help me!"

"No. I willingly served evil once...Never again," she said.

"You're a greater fool than our father! He served the Realm in ignorance of the truth, but you, you tasted power. You know, and you threw it all away! For what? Did you think you could become like her? That you would get a chance at redemption, thinking that our father would love you as he did her?"

Her eyes flashed, and he knew he had hit a nerve, dead or not.

"Or did you want to become her? Go ahead then! Reclaim your power! She is bound to you. Take her body for your own."

"You're mad!" she exclaimed.

"You know it can be done! Power is a necessary thing. Even in death, you can feel its call, as you struggle to keep it a bay! I know you can feel it," he said softly. "Your magic still lives within her, a part of you. You took a portion of her soul, and gave of yourself to willingly take her place in death. She is you and you are her. You could become her if that is your wish. You could be yourself, whole again."

"No!" Kareena lashed out at him.

The temptation to live again, the hunger to feel, to be flesh and blood, was palpable. He could see it in her eyes, no matter how much she denied it. She was so close to giving in.

Now that she was off balance, it was time to take a different tack. Venger smiled with false sympathy. Now, that she is wounded, it's time to turn the knife.

"Sister, haven't you sacrificed enough? You could have a new life. She nearly killed the man before you, the great-grandson of one of her dearest friends. She is no longer the girl you sought so hard to protect that you gave up your own life. She did what she did and suffers because she is not whole, because of you. You are the only one who can set her free. Let her go, mercifully, into death, and you can live again."

"I can't," she whimpered, backing away.

He held up a closed fist in the air between them, that glowed with his power. She didn't flinch and her expression didn't change. The dead feared nothing, because they thought they had nothing left to lose. She was wrong, and now she would finally learn.

"You will choose. Her life, or his soul." He smiled as he delivered the ultimatum. "Save yourself from an existence between life and death. Only then I will let Duncan die in peace."

Do it, little sister! Either way, I win!

"No." She stood straighter, and her voice steadied. "I won't. It's wrong. I had my life, and I made a choice. I don't have the right to another. Living or not, somehow, I will stop you."

"You? You are no more than a shade, still within the Realm only because you are bound to a living soul, only able to seen by those who knew you in life, connected to her! You have no power here," he said acidly. "So be it. You mean nothing! See for yourself!"

Her eyes widened as he cast the spell. She cringed in horror as Duncan's mortal form began to melt like wax, leaving only ivory bones, and battered armor. There was no sign of life, until the empty eye sockets ignited, bearing a burning red flame of hatred born of an indomitable and angry will.

"Arise!" he intoned formally, as the newly reborn skeleton warrior sat up.

Yes, he will do well. He has the magic of his ancestors.

"Venger! What have you done to me?" Duncan demanded in a hollow, rasping voice, as he stood.

"I have saved you from oblivion, to serve me."

"I am no slave, sorcerer!" the skeleton howled, daring to reach forward and seize a handful of robes.

"Release me," Venger said calmly, and he clinched a fist. Duncan let go, and fell to his knees. The spell, designed to torture his minions, inflicted excruciating pain, even upon the undead. Duncan would suffer for his insolence.

"Enough!" Kareena begged him, after mere moments. Venger let Duncan go.

"Duncan," Venger down looked at him. "I am not your enemy. I will help you will gain revenge on the one who tried to kill you."

"Why? Why would you do this to me, then claim to help me?" Duncan's rasping voice was filled with impetuous hatred and rage, but Venger let that pass for now. Such things were useful, and breaking Duncan's will completely would make him worthless.

Perhaps later, after he was no longer useful.

"In this form, you are stronger. She cannot easily try to kill you again. After she is dead, I will release the spell."

Duncan stood slowly.

"She? You know who tried to kill me?"

Good. Very good.

"She was once one of Dungeon Master's many pupils. She is a thief and assassin, sent to protect the Barbarian and his friends."

"How could he know our plans?"

"My spells protected you from being seen by magic. There is only one way. One of your men must have told her how to find you."

"That is not possible. My men are loyal."

"Your men are dead."

Duncan rushed past him out of the tent.

Venger knew what he would see as he followed Duncan out of the tent. He would see the bodies of his men, slaughtered. The assassins had done their job well before Venger had disposed of them. They had failed to kill the Barbarian and his friends once, but they had rendered one useful service.

Duncan was kneeling on the ground, holding the body of one of his men.

"No," Kareena whispered quietly. She had followed them, walking as if she were still living. She actually started weeping. Duncan couldn't see or hear her, and Venger resisted the temptation to laugh. Blending her soul with Sheila's had made her sickeningly compassionate, but her presence gave him an inspiration.

Venger reached placed a hand on Duncan's shoulder.

"This is a war," he said quietly. "Men die. There is no time to honor him. The only thing you can do for him now is exact revenge."

"Leave me!" Duncan growled, shaking off his hand.

"For a moment only," Venger answered, as he moved to reenter the tent. "We must go. Dungeon Master's agents know where we are."

He managed not to laugh, but once out of sight, it was impossible not to smile. Kareena said nothing, but looked at him with an expression of horror and loathing. The sister he remembered would have approved. She had always preferred subtle manipulation. Now, she was so pathetic.

"You've become a coward," he told her in a low voice. "Her soul has tainted yours. You've weakened her, and I can crush what remains of her spirit whenever I choose. She hasn't the strength to resist me. Your refusal to help me only condemns her to her fate. They will all die, because of her."

He stared at her harshly and twisted his mouth into a satisfied sneer.

"Because of you. Even now, knowingly or not, she already serves me well."

He held up the locket. The look of shock on Kareena's face was more than enough reward for the day's efforts.

"You can't help her. Dungeon Master couldn't help her. She is mine," he said emphatically, "and now because of her, Duncan will serve me."

"Brother, be wary. Day by day, you march forward to your own doom," Kareena whispered, empty and despairing.

He smiled viciously at her as she vanished.

Kareena's platitudes were worth even less than their father's had been. Their father was dead, and forever beyond his reach, so his favorite pupils would suffer in his stead. Especially her.

Sheila would never allow her brother to be harmed, but she would have never tried to kill Duncan before Kareena gave the girl a part of herself. Now, he knew her, he knew his sister, all too well. His plan to use Sheila against Duncan had worked out even better than he could have ever dreamed.

The pupils of Dungeon Master would destroy each other, and provide him with everything he had ever needed in the process.

He left the tent to rejoin Duncan.

There was only one detail left, that a simple polymorph spell and the convenient placement of this necklace would rectify. For now, everyone, especially Sheila and the Barbarian, would have to believe that Duncan had died here, that she had killed him. There must be no doubt.

Soon, everything would be ready.


It took her longer that she expected to find Bobby and the others in the dark. As she stumbled toward the warm light of their campfire, she took the risk of reaching out toward them. As her senses swept over their camp, she felt fear and worry. Bobby was very upset, but he was all right. She sighed in relief.

Thank heavens, they're all right.

While she had been healing, she hadn't been able to mask their presence from Venger or anyone else.

Kareena's spell had never been removed. It was still strong enough to heal her when she needed it, but every time it did, it weakened her, and left her recent memories jumbled. The side effects had lessened over time, but everything after last night was lost in a haze. She was so tired that she was barely able to put one foot in front of the other.

Eric was standing guard in the shadows, a dozen yards directly ahead, trying to be silent as he stood guard. He didn't know she was there yet. For only a moment, she was tempted to slip past him, but she discarded the idea.

"Eric," she called quietly. She didn't want to shout, and startle him. He didn't answer. "Eric!" she said a little louder.

She heard him move toward her, trying to be stealthy. As if you can sneak about in plate mail!

"Sheila?" his voice came out of the dark, nervous and uncertain. She almost expected to see the boy she remembered, not the man he was now as she came close enough for him to see her in the faint moonlight.

"Yes, it's just me."

"What's the matter with you? You worried everyone to death, especially Bobby," he said irritably, "sneaking off like that. Where have you been all this time?"

"I...was scouting ahead. Making sure we were safe," she said finally. "I wasn't able to get back until now."

She hated herself for lying, but what was she going to say? I can't even remember how long I've been gone. She didn't know how she was going to explain her absence, but at least she would be able to remember something eventually.

Something was very wrong.

She could hear it in Eric's voice. He was exhausted, angry, and...afraid. He didn't put away the sword he was holding, but walked with her back to their campsite.

"She's back," he called out to the others.

He's afraid of me? Why in all the Realm would he be afraid of me?

As her eyes adjusted to the light of the small campfire, she noticed that the others were nowhere to be seen. Only Diana was within the fire's light. The Acrobat was stirring the contents of a small iron pot over the flames, paying no attention to her or Eric. The silence was eerie, and uncomfortable.

"Where is everyone?" she asked finally.

Where are Hank, Bobby and Terri?

Diana looked up, and she didn't need to use magic to see something between fear and disgust on the face of her oldest friend. Suddenly, Hank stepped out of the dark, and grabbed her arm. She tried, but couldn't pull away.

"Hank, let go of my arm. You're hurting me," she said in surprise, more than pain.

"Take off the Cloak, Sheila," he told her. Hank's voice actually startled her, and she jumped. If it wasn't for the fact that she had been looking at him when he said it, she wouldn't have recognized his voice at all. It was strained, cold, and scared to death.

She had never seen him like this. Hank's warm blue eyes were now as cold as winter. He'd never looked at her like that before, as if she was someone else. He was looking at her as if she was an enemy.

"Take it off," Hank repeated, squeezing harder. "Please," he said softly, almost a whisper. His eyes were no longer cold. They suddenly were pleading with her, and she couldn't refuse.

She unhooked the clasp, and pushed it off her shoulders, and let it fall.

It was difficult, seeing him, Bobby, and the others so much older than she remembered, so changed. Their eyes were still the same, and that fact made seeing them again easier to accept. In their eyes, she could see the friends, the family, that she knew and loved. It was also painful, because she knew that they saw only what they wanted to see in her. Right now, she wondered if she too had been blind.

Did I see only what I wanted to see?

Eric picked it up, and passed it to Diana, who pressed one corner of the Cloak against a piece of cloth she held in the opposite hand. As soon as they touched, they flowed together until they were whole, seamless.

Diana was silently crying, but she nodded to someone behind her in the dark.

Bobby stepped into light. He didn't look well, and Terri was holding onto his right arm. Bobby's eyes were as cold was Hank's, and his face was a mask. It was utterly calm, devoid of any feeling at all, but she knew him well enough to see the terrible pain just beneath the surface.

He looked at her once, and then shook his head. "Sister or not, I don't know you anymore," he said, as he looked at the locket in the firelight.