Worlds of Blue and White
Part One: With Fingertips Touching
Chapter 7: Lying in Wait
When Jovey regained consciousness he was in an unfamiliar section of woods. He could hear running water nearby--a stream, coming off a small waterfall. He rubbed his eyes with his good hand, then gingerly raised himself to a sitting position. His gaze spun for a moment.
"You're awake."
He started, and glanced about in search of the source. "I was getting worried," the voice came again. He looked right, and there discovered Dilandau, perched on a large protruding tree root. The boy's hands were moving over the blade of Allen's sword, polishing it with a piece of fabric ripped from his pants. "You've lost a lot of blood, so eat up," he instructed.
Jovey discovered several ripe fruits--melons--set beside him. The husks had been cracked open already, so that he would be able to eat them one-handed. He nodded respectfully before indulging in their sweet flavor.
"I fixed your arm as best as I could," the boy went on. "You'll need stiches, probably, but it will hold well enough for now, as long as you don't move much."
"Thank you, sir." His fingers were still numb, but he could see that his wound had been cleaned and dressed with pieces of fresh cloth. His shirt, he realized. Dilandau-sama…cared this much about me. The thought stirred a strange feeling inside him; like pride, and relief.
Dilanday finished polishing and sheathed the sword. "I'm going back into the city," he declared. "To take care of something."
Jovey immediately stopped eating. "But you can't. The festival has probably started by now." He gestured to the orange hues of sunset fading in the west. "Van will be heavily guarded--and Allen will be with him. They'll be expecting you."
Dilandau raised an eyebrow, as if pleased that his former underling had read his intentions so easily. "Don't worry about me." He stood, adjusting the weapon on his hip. "I can handle Van." Something in his red eyes glinted; Jovey recognized it well. "By the way, is your Alseides operational?"
"It should be," Jovey replied quietly. "But it will probably be guarded, too. It doesn't have flamethrowers equipped, either, so it'll probably be better to attack Van on foot." He paused. "Sir, take me with you. Even though I'm injured, I can still be of some help."
But Dilandau shook his head. "You'll stay here. It's up to you to find us a way out of here once I'm through. We'll return to Zaibach, and have your arm fixed by real doctors."
"Then at least wait a little while," Jovey pleaded. "Until after the festival at least, and--"
"No." His red eyes sparked, then became unfocused. Were it possible, his face appeared even more pale than usual. "I'll end it. The Dragon will be mine, this time. You will do as I say."
Jovey stared, bewildered. His voice…changed somehow. As if he can see something. And though he's always been rash, he wouldn't usually risk so much, going alone.
There was no choice, really. He bowed his head, trusting in his master's decision. "Yes, Dilandau-sama. Good luck."
There was a ruffle of movement, and Jovey glanced up to see Dilandau crouched beside him. He had gained back his clarity, as his gaze was serious and intense. "You'll all I have left, Jovey Garrelli," he said quietly. "the others are gone. I'lll take good care of you, if you trust me."
"I trust you, Dilandau-sama," he answered immediately. "I won't let anything happen to you this time. Please, finish Van. For Chesta, and Gatti, and all the others."
Dilandau's eyes opened a little wider at the mentioning of those names. He nodded shortly. "I'm going now. When the time comes, you'll know what to do."
"Yes, sir."
He stood, and moved away. He didn't glance back as he slipped soundlessly into the forest.
--
Van's hands curled around the balcony rail. His eyes only partially absorbed the crowd far below--the festival was in full swing now, and every inch of the streets were packed with the lively people. They danced, sang, and ate happily in blissful celebration. He watched them all, and sighed. "Three years," he murmured. When he lowered his head, he felt the crown's weight heavily upon his brow. "We came this far in three years."
Standing beside him, Merle watched him with a worrisome expression. "He can't take it away again, Van-sama," she voiced his thoughts. "Not this time."
"I know. But he will come." Van's gaze swept over the buildings and streets, as if expecting to see flames erupt at any moment. "He's out there, waiting. He'll come for me."
"And you'll beat him," she assured. "You beat him before no problem, right? You'll do it again."
He nodded vaguely, then glanced over his shoulder. Allen was seated inside at a table, his elbows rest ing on the wood, head bowed and shoulders trembling. This has got to be so hard for him. I can't kill Dilandau--there has to be a way to save Celena from him. But then…dealing with Jovey may be even more difficult.
Merle followed his gaze, and sighed. "Allen-san will be okay."
"I know. That's not what I'm worried about. If we're going to defeat Dilandau, we'll have to change him back to Celena." The king sighed. "And even if we do, who knows if it'll be permanent? How can we prevent this from happening again? Can Celena live a normal life without being reminded of what she was?"
"She had until now," she pointed out. "If she goes home, she'll be okay, won't she?"
"I don't know for sure." Van lifted his head, gazing up at the glowing blue moon which shone above their valley. It's light that evening was splendid, even with the distant sun still clinging to its ownership of the horizon. To him it appeared as an invitation. Hitomi, if only you were here. You would know, wouldn't you? You were always there to help me.
Merle touched his shoulder to gain his attention. "She can't help you now," she told him gently. "She's living her own lif with her own problems."
"If she would only come back," he murmured, eyes and voice distant with fatigue and emotion. "Just for a moment, so that I could see her once more. Just a moment." His gaze dropped. "She could, if she really wanted to. Our feelings…surly they're that strong. But she hasn't tried, even once. She's perfectly happy in her world."
His companion winced sympathetically. "Van-sama…."
"Sometimes, I wonder exactly what happened back then," he went on, somewhat subdued. "I heard her voice…she told me she loved me…but when it was all over, she left without regrets. As if she'd never considered staying her, with me.
"I know it was the right choice--she belongs in her world, and I here, but…." He closed his eyes, picturing the moment in his mind: her smile, her tears, her farewell. "But if only I knew that she felt some remorse they way I do…if she cared for me the way I care for her…."
Van trailed off, and remained silent for some time. Merle could offer him no assurance or consolations. Her tail swayed back and forth helplessly. At long last she began, "Van-sama--"
"It's all right, Merle. I know. Even if I knew, things wouldn't change. So I should be happy--our country has been revived." He smiled at her. "Right?"
She sighed in exasperation. "Van-sama, what I was going to say way, why don't you go see her?"
Van's breath caught in his throat, and he turned to face her. "What do you mean?" he whispered.
"Go see her," she repeated cheerfully. "Just for a short visit, after the festival. I'm sure no one would mind--royalty travels all the time." She grinned with encouragement. "So why don't you? To see her again."
"I…." He looked away, as some part of him refused to believe that it could be that easy a solution. Before his mind could rearrange itself well enough to seriously consider her suggestion, a flash of movement in the crowd caught his eye. A moment later, it was gone.
"He's here." The king signaled to his guards; one scampered off to warn the others while the rest circled in close. "Merle, get Allen for me."
Merle's ears went limp, distressed that her suggestion had been so easily overturned. She nodded once and left the balcony. A moment later she returned with Allen in tow. "You say him?" the knight questioned anxiously.
"Just for a moment." Van set a hand on his sword hilt as they scanned the crowd together. "He'll either find a way up here or wait until we're out in the open. Either way, my men have orders to capture, not kill."
Allen nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Van. When he appears, I'll take him myself."
"All right. My men will help only if it's necessary."
Merle frowned thoughtfully. "He might not come if you're in plain view like this. Maybe we should move somewhere, to draw him out."
Van was somewhat surprised by her thinking; he would have thought she'd suggest that he hide in an iron safe. "You think so?" he tested.
"Well, I certainly wouldn't attack somewhat surrounded by guards and nearly half his kingdom," she declared. "If you want to catch him, you have to risk an opening." She crossed her arms. "I'm not a knight of a king, but even I know that much."
Allen regarded the cat girl with concern. "She's got a point," he murmured. "But it's risky. If we misjudge Dilandau's skill, we'll be placing Van in danger."
"I can beat Dilandau," Van assured. "My skills haven't diminished at all. I still remember his style. In fact," he added confidently, "It may be best if I fight him. You don't know his style of fighting like I do. I can beat him."
The knight's frown deepened. "But I've been training Celena all these years--her improvement is startling, even toi me. I'm not saying that Dilandau will remember any of that consciously, but his body should." He face the king seriously. "I'm not exaggerating when I say she has the potential to be as good as I am--she's nearly that skilled already. If you can force a melef match, you should be fine."
Van shook his head. "He'd definitely use the Alseides Jovey designed--it's got full flight capability. I don't want to risk him escaping." He didn't fight me at all--letting me handle Dilandau. But I suppose he wouldn't want to fight his own sister outright.
"You may be right."
The trio paused, considering their options as the guards looked on cautiously. Van absently fingered his pendant as if it could give him an answer. The smooth stone beneath his fingertips calmed him. How much are we willing to risk? That's the real question. His gaze turned to the crowd. He's probably out there, watching. Waiting for us to make a move.
Then he looked at Allen. There had been a time in his life when he'd very much envied the Heaven's Knight: his skill, his confidence, even his looks. Allen had always seemed to be the perfect man, having friends, and loved once who would adore him forever, and the power and elegance to deserve that devotion. An unattainable ideal.
But in looking at the man now, Van saw lines of pain creasing the knight's handsome face. He saw glove-covered fingers that were too tight with strain to be clenched, and trembling shoulders. And he saw his mouth--a pair of lips which held an experience he would be forever jealous of--pressed in a thin, strained line.
I wonder…did my face ever show that kind of despair so openly? Van could only stare, somewhat mystified, remembering how Allen had returned from the forest with his injured leg, tangled hair, and swelling bruises. Have I ever seen him this way? Why does it unnerve me so much?
Allen turned to look at him then, and something in his gaze startled him. He recognized those eyes: they were the same bright, pleading azure eyes that he'd seen in Celena the night before.
"…honestly believe in yourself…"
"I'll take the risk," Van said deftly. "I'll stop Dilandau, certainly, and get your sister back."
Allen stared back at him in bewilderment. "But how?"
He turned toward the crowd, letting his sight absorb everything he saw. My people…forgive me. This is for your sakes, too. Finally he spotted a tuft of white hair among the stands. Dilandau. The boy stood next to a small car that was selling bread. Even at that distance, Van could feel that he was being carefully studied. He focused all his mind and spirit into his posture and eyes.
I'm challenging you, Dilandau. Once more, to end it all.
Dilandau's figure stood a little straighter, and the king turned away from the balcony. "Come with me," he said loudly, moving inside.
"Wait--what's gong on?" Merle demanded. "Van-sama, you never tell me--"
"A duel. I'm going to make it our last." He strode quickly through his chambers, making his way to a hidden palace exit near the building's rear. Allen, Merle, and the guards followed anxiously. The men exchanged worried gazes.
"But where are we going?" the cat girl insisted. "How will he know?"
"He' know."
"But…." She turned her questioning stare on Allen, but he didn't notice. His eyes were set forward; his expression in stone.
--
Dilandau slid easily through the crowd, his palms itching. It would be easier to move if I killed a few people he thought. The rest would scatter. If they knew who I was, they'd have done so already. But he didn't act. The voice that spoke to him, though of his own tone and an example of his feelings, seemed to echo from some deep cave in his mind. He was detached from it. He felt the hot bodies pressing against him, and smelled the sweat and wine and cooking pastries, but the sensations were sluggish in reaching his brain. His body and his mind had distanced from each other.
It doesn't matter as long as I kill him.
He knew where Van was going--hero types like him always thought with sentiment. The site for their battle would be the shrine where Escaflowne slept. During the festival it would be empty, and large enough for a proper fight. Even if the place meant little to the leader of the Dragonslayers, he would go. To taste his enemy's blood, to reduce him to ashes, hew would go.
Dilandau reached the shrine before his prey. Quickly he moved inside, checking their battleground for the most suitable location. His boots--stolen from a farm house near the city's outskirts, as the shoes he'd had on previously were too small--clacked loudly in the open space. At last he positioned himself just to the west of the shrine's skylight, in hopes of gaining the advantage of the rising moon. There, he waited. His sword he held out and ready, his eyes focused on the shrine's only entrance.
--
Just after the sun had set Jovey grew restless. He began to pace, then stopped, as it was making him dizzy. Desperate for some activity he began fashioning his belt into a kind of sling for his arm. I still can't feel my fingers, he thought with a concerned frown. The nerves may have been completely severed. I'll probably regain some feeling eventually, but…. He sighed. Of course he left me behind. I'd just get in the way like this. But wouldn't he have waited? He was vomiting blood earlier.
Jovey took to his feet once more. "There's something wrong with him," he murmured as he moved aimlessly about the clearing. "His body…I'm sure when he was Celena he had a woman's body. But how?" Why would they do that to him, rather than simply kill him? It doesn't make sense.
Unwillingly, visions of Celena entered Jovey's mind. He remembered the first time he'd met her, her eyes gaping as she viewed the guymelefs. She had spoken to him innocently, like a child, but with passion and knowledge. In her eyes he'd seen the same spirit that was Dilandau's most guarded secret: a love of living, and loyalty. And even fear.
Celena…is she gone now? Was she ever real? Or…was she part of Dilandau, the part of himself he always hid from us?
Jovey sat down on a nearby tree root to think. Again impatience overtook him, and he stood. I can't just sit here. Whatever happened…it's still Dilandau-sama. I won't fail him again. Quickly, he started toward the city.
Worlds of Blue and White
Part One: With Fingertips Touching
Chapter 8: Pushing Limits
Van knew that his opponent was already inside. He could feel his skin prickling with the familiar presence, and suppressed a wave of anger. You can't lose yourself in this fight, he told himself firmly. Allen and Celena are depending on you. Focus on that. He took a deep breath and unsheathed his sword before entering the shrine.
Allen, Merle, and several guards followed. No one spoke, caught up in the tension of the upcoming battle. The interior of the shrine was dark except for streams of dull blue moonlight from the glass ceiling. And standing calmly in the center of that light, sword drawn and eyes gleaming was Dilandau Albatou.
"You certainly took your time," the white-haired youth declared, tapping the blade against his calm. "But I suppose as royalty you're entitled to that."
Van shed the outermost layers of his garb, leaving only the green trousers and short-sleeved cotton shirt. He stepped boldly into the circle of light. "I will fight you," he said evenly. "And win. Then you'll be able to find yourself."
He snorted. "Sure, whatever. Just come on already." Dilandau slid into a readied stance. "I've been looking forward to a good match."
Van hesitated uncertainly. That's one of Dilandau's old stances--there's a diagonal line across his body left open. He recalled what Allen had told him earlier. But I'll have to assume that he's as good as Allen now. I can't underestimate him.
The guards shifted nervously behind him. Van didn't risk a glance. "Don't try to interfere," he instructed. "Even if I'm killed, I'm sure Allen Shezar will avenge me."
Dilandau grinned widely in approval of such an outcome. "Well said, Van Fanel." Suddenly he charged, striking vertically. Van shifted his weight and blocked. Their blades clashed and slid until they were struggling hilt to hilt.
He's strong. Van allowed his sight to flicker to his opponent's eyes--a mistake. In those crimson orbs he discovered a deep, violent hunger; a hatred so pure that it was joy. They reminded him of the flashing, ancient eyes of the Dragons he'd fought in the past.
They broke apart. Immediately Dilandau attacked again, with even more force than in their last exchange. Van was pushed back a step before regaining his position. They fought back and forth, broke, then met once more. By then Dilandau had begun to laugh. It was a harsh, mad sound, like the screeching of melef gears. The king's skin prickled as he listened--it was making him nervous.
They broke once more, and Dilandau spun, clearly intending a counter attack. But something happened then that Van didn't expect. As his enemy came back around, his sword was gone from his right hand. The king faltered, and leapt backwards as a left-handed stab came at him. When did he…? The jump wasn't enough, and the tip of the sword bit into the base of his right shoulder. Dilandau laughed menacingly as Van stumbled and retreated.
"Van-sama!"
Van ignored Merle's distressed cry. He pressed his hand gingerly to the wound--it was only an inch deep, thanks to his quick movement, but it made his right arm sluggish. He adjusted his grip and stance. Damn; he's nearly as good with his left hand as his right.
"Van!" This time it was Allen. The tone in his voice was all Van needed to comprehend: that move had been taught to Dilandau by Celena's memories. Which means he might have more tricks up his sleeve. Come on; concentrate. He looked back to Dilandau, expecting to need a defense prepare, and was startled to see the youth fastidiously licking the kings blood from his sword tip.
Has…has he lost his mind? Dilandau lowered himself into a new stance and cackled. He's not even taunting anymore. He's gone mad. Van shivered beneath the youth's dangerous glare. He's going to kill you, his brain whispered. He won't stop until he has. Isn't there any way to save Celena now?
"Celena! Stop this!" Allen shouted abruptly from behind. Dilandau didn't even flinch. "You don't have any reason to kill Van--he's your friend! Don't let Dilandau fool you!"
Dilandau was in motion before Allen had even stopped speaking. The fight resume din a flurry of flashing steel. Though Van managed to score a hit down his opponent's left thigh, the wound didn't seem to hamper his movements at all, as if he didn't feel the pain. The king felt himself being pushed slowly back. What is this? He's strength is inhuman!
At last Allen dove into the fray. He pushed Van aside and blocked Dilandau's attack with one smooth motion, separating the two. Dilandau stepped to the side, as if intending to ignore him and continue the duel. But the knight wouldn't allow it; he kept his body positioned between tehp air and defended against every blow.
"Allen, this won't work," Van said breathlessly. "I have to finish this. She's too far gone to reason with now."
"No. You don't know her like I do." Allen forced the king back several steps as their opponant took a moment to catch his breath. He sheathed his sword.
"Allen, you can't--"
"Celena." Despite Van's warning, he stood tall and faced what had been his sister. "I know you can hear me. I won't fight you--you're my sister."
Dilandau glared at him, grip shifting over his sword's handle. His eyes were glazed with incomprehension like those of a beast.
The knight closed his eyes and held his hands palm upward in a symbol of trust. "I know you don't want to fight me," he continued softly. "I won't fight you. No one will blame you, if only you'll come back to us."
The youth shifted, still glowering dangerously. His lips pulled back in a snarl. He charged, raising his sword for an attack that would end the man's life.
Allen's eyes snapped open as the blade came rushing forward. Just before it hit his hand shot out, grasping the sword above its hilt. He didn't wince as it slit through his glove and the leathery skin of his palm. Dilandau hadn't expected the strategy; his weapon was torn from his grip and cast away. In the next instant he found himself bound in the knight's arms; his own limbs were pinned to his sides, rendered immobile. Enraged, the boy thrashed and screamed madly.
"Celena, I know you're still in there," Allen murmured, holding Dilandau's pinned against his chest. "Please, come back to me."
Van watched, stunned, as Dilandau continued to rage and struggle. He's like a demon. Not even Dilandau was ever this bad. What happened? The white-haired boy lurched forward, biting at the front of Allen's shirt as if intending to tear into his heart. Unconciously Van raised a hand to his pendant and whispered a quiet prayer.
Nearly a full minute passed without signs of the insanity letting up. Allen did not move or speak despite Dilandau's screaming and clawing. At long last, the shrieking became a wail, and then a weary, despairing moan. The flailing body went slack in its captor's arms. And then, very slowly, the knight lowered them both to their knees.
Van signaled for the guards to step back, then came forward with Merle at his side. He tried to get a better view while still maintaining some distance. "Allen?"
"It's all right now," the man said quietly. He motioned for Merle to assist him. "Please, hold her a moment."
Merle only moved once Van signaled that it was all right. She approached cautiously, cradling the limp body as Allen removed his blue vest and then his white shirt. "Hey," the cat girl said abruptly. "She's a girl again." Van sighed in relief, though carefully averted his eyes.
"Yes, thank God." Allen dressed his sister in his shirt, and then replaced his blue vest. Van pretended not to notice as he dried his eyes on the back of his clean glove. "Let's get her out of here right away."
"Where do you want to go?" Van asked.
He didn't answer for a moment. "Balsm. The Crusade's already prepared, and I want to get help for her as soon as possible." He hefted the girl into his arms.
Van nodded in understanding. "Yes, that's best." He sheathed his sword, and allowed Merle to begin bandaging his wounded shoulder. "Thank you, Allen, for your help."
"I should be thanking you." Allen nodded respectfully. "Now please, excuse us. I'll trust you to take care of Jovey Garrelli." He turned and slowly exited the shrine, holding his sister tightly to him.
Van sighed, and glanced at his cat companion. "Come one, Merle. Let's get back to the festival before we're missed."
--
So this was the place. Jovey stood before the large stone monument, his fingers brushing its rough surface. The grave of Goau Fanel, former king of Fanelia. He took in the sight of it then turned, surveyeing the grassy clearing it overlooked. And this place; the last place on Gaea touched by the girl from the Phantom Moon. His thoughts wandered inward, calling out those deep memories. Only a few short months after the Great War he'd come to this place, to challenge Van as he sat in prayer before his father's tomb.
"All right. But not here--this place is too sacred for me, and I don't want blood spilled."
Three years since that time. Jovey dug his toe into the soil, remembering how it had felt when he'd first come here, ready to die. He looked at the stone, recalling the different times he'd come here, to spit on the ground his enemy worshipped. Even if some of that bitterness had ended, he could never bring himself to forgive. He regretted having not come soon enough to meet his fate--he'd wanted to meet the girl.
Kanzaki Hitomi. The girl from the Phantom Moon. Jovey swept the clearing, as if he could determine exactly which spot of earth had held her last. Because he could still remember standing in the Emperor's chamber, trembling on his knees with fear and fever. The words left depressions in his brain like aged footprints.
"The girl from the Phantom Moon…the origin of the Dragon Clan of Atlantis…she is the key to reaching it. The purpose of the Dragonslayers--your purpose--is to kill dragons. If you so desperately wish to help your master, fulfill both your destinies."
Jovey continued on toward the city. I can't do whatever it was that Dornkirk-sama meant, he thought, being careful of his arm as he walked. The girl is gone--I can't get to her now. But we can still kill dragons.
The festival had reached its peak--Jovey had no trouble avoiding the guards with so many people around to act as cover. Where would they have gone? I doubt Dilandau-sama would have simply attacked from stealth. This is an important match for him--he would have chosen a suitable location. The Yards, the Shrine, some room in the palace? If have no idea where they might be.
Jovey ruled out the possibility of the palace--there were too many guards to interfere. He decided to check the Yards, where the guymelef matches were held; after all, why risk the temple, where Van could call on Escaflowne? He weaved his way through the crowds of people, avoiding those that might recognize him. Already the noise was making him faint. Some time later he reached the sports arena, only to find it filled with more celebration.
Damn, not here. But…where? When he started to leave his limbs trembled weakly, and he lowered himself onto a nearby bench. His gaze began to swim; he closed his eyes until the dizziness had passed. I've lost too much blood. I can't move so much. Several deep breaths seemed to rememdy his fatigue. Damn. Damnit.
"Excuse me, son. Are you all right?" A woman was seated beside him, her face one of thoughtful concern. "You look awfully pale."
"Thanks for your concern," he replied, covering his wounded arm so that she wouldn't notice the few bloodstains that had leaked through Dilandau's shirt. "I…was just hoping to see the king. I've been everywhere, and I'm a bit tired."
"His majesty just returned to the square," she told him pleasantly. "I was there a moment ago."
What? Then…Dilandau-sama never found him? He wouldn't have taken this long. "Thank you, Ma'am. I'll look there."
"Take care."
Jovey nodded, and managed to push himself up without the ill-ease returning. I'll have to be careful. He traveled back to the center square, controlling his pace so that he would get there quickly without over-exerting himself. They must have met by now. But if Van has already rejoined the festival, that means--
He noticed then that several people had lifted their gazes upward, and were pointed. He looked, squinting against the night's full compliment of stars. He could see only a dim outline moving slowly toward the bordering mountains. Like an airship.
No. No, he couldn't have.
Jovey stood there, transfixed, trying not to comprehend. If Van won, the first thing they'd do would be to take Dilandau-sama away, a still-functioning section of his brain reasoned. To fix whatever it was you undid. To keep you apart. His working hand formed a fist. To seal him away. To deny him his--your--destiny.
Jovey began to move again, this time ignoring his body's warnings. I won't let them. I won't. Not this time. He began to run, even as his head grew light and confused. Not again. Not this time. He pushed people out of his way, seeing only the distant building that was his goal. He was thankful to not be able to feel the pain in his injured arm.
By the time Jovey reached the guymelef hanger he could barely stand, and fresh blood leaked onto his stomach. It's opened again. He took only a moment to tighten the bandages before continuing. If I wait too long, I won't be able to follow.
AS expected, the Alseides was chained to its bench and surrounded by guards. Jovey ducked behind the foot of a builder melef as cover while he planned. I can't sneak past them, and they'd attack the chamber before I'd be able to break those chains.
I'm running out of time.
Jovey rose out of hiding and began to climb the scaffolding to the builder's cockpit. He wasn't sure what he'd do, or if he'd even be able to pilot the unfamiliar model, but he had to act. Moving as quickly as his one arm could function, he pulled himself into the cockpit and fit into the proper harness.
Good. They've noticed me already. He stood from the bench. Though his movements were sluggish with fatigue, the melef obeyed him--with the exception of the left arm. He started toward the Alseides, and the guards readier their weapons; one was even headed for his own melef. Faster. Jovey urged his vehicle forward, the pounding of his feet scattering most of the guards.
Just when he' reached the Alseides's bench, their weapons fired; iron claws latched onto the crevices in the armor and halted the melef. Jovey growled in frustration, swinging his right arm forward. The men holding those chains connected to it were dragged through the dust. They can't stop me. I have to escape.
The hand of the builder melef closed around the Alseides's bonds, and Jovey pulled, ripping through the metal. He continued to tear chains off his guymelef, even as another machine was swiftly approaching on his left--his unguarded side. He cursed, and opened the cockpit.
"Jovey Garrelli!" one of the guards shouted, holding his sword at ready. "You're surrounded, and immobilized! Surrender or we'll take you by force!"
No one takes a Dragonslayer. With a deep breath Jovey leapt out of the cockpit. He landed with a thud and a clang on the Alseides's thigh; his head spun crazily at the sudden impact. Stubbornly he climbed to his feet and dashed for the melef chamber.
"Follow him! Hurry!"
"Get those chains on the Alsiedes!"
Jovey was just fast enough. He clamored ungracefully into the Alseides's chamber before the guards could reach him, and checked his pressure gauges. It's a good thing I've kept it so well, he thought with a grim smile as liquid metal poured from the Alseides's hands and formed three sharpened claws. He made short work of the rest of the chains and scattered the guards with minimal effort. Because their melef-capturing devices had already been wasted on the builder, all that was left was the approaching melef itself--the soldier inside attacked. Jovey struggled beneath the man's staff; the muscles in his arm were going sore with the constant strain. He managed to parry the weapon aside long enough to engage the Alseides's flight mechanism.
I'm coming. I'm coming.
The guymelef sprang into the air, locking its legs together in preparation. The engines bellowed and propelled the iron beast upward, over the heads of its pursuers, carrying it to and through the wooden-beam ceiling.
All right. Now, after him. Jovey swung the armor about, trying to locate any sign of the departing vessel. After a moment his sights targeted a blurred shadow that was moving steadily southward. There. That's it. He gritted his teeth and began the chase.
*To those of you that care, the move Dilandau used in fighting Van I stole from Jin'e. =^-^=
Worlds of Blue and White
Part One: With Fingertips Touching
Chapter 9:
*note: yes, she's supposed to be acting this way*
She was aware that she had regained consciousness. This realization had not come easily; for hours it seemed her mind had been drifting, and she was slow to determine whether these sensations were real or fantasy. She saw herself, twisting through the air, without balance or destination. She was flowing through a stream of images--memories, she realized, returning to her. They washed over and through her, awakening senses and visions she had never thought possible. It was if she had discovered a part of herself she'd never known existed: it brushed against her fingertips, just out of reach, soft but desperately hot. It burned, even, but she didn't recoil. These things were too precious to her.
Slowly, the phantoms faded into veracity. Her thoughts, once turbulent and confused, ordered themselves without effort. She was lying in bed on her back, her wrists and ankles securely tied. Simply rope. The sheets covering her were damp with her sweat--had the heat from her dreams affected her body even now?--and they reeked. Her left thigh also stung, bound in cloth.
There was someone else in the room. He also smelled of sweat and blood, and of something else--something softer. It was a man seated beside her, and she was calmed by the fact that his presence was not a hostile one. He would not hurt her, and therefore would not interfere.
She tested the bindings on her wrists--the knots were tight but not too constricting. She would be able to undo them with time, if needed. Her leg would be the more potent problem.
"Celena? Can you hear me?"
It was the sweet-smelling man that had spoken. She didn't move or react as her brain attempted to generate a definition to the unfamiliar word "Celena." Carefully, she opened her eyes.
The man was watching her; she recognized his blonde hair and slender face, somehow. He was indeed no threat. He even appeared concerned. "Celena?" he questioned once more.
Celena? Oh, yes, my name. I'd forgotten. Celena returned his inquisitive, hopeful gaze with blank seriousness. And this is my brother. Her faint memory provided her with his name. "Allen?"
Allen sighed with relief and rubbed his eyes. "Oh God, Celena, are you all right? What do you remember?"
"I was fighting the Dragon," she replied, gazing about to map her surroundings. It was her room on the Crusade, she recognized finally. When she realized that Allen probably didn't know what she meant, she added, "King Van. And you stopped me, and I fell unconscious."
Allen was staring at her with a dreadful expression. She couldn't be sure what that meant, so she kept her tone neutral, unobtrusive. "By the way, where is he?"
The knight stood out of his chair, with movements that were hesitant, as if he faced a beast. "No, it can't be," he murmured distantly. "You can't still be Dilandau."
Dilandau? No, that's not my true name. It was called that once. But I've always been Celena. "No, Allen, it's Celena," she told him softly. "Calm down--you're not making sense."
"Why?" he asked abruptly. "Do you remember why you were fighting Van?"
"Of course. He's a Dragon." His face paled another shade, and she considered changing her tactics. It wouldn't help to upset him. "Allen, please don't get worked up. No one wants to see you like that. I'm all right, so you don't need to worry. Would you please untie my legs? They're beginning to throb."
Allen started. He glanced at the bindings indecisively. "Celena, do you remember?" he barely spoke. "What you were? Dilandau…?"
Dilandau Albatou. That was a name I was once called. It was a good name, but I'm Celena. I have always been Celena. "I remember my life as Dilandau Albatou, the leader of the Zaibach Dragonslayers. You shouldn't have hid it from me, Allen. I feel much better now." She spoke only truth. "Now please untie me--it hurts."
"Celena…." The man hesitated a moment more, then gave in. He began to untie the knots around her ankles. "I'm sorry--I didn't want to do this, but Gadeth and Van agreed it was best. We didn't want…you to hurt yourself."
"That's fine. I understand." Celena stretched her legs once they were free, and winced only a bit at the pain. Soon her hands were also released. She rubbed her sore wrists. "Thank you, Allen. That's much better."
Allen sunk heavily into the chair at her bedside. He wet his lips and asked, "So, you remember it all now?"
"Yes. Everything." She cast the sheets aside to check how her body was faring. Her injured thigh had been cleaned and bandaged, and she was dressed in her blue pants and one of Allen's white shirts. It was an acceptable condition. The gentle hum of airship engines confirmed her location. "We're leaving Fanelia."
Her brother stumbled over a response. "Yes. We thought it best, as being here was…unhealthy for you." His expression grew increasingly more grim. "But you remember now. I…I'm sorry I never told you. I was afraid that it would hurt you--Dilandau's past is so awful--or worse, that you'd…." He trailed off with a grimace.
"That I'd become him," she finished for him.
"Well--yes." Allen gazed at her then, in such a way that made her feel a very profound sense of pity for him. He looked like a lost, confused little boy; he wanted to understand what was happening to the most important person in his life. And somehow, that only made her despise him, for hiding her memories from her. She remembered them now--those that had loved and honored her, with blind, obedient devotion. They understood her better than he ever would.
"Allen, I'm not going to 'turn into' Dilandau Albatou," Celena told him gently, as if she were speaking to a child. "Just because I remember that life doesn't mean I prefer it. Everything that he once had is gone now. I have always been, and will stay as, Celena."
As she'd expected, the knight moved to the bed and embraced her fiercely. She accepted his affection silently, allowing his arms to tremble around her. She found it both flattering and frightening that he depended so fully on her well-being. A few misplaced words could have destroyed him.
"Allen, calm down. I'm all right, see?" Celena urged him back and smiled in a way that she hoped was encouraging. It seemed to comfort him. "But would you mind leaving me alone for a while? I'd like to get changed and think things through by myself."
Allen nodded slightly. "Are you sure you'll be all right? Your leg…."
"It's fine." She stretched and bent the limb as proof. "See? I'm fine, so why don't you check on the others, and get some rest? You look exhausted."
"Yes, I suppose." He stood wearily and gaze down at her fondly. "My room is next to yours, so call me if you need anything."
"Of course. Don't worry--I'll be just fine."
Finally, the knight kissed her briefly on the cheek and departed. Celena released a sigh. As she'd said, she changed into a new, clean outfit: dark trousers and a white vest, with a loose-fitting, short cut coat to cover her bare arms. She then selected a sword off her closet rack and hooked it to her belt. As an afterthought she also retrieved two small daggers that fit into her boots.
As soon as we've landed, I'll steal a ship and go back. Celena paced the room once, testing how much weight could be placed on the limb. I can still fight like this, she mused. It was close, last time, before Allen interfered. Next time I'll have to take care of him before we start. I can't have him ruining things. She wouldn't kill him--he was her brother, after all--but he would be a nuisance if he couldn't be dealt with.
Celena flopped back onto the bed and folded her hands on her stomach. She pictured Van, and motions of his body as he fought. Now that her body was female she wouldn't be able to use her weight as an advantage--speed would be a better tactic. Speed, and fire.
Yes. Burn the Dragons, as he burned yours.
When Celena closed her eyes shed could picture the scene in her mind: blue fire, and blood, and voices screaming. She saw Chesta, even if she couldn't possibly have seen him through the guymelef's armor, his face twisted in horrified agony. Little Chesta with the kind, restless heart hadn't deserved such a fate. He had always taken care of her.
She saw shy Guimel with the hair he was teased for; Miguel, impulsive and rash; Dallet, arrogant and careless; and Viole, quiet but resourceful. And she saw Gatti, older brother to all of them despite his young age. She had depended on his level, clear head more times than pride would allow a person to admit. All of them were in her eyes and ears now with a clarity that startled and grieved her. They were no longer in her world. She did not regret her actions toward them; only that she had led them to death too soon. She had no doubts that, had it not been for that day, they would all be at her side now.
If only I had gotten that girl. I would show the Dragon that suffering, and burn him as he wept. All Dragons must burn for their evil.
Celena sat up and gazed about the room once more. Could she escape without Allen and the others realizing? The Crusade had no spare ships to escape from; she would have to steal Sherazarde. But then, that would require someone to launch it first. She would have to wait until they landed after all.
I'll escape, and go back. Jovey will find me. We'll drink the Dragon's blood together.
Her eye caught something then--her mirror on the far side of the room. She stood and crossed to it slowly. Her reflection stared back at her: a beautiful, healthy face with shining sapphire eyes and thick silver hair. She had once taken great pride in her looks--as a child it had meant everything. Her mother had stressed it to her every day during their most difficult times: beauty was the trait of a Shezar. Her mother Enchia had wanted to use that beauty to cover the shame her husband's departure had left, to make them appear confident and strong once more. The world would never see them grieve. What it saw was to be only a family of flawless elegance; a trio of perfect porcelain dolls.
Even as Dilandau she had been proud of her looks, as they were the only part of her not tainted by the sorcerers. She remembered those last days before the operation: sobbing as her hair was cut, begging and praying that she would still be her mother's beautiful child once the torture had ended. They granted her that much, to preserve her sanity.
Van had ruined that. He would most likely never realize how deeply his blade had scarred her. With one slight action he'd taken the bit of Celena that kept Dilandau routed in place, slowly transforming her into something obsessive and mad. The true identity Dilandau never knew he had had been thrown into chaos and uncertainty, and Celena's original form had risen to comfort and reassure the battered psyche. But the scars were already laid deep, and her descent continued. At last an element had been introduced that both Dilandau and Celena trusted--Jajuka--to reconnect the broken bond between them. Allen had completed that task. He gave her something to run to. He made her a Shezar once more.
Celena banished those thoughts with a wave of her hand, but her reflection was still there, staring back at her with quiet, unobtrusive eyes. She laughed at it softly. This wasn't the face of a Shezar anymore--these lips had smiled at the thought of blood; these eyes had witnessed the death of hundreds; these ears had listen with glee to the sounds of her throat's own curses and mockery. She despised that sickening, worthless beauty. The Shezar name had been a curse to keep her from this, her true destiny.
To kill Dragons was her destiny. She hadn't inherited it; it wasn't passed down by a god she didn't believe in; it was given to her, specifically, and she'd accepted it. This fate belonged to her, more so than the life of blind heroism forced upon her brother. Now was her time to face it.
Celena removed one of the daggers from her boots, while the other hand began to father her locks of thick silver hair into a bundle. A quick movement sheared what she'd once adored. Then she looked to her face. I was still a Shezar face. She raised the blade slowly, deliberately, and pressed its tip into her cheek, just below her eye. The muscles twitched as blood dribbled from them. With careful precision she drew the weapon down, opening the wound along the side of her face. She barely felt any pain. Then she cleaned and replaced the dagger, and surveyed her work. The scar would be a bit longer than its predecessor, stretching all the way to her chin, but it didn't bleed too much. She washed the incision and applied some medicine--after all, she didn't want an infection.
There. Celena would have smiled but the movement would only aggravate the wound. So she only snorted in approval, admiring the hideous blemish.
There was a knock on the door, and she strode swiftly to twist the lock. "Celena?" A moment later the knob was tried. "Celena, it's Allen. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Allen," she assured as she backed away from the door. She didn't want him to see her yet, as he would be shocked.
"Why is the door locked?"
"I was cleaning up. I didn't want any of the men disturbing me." She'd heard the strain in his voice, and she asked, "What's the matter?"
Allen hesitated. "There's a guymelef chasing us," he admitted at last. "I want you to come up to the bridge where you'll be safe."
A guymelef? Only an Alseides can follow airships. A mysterious feeling of pride mixed with relief spread through her chest, and she ran to her room's only window--it was more of a porthole. She could see only dark sky, however, as her window faced starboard.
"Celena? Open the door."
"Just a minute, Allen; I'm not fully dressed." Celena pulled the sheets off her bed and returned to the window. She twisted the window open and began to shove the sheet out. I'm here, Jovey. She twisted the last corner around her hand to keep the sheet from being pulled out by the wind. Find me.
Jovey struggled to adjust his course once more. Piloting the Alseides in flight mode with only one arm had proved to be a trying challenge. Several times he'd been forced to lose altitude in correcting his path. After the long pursuit he was ready to collapse from exhaustion; his body ached beneath a layer of sweat. The salt stung his far-focused eyes. His lift side and part of his thigh were also colored dark with bloodstains; the loss of so much fluid continued to stain his sight with blurring fatigue. He fought against his body's weaknesses. His goal lay ahead--the Crusade, floating lazily on the southbound breeze. He had almost caught it.
But he was also aware of another in this race: behind him, Escaflowne was gaining. He wasn't sure how or for how long Van had taken up the pursuit, but that didn't matter anyway. If Van caught him, it would be over. This thought spurred him on.
Finally Jovey had positioned himself just below the Crusade's slender belly--he dared not attempt to land on its top for fear of battling whatever guymelef may be on board. Spotting Dilandau's room was--thankfully--a simple task, as a white sheet had been hung out of the window. Thank God; he must be all right. "Dilandau-sama!" he called though the Alseides's amplifier. "Get away from the window!"
Jovey flipped the Alseides onto its back and formed a single cylindrical claw. He bit his lip in concentration as he maneuvered it toward the glass circle, piercing it and ripping out several wooden planks. When an opening had been enlarged enough for Dilandau's slight form, he retracted the claw and instead formed--with some difficulty--a rounded coup shape that he held up against the hull.
The Crusade began to turn away, lengthening a gap between it and the guymelef. Jovey cursed and carefully followed the retreat. There's no time for this--Van's almost here. If only I could use my left arm! He positioned the bowl once more. "Dilandau-sama, hurry!"
At last Jovey spotted the youth clamoring out of the splintered opening. He sighed openly in relief at his apparent well-being. Dilandau leapt gracefully into the cup-shaped metal; a pair of arms tried to follow him without success. Once settled, he signaled that all was well.
Yes. Thank God--thank God. Jovey began to steer carefully away from the Crusade. We'll land--Dilandau-sama can pilot the Alseides, and I…
Jovey's sight began to fade, and he gasped, trying to regain his senses. I…I can't keep this up. But if I pass out now, the Alseides….
"Jovey!" Van's voice echoed from above, where Escaflowne in its dragon form hovered at ready. "You have to land! If you don't willingly, I'll force you! And you know I won't be as careful about Dilandau's safety as Allen is!"
"I won't give him up to you!" he hollered back even as he felt his right arm trembling with fatigue. How can we escape? If Dilandau-sama and I traded, he would be able to think of something. But…oh God, how can we get out of here?
"Jovey, pull me in!" This was Dilandau, calling from the metal bowl. He quickly obeyed, bending his arm so that his leader would be directly beside the pilot chamber. "You have to land!" Dilandau shouted over the shrieking wind. "I'll take your place--do it quickly!"
Jovey could barely hear the youth's voice; it sounded distant and strange to his failing ears. No--no, please. He looked left and saw Escaflowne descending to his level. The Crusade had lost altitude as well, preparing for when they would land. He could just barely see the outline of what must have been Allen's guymelef waiting to be launched. How could they escape Van Fanel and Allen Shezar, the two greatest guymelef pilots in Gaea? The thought caused his weariness to rise even higher, dragging him down.
"Jovey!" He could hear Dilandau calling his name desperately--they were falling. Escaflowne was following, and the Crusade. They didn't seem to realize that he'd lost control. The melef controls sounded a frightful warning that only barely registered in his dulling brain.
I want Dilandau-sama to fulfill his destiny. Even if I die, that's all that matters. Someone, please, take us away from here. To our destiny.
Somewhere above, Escaflowne's jeweled heart began to glow. Jovey closed his eyes as he felt his body consumed in flaring white heat. The last thing he remembered was a feeling of strange weightlessness, and his eyelids flashed red as some bright light echoed through them.
End Part 1