La Ra Everlasting Frost
Chapter 21 – Shelter
Me
Hitomi opened one eye. She closed it and opened the other eye. She opened both at once. Reality check. Ceiling in the air. Walls holding it up. Floor under it. Body between the ceiling and the floor. The sky is blue, and two plus two still seems to make four. Okay, everything is all right. Reality check says reality is in place. And, even better, it seemed to be the same reality which she had vacated when she had fainted.
She had fainted again. Hitomi rolled her eyes with a soft sigh, sitting up. She was very happy that her talents were getting stronger, but these blackouts were a rather nasty side effect. And the visions—they just felt a little too…close.
Hitomi pocketed the tarot cards stacked on her bedside table. She hadn't been changed out of her clothes, so she couldn't have been out for too long. It was still daylight. Unless she had been out for a whole day—but it didn't really matter.
She was a little annoyed at Millerna for leaving her alone. She had been doing a tarot reading for Millerna, after all, the least the princess could have done was have someone in the room to keep an eye on her. What if she had fallen into a coma or something? Hitomi didn't know anything about those soldiers Millerna was in contact with!
Well, she would have noticed if it'd been days and I still hadn't woken up, Hitomi conceded. But still, I'll bet Allen would have stayed with me, if he wasn't locked up in the dungeon.
She put her feet in her shoes, adjusted her clothes, and left her room with a feeling of pride that she had become used to these odd situations so well.
Millerna…Millerna…come on, where are you, Millerna? I want to know what's going on with the soldiers you were going to help out. Come on, Millerna, where are you? This palace is huge, don't make me search the whole thing!
"Oh, Hitomi!" Millerna flung open a door behind Hitomi and veritably bounced into the hallway. "I have wonderful news!"
Hitomi brightened. They could certainly use some wonderful news. "What is it?"
Millerna ushered Hitomi into the room she had just bounced out of. Allen and Van looked up at her. Well, banzai! Good news personified!
"Van!" Hitomi exclaimed, "Allen! You're free!" Allen nodded.
"With no small thanks to our good Princess."
Hitomi couldn't stop looking back and forth between the three, even though it made her neck hurt. "This is great! What happened?"
"Zaibach found their missing soldier," Van explained. "He would have been the one who led the attack against Fanelia, but he denies it. I don't believe him."
"Either way," Allen interrupted smoothly, "this Dilandau Albatou also denies that we ever attacked the Vione, so King Aston has set us free."
"He's done us a huge favor," Van glowered, "whether he realizes it or not, and I can't avenge Fanelia with things as they are. I owe him." Clearly, the young king was upset, torn between two honors, and Hitomi couldn't really blame him for being in a bad mood.
"So…what now?" she ventured.
"That all depends on Zaibach's next move," Allen explained. "We need to keep a close eye on them now that they have their missing soldier back."
"They have plans for him," Van interjected. "Big plans, but we can't do anything until we know what they are."
"Eries is continuing my correspondence with the Zaibach soldiers," Millerna added, sitting and smoothing her skirt. "She's had more experience with these things." The childlike excitement from a few moments earlier was gone, replaced with cool control. For the first time, Hitomi had no trouble believing that she really was a princess. "These Dragon Slayers have already demonstrated that they're more loyal to their commander than to their country. They may be a valuable source of information." Allen and Van nodded their agreement.
"I've been thinking, Van," Hitomi announced.
"About what?"
"About Fanelia."
"Do tell."
"What if Zaibach didn't mean to attack Fanelia?"
Van started, a look of disgust plastered across his face. "what are you talking about? You don't just accidentally burn a country to the ground!"
"That's not what I mean," Hitomi retorted, her cheeks growing hot. "I mean, what if they were fighting something else, and it just sort of happened to be in Fanelia?"
Van frowned. "What, a runaway criminal or something? Fanelia's treaties didn't allow other countries to do that sort of thing in our borders."
"The floating fortress," Allen said slowly. "It was covered in ice when we came to find you. In the middle of summer."
"I've been getting a bad feeling lately," Hitomi continued. "Something bad is coming, and I don't know if it's Zaibach, or something else."
"Why don't you just ask the Zaibach soldier?"
They all looked up at Eries, who stood in the doorway, one hand on the door's handle, and official-looking letter held up in the other.
Arias stared at his face in the polished surface of the door. He hardly recognized himself, and that wasn't just because he had never seen his face in something more reflective than water before. He had taken a bath, a real bath, with soap and towels, and stripped off all the layers of dirt that he had accumulated. A maid had come to him with a comb, sat him down in a chair, and worked all the knots and tangles out of his hair in that special painless way that only women could seem to manage. He had comfortable clothes of a nice, soft fabric, and shoes.
But he didn't have Calantha. He would have traded the bath and the shoes in a heartbeat to have her back again—but, of course, he didn't have a choice about that.
He lifted a hand and knocked on the door. After a moment he heard a click, and he knew that he could enter. He slid the door open and limped into Folken's bedroom.
The Strategos looked busy to Arias—he had stacks of papers on his desk, and those two cat-women were perched cross-legged on his bed with more. But, he had told Arias to come here 'once he was situated'. Shays hadn't know what Folken wanted of him.
Arias hoped that Folken would put him to work. He wanted to show his gratitude to Folken for getting them all out of that awful snowstorm. He wanted to make himself useful.
"You wanted to see me, Master?" he asked, shutting the door behind him and scraping his hair back out of his face. It had gotten clean, but not cut. Folken looked him up and down, and by his smile, Arias assumed that he must approve of what he saw.
"Arias, good." Folken pushed aside the paper that he was perusing. "How are Mother and Shays and Jay today?"
"They're good," Arias answered. "Mistress Jay has been doing a lot better since we got here." Folken frowned slightly. "Jay, I mean," he corrected. Folken had been most insistent that Arias should not refer to them by their titles anymore. 'They no longer have power over you,' he had said. 'You're a citizen of Zaibach just like them.' "Lady Anna has been spending a lot of time with—" he had to search for the name "—the one named Chesta, to learn about this country, and she tells us what she learns." It was all right to call her 'Lady', Folken had said, because she was older than him, and it was good to show respect to your elders. Mistress Anna was kind and had earned his respect, Folken had said, but Shays had not, and Jay couldn't understand the concept of titles. Arias found it all very confusing.
"Give me something to do," he blurted out. "Everyone else here has a job to do. I want to be useful, too!" He wasn't sure how to address Folken anymore. Folken had said that it was proper to call him 'Lord', like Anna, or 'Strategos'. What was a Strategos?
Folken nodded. "That's why I've called you here," he said, and Arias sighed with relief.
"What should I do?"
Folken looked to the two cat-girls. "Naria?" he said. The silver cat-woman stood, setting aside her papers. She spun smoothly, and before Arias could move, her heel slammed into his leg. He heard the sickening snap of bone, and he cried out in pain, falling to the floor.
"Master?" Arias asked softly. What had he done? Had he made Folken mad?
He felt the Strategos's organic hand grip his shoulder. "Don't move," Folken told him, and Arias obligingly froze.
The cat-women were dragging something out from beneath Folken's bed, two poles—a stretcher?
"Make sure that it's done properly this time," Folken told the cat-women, helping Arias onto the stretcher. Arias stared at the ceiling, confused and hurt.
Folken's face appeared above him, smiling kindly. "Naria and Eriya are going to take you to get your leg fixed," he told Arias. "Correctly, this time. You won't limp anymore. There's nothing to be afraid of." Arias nodded. "And after the doctors have set it, Eriya is going to teach you to read."
To read!
Everything was so bright. Dilandau almost feared that he had begun to forget what colours looked like. He couldn't see anything but the white light, burning his eyes, and it had been that way for so long. He wanted to close his eyes against it, but they were already closed, and still it burned, oh, it burned! Why? Why had he been inflicted with this impossible malady? What had he done to deserve this?
He couldn't even find rest in his sleep. Sleep was cold, and bright, like sunlight reflecting off the snow. Or else it was hot, full of fire, which was even worse because it burned even hotter than the day's white light.
Yet, even more worrisome than that were the noises from his dreams. They had begun to accompany him through the day. Albatou! The fire would call, in a wavering voice that sounded vaguely female. Far more persistent now was the absurd little chant that his subconscious had surely pulled from his waking hours. La, ra, la, ra…
Damn that little wretch! his dream-self would always think.
Dilandau's fingers worked nervously at a loose thread in the corner of his pillow; he could feel feathers falling into his lap as the string pulled free. La, ra, came the faint echo in his waking mind as the light burned. La, ra, la, ra, la, RA!
Dilandau shrieked and hurled the ruined pillow across the room.
Folken ducked as the pillow sailed over his head, trailing feathers. It smacked into the wall with a discontented foof, exhaling the rest of its contents, and plopped to the floor. "Dilandau?" he ventured.
"I think it was a mistake to bring Jay here," Shays said, pushing his sister behind him.
"She wanted to see him, not you," Folken pointed out, "and I think it would do him good to have visitors."
"I want to see Dilandau!" Jay insisted behind Shays. Her speech had continued to improve ever since she had come to the Vione. Shays inclined his head toward Dilandau, who was crouched on his bed as though ready to spring.
"I'm not certain he wants to see you."
"Dilandau," Folken said firmly, "lay back down. You're not well. What's wrong?"
"Damn right I'm not well!" Dilandau spat, his voice carrying a note of hysteria. "What's that woman doing here?"
"She's come to pay you a visit," Folken repeated.
Dilandau knelt there, his hands on the foot of his bed, considering, or listening. Folken gave Jay a gentle nudge forward.
"I wouldn't just yet—" Shays started, but Jay reached out and patted Dilandau on the head.
Dilandau's hand whipped up and caught Jay's wrist. In another movement he had her straddled on the floor, his hands clenched around her neck. "Get out of my head, woman!" Dilandau shouted. "Get out of my head!"
Shays twitched a hand, and Dilandau's arms snapped to his sides. He flew across the room and would have smashed into the wall had Folken not intervened, lowering Dilandau gently to his bed. Jay scrambled to her feet to hide behind Shays, and Folken could see dark handprints on her neck. Burns, he realized, like Dilandau had dealt to Shays back in the Mystic Valley. But worse. He closed his eyes.
For some reason, Fate is very interested in you, Dilandau. I wonder why? Even more, he wondered why he had never noticed it before.
"You told me that you would get things under control, Folken," Shays said in a low voice. Jay dragged on his cloak, crying, trying to pull him toward the door. "Do you call this control? Do you really have that monster under control?"
"He isn't a monster," Folken quickly replied. Shays waved Jay off as she switched from his cloak to his sleeve.
"Get rid of her," Jay insisted, glaring at Dilandau. "I don't like her!"
"That's not a woman, Jay, and you wanted to visit him just a moment ago."
"I don't like her anymore!"
Dilandau had not moved since Folken set him down. Folken moved to the young man's side. He was trembling, his muscles stiff. Folken untied the soft blindfold, and beneath his red eyes were wide, the pupils shrunk to pinpricks.
"I want both of you out," Folken said. They weren't helping anything. Neither Shays nor Jay moved, but he didn't have the time to fight with them right now. He rested his fingertips on Dilandau's forehead, and paused.
There were consequences for tampering too frequently with destiny. Even the most skilled dancer would make a false step eventually, and he had been dancing quite a lot lately.
"I'm back in Zaibach," Folken said to himself. "Here, we can do anything without that risk." He took Dilandau's wrist in his hand instead, and the soldier's pulse was racing.
"Dilandau," Folken said firmly, "can you hear me?"
Dilandau's eyes relaxed, his limbs going slack. He sat up suddenly. "Alone!" he gasped, slapping a hand over his mouth as though he would vomit. He slumped to the side, and would have fallen out of bed if Folken had not caught him and laid him down.
"Dilandau." Folken shook his shoulder. "Dilandau?" Nothing. Pulse? Fast, but acceptable. "Dilandau. Wake up, Dilandau."
"There's nothing wrong with him," Shays interrupted, still standing there by the wall. Jay alternated between glaring at Folken and at Dilandau, fidgeting and poking a finger at the burns on her neck. "I looked. He's fine."
"Clearly, he's not." But Folken couldn't think of an explanation for this strange behaviour, either. Did Dilandau have a history of madness in his family? Was some childhood trauma finally coming to the surface? He didn't know, he just didn't know enough about Dilandau. There were only four people with that sort of information about him—
Folken froze.
The Sorcerers had that sort of information. Only the Sorcerers. Even Dilandau didn't know where he had come from. As Strategos, Folken was privilege to all of the Sorcerers' research information, but they had become so defensive whenever he brought up Dilandau's past that he had dropped the subject, deciding that he would rather not know.
He could still get it. He could contact the Sorcerers, pull rank and demand a copy of all the data relating to Dilandau. They couldn't refuse him, and they kept organized files. But, could Dilandau afford the time for him to receive and process all that information?
Destiny said that there was nothing wrong with him, but clearly, Dilandau was not in a stable condition.
Folken leaned over and pressed a button on the wall, speaking to the air. "Girls?"
Naria's voice answered him, crackling slightly with static. "Yes, Lord Folken?"
"I need you to do something for me."
"Right away."
"I need you to contact Garufo. Tell him that Dilandau has fallen severely ill. Give him the Vione's coordinates."
A short scuffle and a shocked, muffled meow. "Are you sure about that, Lord Folken?" Eriya asked.
"Yes, I'm certain."
"Well, okay, then. We'll get them here as fast as we can."
"Thank you." Folken released the button. "Forgive me, Dilandau," he said softly. "I have to do something I promised you I would never do."
The Sorcerers arrived at the Vione in a matter of hours. They had already been en route to Palas on a matter for the Emperor, Garufo explained, but Folken was certain that they had been following the Vione in their small airship since their last encounter with Dilandau. Waiting for something to happen. For Folken to make a mistake. Well, finally, it had happened.
He shut Shays away while the Sorcerers were on board. If the Artisan had seen the destiny-ignorant men's cloaks, he would have had an apoplexy.
He had tried to accompany them while they took Dilandau on board their ship. Once Dilandau regained—well, maybe not consciousness, but lucidity—he would fly into a fit if he found the Sorcerers hovering over him. Garufo had downright refused to allow Folken aboard the airship. While he hadn't outright called Dilandau a hostage, he had implied it so explicitly that Folken had been forced to give up. Tangled in words and politics, he had nothing solid he could bring against the Sorcerers, and no way of knowing whether he had accidentally slipped a noose around Dilandau's neck—or his own.
The Sorcerers had, at least, agreed to keep their airship docked at the Vione unless it became clear that Dilandau could not be trusted here. The ship and fortress were tied together with strong steel cables, and Folken had palmed the key to the locks. They couldn't take Dilandau away without him knowing.
He tried to take some comfort in that. But, then, there were plenty of things that they could do to Dilandau right here.
He was unconscious, and yet he wasn't. That is, Dilandau was aware of rolling, lying down and rolling. He was aware that he was muttering, but his lips moved of their own accord, and he really had no idea what they were trying to say. They slurred it all together, at any rate.
Wings.
Dilandau would have sat bolt upright if he had not been strapped down. There! He had seen something just now, something besides the white light that obscured his vision.
"Folken," he heard himself say. Wings, Folken—where was Folken? He knew he wasn't moving of his own accord, but nobody answered him.
Sun.
There, he had seen something else, a flash of warm, yellow sunlight in the midst of the cold, white light. Was his vision returning to him?
He felt the straps that held him down fall away, and hands lifted him into the air. His Dragon Slayers? "Gatti?" he heard himself say. "Chesta? Dalet? Migel?"
The hands laid him down on cold, hard metal.
No Dalet. No Migel. They were dead.
Dilandau would have sworn that he saw a line of frost creep across his vision as his mind smashed back into his body.
"Tighter," Garufo instructed. Kuaru grunted and tugged harder on the leather strap. They'd already had to punch new holes to keep Dilandau's skinny limbs from slipping out. Too many, and the leather would start to lose its strength. He fastened the last of the buckles and gave the straps one final tug. They'd had no trouble getting Dilandau in, but all of them expected that to change. Already the albino had begun to strain against his bonds; his words were becoming clearer, if no more coherent. If he was going to rave, the least he could do was make sense about it!
Paruchi finished cleaning his spectacles on his sleeve, hooked them over his large ears, and peered at the unusual wound in the young soldier's shoulder. Foruma had removed the bandages and found them sticking to Dilandau's skin, but not by blood. No, the wound was quite clean, purple-tinged gashes that trailed down his arm. "Neither neat nor even," Kuaru noted. "Not likely made by a blade. The wound resembles scratches, perhaps by his own hand." He peered closer. "A very unusual infection." It looked like—but it couldn't be. Kuaru removed himself from the examining table to allow Garufo to lean in, and took the discarded bandages to another light. It couldn't be—but yes, it certainly looked like ice on the bandages. That made no sense, of course.
"Folken!" Dilandau yelped behind him, and he heard the leather creak. Yes, that was the spirit they had been expecting. "Where are you? Chesta?"
Of course, the Vione had been experiencing malfunctions in its temperature regulation systems. If Adelphos's reports were to be believed, the entire thing had frozen over!
"The alterations aren't holding," he heard Garufo announce with disgust. "We're going to have to take him back to the capital to repeat them."
Damn. That long trip, just for a bratty kid. For our Emperor's ideal future, Kuaru reminded himself. He turned around.
Dilandau had begun to thrash left and right, his unseeing eyes wide and unfocused. That had probably been the first sign that their alterations were beginning to unravel—the problem with his eyesight. It was a good thing that Folken had not caught on.
"Shall I put him under?" Foruma asked, moving to prepare a syringe. Dilandau's howling had picked up in volume, as though shouting louder would make them pay more attention to him.
"If we want to make this trip in peace," Garufo spat.
"No!" Dilandau shouted, the first time so far that his words had had any correlation to his surroundings. Or maybe it had just been a coincidence.
Foruma gripped Dilandau's arm, lining the needle up. Kuaru resisted the urge to put his fingers in his ears. Putting the boy to sleep would keep him from hurting himself, and save them a good bit of hassle.
"Get away!" Dilandau screamed.
"Do you hear something?" Paruchi asked. Foruma paused, the needle still in the air, and for some reason, Dilandau fell silent.
Scratch. Scratch. Like something raking at the door.
Foruma took the chance to insert the needle into Dilandau's arm. As the plunger went down, Dilandau's head lolled to the side. He had gnashed his lips, and blood mixed with saliva in a trickle down the side of his mouth—and something licked from between his parted teeth. Something bright.
Scratch. Scratch. Louder, faster. Scratch.
Frowning, Garufo turned Dilandau's face up. The young man sighed, and a tongue of flame burst from his mouth. Garufo shrieked and leapt back, and the door slid open, and something large and white barreled into the room with a roar.
Folken stared out of the bridge's window at the small airship that floated next to the Vione. Five hours, and he had heard nothing from the Sorcerers. They had agreed to report upon Dilandau's progress. They should know by now whether he would be all right, or if they would have to take him away. He had heard nothing. The sun had begun to sink, and the sky had begun to trade its blue for neon orange, and not a word.
The Dragon Slayers were getting anxious. He had spent little of those five hours on the bridge (he still had many things to take care of), but every time he came in, at least one of them was standing at the communications equipment. Usually it was two or three, at the moment, Gatti stood at his shoulder. The young man hadn't said a word.
This whole ordeal had to be terribly difficult for them. They had already lost Dalet and Migel to strangely horrific deaths; now they might be losing their leader—for the second time!
He was tempted to use Fate to look into the ship, to see what exactly was going on. I'm in Zaibach now, he reminded himself. Those who tampered with destiny too much would find that it eventually backfired.
He couldn't just stand here much longer, though. Something was wrong. Even without fate, he could feel it. It had been too long with no word.
"Too long," Gatti said softly, echoing Folken's thoughts. Folken nodded.
Viole shuffled up behind them, and Folken glanced back. The medical wing was certainly filling up fast lately. He had ordered Viole there this morning. The Dragon Slayer's eyes were glassy, his fingers and nose red and his skin pale, as though he had been standing outside in the cold. He had taken his armour off, and had a heated blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
"You should be in bed!" Gatti chided, taking Viole's elbow. Viole shook his head.
"Whatever is on the Vione, it's not happy. I heard it shouting," he told Folken, adjusting his blanket. "And its pets are angry, too," he added, but he smiled. "They've stormed off. I think they might leave us alone for a bit."
Folken pressed a hand against Viole's forehead. His skin was clammy and chill—still no fever, though he certainly seemed delirious. He had confessed to Folken that he had been hearing strange noises ever since Dalet's death, noises that no one else could hear. The Vione's doctors had attributed it to stress and ordered him to rest, but Folken was beginning to wonder if there wasn't more to it. If only he had the time to stop and examine Viole!
"I think it has something to do with Lord Dilandau," Viole added.
Dilandau.
Folken turned to Gatti. "Take him back to bed, and see that he stays there," he ordered. Gatti nodded, but Folken could see the unspoken question in his eyes. "I'm going to go get Dilandau."
Folken strode briskly into the hangar, where the Sorcerers' airship was still docked. They couldn't unlock the cables, he had the key, but they had given them slack so that the ship drifted out farter than any human could jump. The Sorcerers hadn't counted on finding anything but humans aboard the Vione.
Folken pulled off his cloak and tossed it to the floor. Shays would have had a fit. He spread his wings, and with one easy jump glided to the airship's door. The Sorcerers had locked it, of course. But, the mechanical lock was merely a safety precaution to keep anyone from falling out, not a security device. Sliding a needle from inside his finger, Folken picked it easily, and pulled the door open just enough for him to slip inside.
He folded in his wings and shoved the door shut again. Nothing seemed amiss inside the airship. In fact, it felt almost pleasant. The quiet hallways had a peaceful stillness to them, and Folken could only assume that the Sorcerers had put Dilandau to sleep. The air in the hallway was warm, unusually so, and the blue torches that lit it somehow lacked their cold luster. These altitudes usually kept air on the cool side.
Strange, but not ominously so.
Folken made his way carefully but quickly through the hallways to the heart of the ship, where Dilandau and the Sorcerers would surely be waiting. Still he heard nothing but his own footsteps, his own breath, and the air was getting warmer. Folken reached up to unfasten the hook that kept his collar shut.
Perhaps the gashes in the door ahead of him explained the silence. Deep scratches, their edges sharp and shining, rent into the metal door. Folken couldn't imagine what sort of creature could tear into metal—except, perhaps, for a dragon. But a dragon couldn't have gotten aboard the ship—or even fit into these hallways.
Folken steadied himself, rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, and threw open the door.
Warm air wafted out of the room, fluttering his hair. The lamps had gone out, but the ceiling had a skylight, and Folken's eyes took but a moment to adjust to the softer light.
His gaze fell first on the table in the center of the room. The thick leather straps hung in tatters over the metal edges. He smelled warm blood on the warm air.
Folken's eyes moved down to the floor and fell upon Garufo. At least, it had been Garufo, not very long ago. Something had torn out his throat, and blood still oozed from the wound. Kuaru, Paruchi, and Foruma, sprawled in other positions on the floor, had all met similar fates. They had been killed…and then, judging from the smears of blood on the floor, had been dragged and deposited against the wall. By what?
By the two white lions that were pacing the room, eyeing him with eyes of brilliant violet and gray. As they walked…around what?
Around Dilandau.
Dilandau lay huddled on the floor, his back to Folken, a white lioness curled protectively around him. From what Folken could see, he was not harmed—he was sleeping. He had blood on him, but it was not his own. The lioness licked at a smear of blood on his arm, cleaning it away. Dilandau's head rested on one great paw, his silvery hair mingling with her white fur.
The lioness ceased her careful ministrations, and lifted her vivid blue eyes to Folken's, and he realized that he was not afraid.
Folken released his grip on his sword and let his arm fall to his side. The two lions ceased to walk their protective circle and stood to flank the lioness and Dilandau, still watching Folken.
The lioness stared at Folken, unblinking. Then, with what seemed like a nod of recognition, she uncurled herself and stood. She nudged Dilandau into a more comfortable position on his back, nuzzling his cheek with motherly care. A soft growl to the two lions, and they padded toward Folken, slipping around him and loping away down the hallway. When Folken whirled around, they were gone, and when he looked back again, the lioness, too, had vanished.
The unusual warmth began to drift away from the room, and on the floor, Dilandau stirred. Folken knelt at his side, stepping around the puddles of blood on the floor. What had the Sorcerers done? Was he all right?
Dilandau lifted a hand, trailing his fingers along Folken's face. "Strategos," he said softly, and he sounded well, if tired. He sounded sane. He smiled, and he had blood on his dry and blistered lips. "I've had the most wonderful dream."
"What did you dream about?" Folken asked. Did Dilandau know what had just happened?
"I dreamed about a woman. She had golden hair and blue eyes, and she was very kind. We were in a field of flowers." Dilandau's arm dropped back to his side. "I think she was my mother."