Between Alpha and Omega
By, Esmee Concept by, Tenshi no Yuma
– – –
Once I was
A seed,
Planted in an earthy womb.
Once I was
A thief,
Stealing silent through the night.
Once I was
Darkness,
Deep and endless, hiding many secrets.
Once I was
A bird,
Gliding on winds of flight.
Once I was
Wind,
Fanning 'cross your face.
Once I was
Fire,
Consuming all in my path.
Once I was
Wrath,
Raging blindly at the fates.
Once, perhaps, I was
Alive,
Dreaming that I was.
'I was'
~Esme Waters
0.
I try not to sleep anymore, for 'to sleep: perchance to dream.' I've forgotten where I heard that quote. I knew it just a moment ago, but now I've forgotten.
I seem to be forgetting a great many things, things that I somehow know I shouldn't forget. Faces with no voice, voices to which I cannot place a face; a man with a beautiful voice, a woman with kind eyes, a boy with a strong hand, they are all to me like a shadow of something remembered from a dream: pale and insubstantial as moonbeams.
Not that this new body needs sleep. But, as they say, old habits are hard to break.
But it's not sleep that I hate; it's the dreams that come with sleep.
Well, I shouldn't say hate for I no longer have emotions like that, but I remember hate. The sickly sweet taste that burns your stomach and leaves a bitter aftertaste.
When I do sleep, either out of habit or boredom, dreams ghost through my mind. They are not always the same, but there are two that always come, that never change.
In one, eyes haunt me, peering out through the pure blackness that prevents me from seeing anything else but their eyes. Familiar eyes, but I can never quite place them. Eyes made from chips of topaz or ruby. Eyes made from slices of onyx or jade. Eyes made from chunks of turquoise or emerald. Eyes made from crumbs of brown diamond or beryl. Eyes made from slivers of obsidian or garnet. Eyes made from shards of lapis lazuli. All of them piercing me through, accusing me of . . . what? Perhaps forgetting.
But I can ignore this dream when I wake. I can push this dream aside as I follow my master's orders and forget it for a while, as I damn myself a little more deeply then I had the day before. I find the other dream more disturbing by far, for when I wake-up I can't ignore it.
In this dream, too, I am in darkness.
But, not simply in this darkness, but of this darkness, with this darkness, am this darkness. But it's not pure darkness either, there is light here and I am also in this light, of this light, with this light, am this light. I am both but neither, stuck where the purity of light becomes the purity of dark, stuck where the end of one becomes the begining of the other, holding it together like a seam of thread. Holding them together but apart. Preventing one from overwhelming the other and preventing one from running from the other.
There is a voice there, saying things I can't hear or remember when I wake. Somehow, I know this voice is not one I knew as that child, but before. Long before.
In this place where I stand in the middle, I can feel myself straining until I will be pulled asunder, until I will be pulled in two because I know I am not strong enough to hold them apart or together, like I am not fully formed; a bud not yet bloomed.
I think the voice is trying to help me, but I can't hear what it's saying.
Like a butterfly just emerged from its chrysalis with its wings wet and useless, it won't fly until it's wings dry and form fully, and I too won't hear this voice until I am fully formed.
These are the dreams that I can't push away or ignore.
They haunt me with gray ghosts and pale memories, calling out something I neither hear nor understand.
Nor am I sure I want to.
((CHAPTER V: TO SLEEP, TO DREAM))
1.
In this great universe of ours, there are many different factors that can lead to happening of certain events. Fate, destiny, chance, coincidence, accidents, decisions, luck, flukes, all are the things that allow twists in the road of life that would otherwise be smooth and straight and allowing one to see the near future and its people without obstacles. The most common of these occurrences is the last mentioned, the fluke. Without flukes our lives would be very simple, depriving us of the 'what if' factors in our life that more often than not shapes us into whom we are and whom we will become.
Yes, Myotismon reflected in the dusky and moldering room of state he had taken over as his own over the years, it was a fluke that had allowed him to catch those brats off guard. A fluke, a strange quirk of fate, or whatever you cared to call it; he didn't really care about that, only the fact that he had caught them off guard. And it was pure luck that he had caught one of them, especially one alive.
Especially this child.
Contrary to what all his subordinates believed, it had been pure hotheaded rage at the humiliating defeat he had suffered at those children's hands that had made him go after them. That hot-headedness had often gotten him into trouble when he had been a tiro, but in this matter it had served him well for once.
He got up from the armchair covered in strips of rotting blood colored velvet that were held to the ancient mahogany by blackened brass bolts, and glided over to the large, dust and cobweb draped bookcase that dominated the west wall, part of his mind remembering a time when he had been summoned into this room as a tiny liber by the Archbishop of the castle, which had been a monastery then, to discuss his 'Behavior'.
He remembered standing in front of the huge ruby oak and copper wood desk, then all shiny and gleaming with the glow of a well cared for item, and waiting for the Archbishop to speak. He remembered how the rosy blush of the candles had plumbed the corners of the room, creating inviting niches and hidey-holes that one could hide away in.
He remembered how the Archbishop had made him wait until he had finished the document he had been writing. He remembered how he had kept glancing out of the corner of his eye at the Archbishop's bookcase, his hands aching to wander through the many rare and ancient volumes.
Now, he mused, I have them. All of them. All the books, and many others the Archbishop could only have dreamed about. Serves the old bastard right.
He idly let his fingers wander over the many dust covered, cracked leather bound books. Yes, He reflected again, it had been purely a stroke of luck that this child had still been alive. It had disturbed him though, that he should care whether or not the child was alive, he should have been happy either way, but . . . he remembered looking at the child's narrow face all covered in the black char and the dark blood, and remembering another face so pale next to a puddle of blood deep and bright in color, eyes glazed as they stared at nothing . . .
He could not let that happen again.
He rationalized it to himself by saying that the child was of more use alive than dead, but the plain truth of the matter was he could not let the child die because of the memory of another dead. He had laughed softly when she had woken up, a deep, depreciating laugh that he laughed to himself every time he saw her. A laugh that told him every time he laughed that he was an idiot plain and simple to have let his memory rule so much of his life.
He hadn't really had a plan when he took the child. It had been a 'play it by ear' scenario, with some vague idea of casting a spell or fascination over her. But he found the idea of a spell or fascination distasteful.
He'd wanted, he'd wanted, Lair! He didn't know what he wanted, but it was not a coerced cooperation from the child. So he decided to try to extract a Soul-Binding from the child. It was the best tactic in the long run; a Soul-Binding binds the person whom makes the vow to you until you die. But he knew he had to proceed carefully about this; Soul-Bindings were a tricky matter at best, they required a level of utmost sincerity from the person making the vow and the utter truth from the person proposing the vow.
Then once he had a plan, he was stuck. He had had absolutely no idea how he was going to get the child so completely shattered that she would agree to make such a vow.
And then Lady Fate dealt in his favor again.
He had not wittingly left the door to the Speculum open for the child. And if the child had come one minute sooner or one minute later then who knows what might have happened, but she hadn't and what she saw shattered whatever tiny fragmented hope she had clung to since she had woken.
It was the perfect time.
But, all he had planned to do with her after he had gotten the Soul-Binding from the child was to maybe imbue her with some small power or some such. He was totally unprepared for the explosive reaction he had gotten afterwards.
When the child had dully placed her delicately small hand with its torn and bloody knuckles into his large, calloused palm with its large capable fingers, he had a moment to feel triumph, not even Piedmon had gotten a [ Carrier ] to cross over, and wonderment at how small her hand looked in his, then he and the child were momentarily engulfed by a nimbus of green-white radiance, and when it lifted the child was no longer there.
It had shaken him to the core of his being to see the pale face surrounded by pale hair that then knelt across from him.
The girl-child was no more, but in her place was a being of familiar carriage and form. Not that it really looked like her anymore. It was taller, for one thing. Taller, but without the curves and growth that should accompany the sudden spurt into adulthood, keeping the lean angles of childhood. The only things that kept you from immeaditly assuming the gender of it, was it's face, a snowy oval with moist pale pink lips that were the only color on it besides it's brandy-colored eyes, and the stormy gray skirt it wore.
They stared at each other for a long moment, the green tattoo on its cheek glowing faintly, and then it sprang up and ran, dark feathers luminescent as they were dragged through the dust and grime of the ancient corridors and pale hair intermittingly twisting between its shoulder blades and wings, and he stayed there, unable – or unwilling, he wondered now - to move or go after it.
His fingers came to rest in their wanderings on the smooth binding of one of the books. It's cover of green leather was dull with time, but without the cracks and stains that marred the other volumes in the bookshelf; well cared for. He let his hand linger on the soft, stiff leather for a moment, tapered fingers caressing it almost reverently, and then opened it with a gentle caution few would have recognized coming from him. In fact, the one person whom would have recognized it was the author of the book he held and had been dead for years.
Myotismon opened the old book, it's pages stiff and crumbling with time but still smelling of vanilla, beeswax, and rain, and stared down at the graceful script that cover the pages, still conveying some small essence of the writer.
Myotismon stood in one of the rotting room of the now dead monastery and read and remembered.
Remembered a time so long ago it seemed like another lifetime. And in that other lifetime he remembered a young boy with pale hair laughing.
* * *
" 'Long ago, when the World was still very young, and people still held some small amount of awe for it's mechanics, there were two types of beings whom inhabited it. They were the Digi and the Mon.
" 'Now, there was only one real difference that separated these two people from being one and the same. That difference is this; when a Digi dies, it's Data, though scattered, will eventually be summoned and recompiled at one of the Primary Seminariums in the villages all over both File Island and the continent of Server.
" 'But, when a Mon dies, though their Data scatters as well, theirs cannot be summoned and recompiled; it drifts away, becoming lost among the endless Data streams that make up our world-"
"But I know this already!" A rough voiced young man complained, interrupting the smooth, clear voice of the young man speaking. The Digi sitting next to him scowled at the rude youth fiercely. The other boy laughed.
"Come now Gen," The youth mocked, chuckling lightly, "You didn't let me finish, that's bad manners you know. What would your mother say?" The fore mentioned 'Gen' grimaced and gave an exaggerated shudder at the mention of his mother. His mother was a fanatic about manners, unfortunately a trait not shared with the same enthusiasm by her son.
"But I know this already; who doesn't since they," Gen jerked his head in the direction they had just come from, towards the temple, "Pound it into you once you're old enough to breathe."
"I know you know this," The other chided gentle.
"Then why the Lair are you telling me this Angelus."
The Digi's scowl deepened. He didn't like the way Gen was talking Angelus. Angelus glanced over at the Digi and noticed his dark frown. Angelus laughed.
"Relax Miyomon," Angelus grinned, habitually pushing some pale hair away from his face before redirecting his attention to the other boy. "And I'm telling you this Gen because the Council has asked me to write the next Grimoire."
Gen sat with a stupefied look on his face, jaw hanging open for a moment, then a huge grin lit up his face. "Way to go!" He crowed, pounding the other boy's shoulder joyfully. "I knew those brains of yours had to have some use." He leaned back on his hands, grinning widely. "Ta think I'm best friends with the youngest Guardian ever."
Angelus flushed faintly with pride. "Thanks."
The two boys had always been a fascinating study of contrasts. One boy dark where the other was light. One boy short with a strong, wiry build, while the other is very tall and slim. One boy blunt and to the point, almost to a point of being rude in some cases, while the other subtle and eloquent. One boy's eyes gleamed sharply with curiosity; the other's glowed with visions and intelligence. Both hungering after something, one after skill, the other knowledge. A curious pair indeed.
And then, of course, there was the Digi with them; it wasn't often that one saw a Virus-type with Temple children.
"So," Gen asked, chewing on a piece of the long, champaign colored grass that cover the hill. "Have any idea when you're going to start the Grimoire?"
"Elder Jessiah said whenever 'Felt' right to me." Angelus said with a careless shrug, idly shedding a piece of the long light grass between his fingers. "I haven't 'Felt' the pull yet, but I'll know it when I do, and I'll know when the proper time to start is."
The three children lounged on the grassy knoll over looking the temple shining a dusty gold in the evening light. They were each trying to escape from certain duties or tasks that they found less than pleasant, and had found each other atop the small hill with its grass the shade of champaign with the bright sun bringing out a deeper, richer color in it. They stayed there, in the warm light, each idly wishing they would never have to go back to the boring and repetitive jobs that were their responsibilities, each escaping into their own private daydream for a short time.
Angelus stretched languidly, feeling happy and slightly drunk with the warmth of the sun and the rare, friendly camaraderie that had come over his best friend and his Bonded digi; it was very rare for them to get along for such a length time without at least one of them antagonizing the other into a fight. "Miyo," He asked softly, trying not to break the mood that clung to them with all the fragility of an old cobweb. "How're Dano and Fenixmon?" It was an innocent enough question, Angelus hadn't heard from his friend and his Virus-type Bonded in since they had left the week before. Dano and Fenix were the only other Bonded Virus-type in the area.
Miyomon stiffened and stared straight ahead, shuttering his emotion away behind a blank face. "I don't know how they are, they haven't tried to contact us since they left 'Elus." He felt a lump start to form in his throat. His voice sounded harsh to his ears. "But a new ovum appeared in the village's Primary Seminarium."
Angelus immeaditly reached out and loosely wrapped his arms around the digi as he said, "I'm sorry Miyo," Miyo nodded his head stiffly inside the protective circle of his Bonded's, he had an almost over whelming need to let some of the tears that had made his pillow damp for the past few day fall swiftly on Angelus' ivory and green clad shoulder. But, he reminded himself; he could not show such weakness in front of that turd Gen. He gently pulled himself out from the warm circle of Angelus' arms.
"Just because a new ovum appeared in the Seminarium it doesn't mean that they died." Angelus continued softly, placing fine boned hand on his shoulder.
"I know." He lied as he leaned his pale lavender cheek against Angelus' hand. He had seen the egg; it was Fenix's. It had had the same pattern and coloring as the virus type digimon's Birth Mark. The bastards got another one of us, he thought bitterly; they're going to hunt us down, not caring how many of their own people they kill in the process.
Behind them they heard Gen snort and say something lightly under his breath. Miyomon sprang up and whirled around to face the mon. "You want to say something?" He challenged the boy, voice sharp and eyes blazing.
"Just good riddance to bad rubbish if they are truly dead," The youth tilted his chin up arrogantly. "The less Virus-type digi there are, the better."
Miyomon snarled and had an almost overpowering urge to pound the little glitch into a bloody smear on the ground, but didn't because Angelus had 'feelings' for the little error. Mores the pity.
"You should watch your mouth Gennai, it might get you into trouble one of these days." Angelus said in a quiet, even, civil tone. Miyomon shifted away from Angelus slightly; it was not wise to be around him when he used that tone of voice, especially if you wanted to live long enough to have a family.
Gennai had the grace to look faintly ashamed; a dusting of pink darkened his freckled cheekbones, but he was unrepentant. "I didn't mean you Angelus, it's not your fault you're Bonded to a Vipe."
Miyomon snapped. First that little bastard insults his friends, and then that little bastard insults Angelus. "You–" He made a flying leap at Gennai . . . only to be grabbed by the collar by Angelus.
"Miyomon! Be still." He watched as Miyomon snarled again and stalked off a few feet. Then he turned to Gennai. "I think you should get back to the temple, Gennai."
Gennai looked surprised at the coldness in his friend's voice. "But–"
"I have neither need nor want of your bigotry." Angelus turned away from him. "You can leave now."
Gennai got up and went around to face Angelus. The other boy glared at him stony eyed.
"But, I–"
"Go."
The dark Digi and the light Mon watched the boy trudge down the hill towards the coldly gleaming temple, looking very forlorn.
"Thank you 'Elus." The Digi said softly, knowing it must've hurt his Bonded greatly to be so unforgiving to the other boy.
The Mon grinned slightly though his eyes stayed dark with some unnamable emotion, and tousled the digi's dark blond hair. "You are welcome Arbitratus."
* * *
In Myotismon mind's eye, he could see the face of the pale young Mon, just as he had last seen him; hair pulled back in a slightly messy looking braid, a few strands falling lose from it to frame the snowy oval of his face with his amber eyes as bright as a glass of brandy in the sunlight.
Slowly it changed. Slowly it became younger and more feminine.
There was only one prayer that had ever really struck him when he was a liber, and then when he was a tiro it had been the only one he could ever remembered. It was a prayer for forgiveness, and it had been the only prayer that he had ever thought actually meant something.
Myotismon closed his eyes and tried to pray. "Mea culpa . . . Adiudico tuus possess venia Mater matris Alphamon, Genitor Omegamon . . . Mea culpa, ignosco meus culpa . . . "
He prayed, though he knew that neither of the Divine Twins would design to answer him. They didn't listen to him anymore; hadn't for a long time.
So he prayed to the only person who had ever listened to him, the only person who had ever wanted to hear him.
"Mea culpa, Mea culpa Angelus . . . Adiudico tuus possess venia . . . Mea culpa, ignosco meus culpa . . . "
2.
Night in the Digiworld was always spectacular. There were never clouds to block the view of the multicolored stars hanging in the sky, they were bright and shining and scattered across the bruise colored sky like someone had crushed all the most beautiful gemstones they could find in to a fine powder and crumbs and then tossed great handfuls up in the air in abandon. And it was always so dark, no silver moon cast her coldly loving gaze upon the world, making any fire made seem much more brilliant and vibrant than it would be normally. Noises also seemed louder, clearer, and more defined than they did in the real world. Every snap of a twig or shudder of a branch was more defined and normally had the effect of violently startling travelers.
And they would have normally had the same effect on the small group of Chosen that were camped under the expansive cover of the gem colored trees now dark with nighttime shadows. But this time they had something more immediate to deal about than miscellaneous noises, someone more immediate to deal with actually, namely Tachikawa Kohaku.
The amber-eyed boy had isolated himself from the others since . . . earlier, and refused to talk to anyone save to insult them for their cowardice, something none of them felt very able to respond to.
In truth they all secretly felt he was right and did not answer simply because they did not want to deal with the feelings of guilt and failure that he arose in them.
But that is beside the point.
The point is that when Kohaku is happy everyone around him is happy, much like his sister, and when he is not happy . . . well . . . that spills over as well.
It's all Takeru's fault. Yamato thought slightly resentfully as he rubbed his bruised and aching jaw were it was starting to turn a delightful mottled plum color.
Yamato did not look good in plum.
He glanced over were Jyou was tending to Taichi's fat lip, his own lips twitching a little in amusement, and then, covertly, over at the dark shadowed area were Kohaku was sitting. He winched and glanced away ashamed trying not to remember the painfully harsh and truthful words that had passed between them, but his mind would not shy away from their confrontation earlier. He grimaced, and then hissed in pain, as the expression pulled at the sore muscles in is cheek and jaw. That kid has a very strong punch for such a small fist. He thought ruefully, thinking back to earlier that day. "It's all Takeru's fault." He muttered aloud, but immediately felt guilty for saying that. There had been no way to tell how the kid would react to learning of his sister's death, and even if Takeru hadn't blurted it out to him while in hysterical, hiccupping tears, they would have had to tell him eventually.
At least it was out in the open now. He thought ruefully. His eyes searched for Palmon's pink and mauve petals and found them farthest away from Kohaku with Gabumon and Gomamon hovering near her worriedly. He started as he felt a hand suddenly on his shoulder.
"Relax, it's just me."
Yamato turned around to face Jyou holding the first-aid kit and looking slightly amused. "Jeez, you shouldn't sneak up on people." He said irritable.
Jyou smiled, his eyes twinkling faintly with laughter at having caught the great Ishida Yamato off guard. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone that I caught the Great Ishida being spacey." He teased, taking a seat next to the younger boy. "Sorry for taking so long with Taichi, how's your jaw?"
Yamato made a dismissive gesture with his hand, and leaned back on the cool grass. "It only hurts when I move it." He chuckled and then grimaced. "Who would've thought the kid would have such a good left hook?"
Jyou shoved his glasses up his nose with his index finger, and started to pull out a small wad of disinfectant soaked cloth and some dry gauze. He then rummaged with one hand through the kit, looking for some normal bandages, and asked absently, "Do any of the cuts you got in the incident with Kohaku earlier still hurt? And what are you doing over here that is so absorbing that you didn't notice me 'Sneak up' on you, as you so eloquently put it?"
Yamato sat up, and averted his gaze from Jyou. "Nah, there's just one on my forearm that still stings a little, but that's about it."
"Mm hm, that's good, but you didn't answer my question." Jyou glanced at him only to see the younger boy's eyes turned away. He followed Yamato's line of sight to where a small form sat huddled in on it's self, far from the warm circle of the fire and what little comfort that could be offered.
"I wish there had been some other way to tell him." He murmured.
Yamato glanced at him briefly, "Is there any other way to tell someone that someone they loved is dead?"
Jyou sighed and shook his head defeated. "You're right," He acknowledged. "Now let me see this cut of yours."
Yamato turned to him and held out his right forearm. A long dirty red streak graced it from elbow to mid forearm.
"Rather nasty." Jyou mumbled adjusting his glasses and turning Yamato's arm to face the light a little more. "You really should take better care of yourself, this cut could become infected you know." He started to dab the scrape with the disinfectant. "This might sting a little." He warned.
Yamato hissed slightly as the icy, numbing gel of the disinfectant touched his skin.
"I warned you," Jyou said absently. "Try to think of something else."
Yamato obediently tried to think of something else, but, unfortunately, the only thing that came to mind was how he got that bloody cut and the bruised jaw. He frowned absently as he thought back on it, trying to see if there had been any other possible way that they could have told Kohaku. Had they done the right thing, or should they have waited until later? Should they have told him at all? Ignore that, stupid question. He amended silently before his mind rambled back onto it's merry tangent. Had there been any way that they could have prevented the fight? He glanced over at the darker shade of black in the darkness that was the young boy with a dead girl's eyes. Had that really been the only way? He wondered. And try as he might, he just could not come up with an answer to that question.
3.
Kohaku shook his head to stop the dizzy little swirls that pirouetted in front of his eyes only to find that shaking his head actually encouraged the damn things. He swayed a little on his feet.
For the Chosen children it felt like someone had just punched them in the stomach. Hard.
Which was what had caused Yamato's momentarily loosening of his grip upon Takeru's shoulder. Which had allowed the youngest Chosen and the only Chosen to have snapped out of the dumbing shock that had suddenly gripped them upon hearing the slim, amber-eyed boy's cheerful, albeit dizzy sounding, announcement. Which had allowed Takaishi Takeru to give a heart-rending wail as he ran forward and wrapped his arms tightly around the surprised Kohaku's chest all the while sobbing incoherent apologies as the slightly taller boy looked on surprised and the Chosen horrified.
Kohaku glanced down in bewilderment, the sharp hearing that all children seem to possess when it comes to hearing what they're not supposed to coming into full effect and allowing his to catch an 'I'm so sorry' between the hysterical, hiccupping sobs coming from this strange boy. He looked up, confused, at the other children standing there. "What's he apologizing for? And why is he apologizing to me? I've never met him, or any of you for that matter, before."
The strange children continued to just stare at him, none seemed willing to speak, and Kohaku's shirt was getting wet from the blond kid's tears, so he tried to extract himself from the kid's tight embrace.
"C'mon kid, you're getting my shirt all wet . . ." He grumbled.
The child took a huge gulp of fresh air, masterfully trying to hold down great watery sobs, before sniffing loudly and then bursting into tears again, simply unable to contain them. Kohaku gave a small groan as the kid started to cry again, but his ears pricked as they caught a familiar name coming in tandem with the foreign sound of tears.
"Is he saying 'Mimi'?" He looked at the other children with surprise and confusion; it wasn't often that he heard that name said by someone in tears. "I have a sister named Mimi, but she's at summer camp, left this morning." Everyone looked away and no one answered him, but he plowed on ahead. "Do you know my Oneesan or something?"
The blond kid had lowered the volume of his weeping until it was now no more than a whimper and a snivel into the front of his shirt, while one of the other kids, the tall thin one with dark hair and glasses, made a sluggish move towards him and opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out.
"Well, do you know my Oneesan?"
" . . . Yes." The whispery answer came from the stocky boy with the wild brown hair. His eyes looked at Kohaku with something akin to fear.
"How?"
"She went to the summer camp with us." It was the short boy with spiky red hair that answered this time. He answered with a brisk precision that spoke to something in Kohaku and produced fear.
"Because you're speaking in a past tense I'll hazard a guess and assume that this isn't the camp."
"Then you would be correct." Again the redhead spoke with that chilling precision.
"And if I hazard that she came with you would that be correct?" Something in him was praying very hard that one of these strange children would say yes.
"Yes . . . " The sandy haired girl spoke this. Something similar to relief rose in Kohaku. He was too young to recognize hysteria.
"Well then," He said almost heady with relief that showed it's self in cheerful, almost to a point of sounding frenzied, tone of voice, "Where is my Oneesan?" He added confidentially, like one sharing a great secret, "She will freak when she finds me here; said that she wanted to go to summer camp to get away from me."
The children all looked away from him again. He now had the chance to notice a group of odd-looking beings huddled in a protective semicircle around these children and himself. He felt something inside him sink. Why wouldn't they talk to him? Why wouldn't they tell him where his Oneesan was?
"Where is my Oneesan?"
The tall skinny blond boy flinched at the intensity in Kohaku's voice.
" . . . Gone away." The dark haired boy finally said distantly, almost as if he wasn't really there.
"Gone? Gone where? Where is my Oneesan!" Kohaku could feel panic rising in his throat. He had never been one to become hysterical unduly, nor was he a person who took things very seriously, but there was one button he had, that when pushed caused a reaction that would be the equivalent to the that of a tornado on a summer day; fast, violent and out of the blue. That button was his sister and/or anything to do with his sister. And right now his inborn sixth sense that all siblings seem to have was kicking into overdrive. "Where is my neechan?"
"Dead."
The silence was sudden and complete. Kohaku closed his eyes and stood very, very still. His voice was very low when he spoke.
"How?"
It was only one word, but it was the most difficult one they had ever heard pronounced, requiring an equally complex answer.
"It, it was two weeks ago." And so began the stilted, stumbling account of the battle, of the numb days after, of the frightening nights in with sleep couldn't come, of the deep hate for their enemy, and through out it all Kohaku did not move. He did not blink, he did not even seem to breath as they took turns reciting the events of the past fourteen days. When they finished they were quiet. They watched, silent, as he lowered his head and noticed that he clenched trembling hands into small, furious fists. They respectfully kept quiet and the blond kid even took a step back to give him some room to grieve.
He did not move, but it suddenly seemed like the entirety of his attention had narrowed down to focused on the children in front of him.
"Which one of you was the one she saved?" The gentle tone of his voice unnerved them. But the tall blond took a half step forward.
"I am."
The resounding crack of bone on bone echoed loudly throughout the forest.
Too stunned to move, the other children stood frozen as Kohaku started to furiously beat at the blond with small, wrathful fists, eyes bright with unshed tears and rage.
"You bastard." He whispered in breathless gasps between swings. "You bloody bastard. You let her die."
Unprepared for the sudden onslaught, the blond didn't even try to defend himself at first. It was only after Kohaku's fist found his jaw that he even made a passable attempt to stop the younger child's punches.
"I didn't–" The boy started to protest, but was cut off as the smaller, faster boy tackled his legs, knocking him to the ground with a loud 'oomph!' The blond boy gave a grunt deep in his throat as he felt gravel and dirt dig into the skin on his arms and he now began to seriously try to prevent Kohaku from crushing his face in.
Just as this incident seemed to reawaken some spark of life in the blond boy, the stocky boy with the wild brown hair seemed to come alive as well, making him dive in to try and intervene.
Unfortunately he miscalculated and gave a huge yelp as one of Kohaku's wildly flying fists came into contact with his face, or, to be more precise, his lip. The boy growled, then flung himself into the scuffle with abandon.
At this point the other children, and even some of the odd-looking animals that had stood passively to the side, now sprang forward to put an end to the fight.
In the end it took both the dark haired boy and the redhead to get Kohaku off of the two older boys and the plant-creature with the mauve tipped vines and petals to restrain him from lunging back into the fight.
"It was not Yamato's fault." The dark haired boy stressed as he looked over the other two boys battle wounds, most of which were purely superficial. "It wasn't anyone's fault. It just happened."
"Yea'," The wild haired boy managed to mumble fairly clearly around his fat lip. "Give Is'ida a break. 'Ow could any of us 'ave known t'at ass'ole would attack so soon after an attack?"
"Whether or not you should have known isn't the problem," Kohaku grated out, "But you all should have been prepared for something like that! You have a very poor leader if he can't even think so far ahead as to a surprise attack by the enemy." He felt a kind of twisted satisfaction as he watched the wild haired boy flinch and his face crumple slightly.
"You have no right to say that." The mauve and green plant-thing restraining him said evenly, Kohaku noted surprise on the children's faces at this. "I'm pretty sure that you've never even seen battle, let alone been in one. You have no idea just how chaotic or fast they move."
"And you do?" He retorted.
"Yes!" It cried out. He could hear pain deep in it's voice. "How do you think I felt watching the child that had been Chosen for me to protect-"
Rage suddenly ruptured within him. "Well you didn't do a bloody good job of it now did you?" He sneered, and twisted the knife even more deeply. "Where were you while my Oneesan was killed? For what all important reason where you unable to be there when she needed you the most?"
The plant-thing staggered as though struck. The large beryl green eye in its face became both hard and glassy. "I did my best." It whispered harshly. "I did my best to protect her, I was there for her."
"Keep telling yourself that and maybe one day you'll believe it." He spat.
There was a sudden shout, a brief tussle and when the dust cleared the white and violet seal-creature and the yellow and blue wolf-lizard were huddled protectively around the plant-thing, and the dark haired boy and the redhead where both restraining the wild haired boy and the blond boy they called Yamato, while Kohaku crouched defensively off to the side.
"I think," The dark haired boy grunted, having hooked his forearms under Yamato's shoulders to restrain him. "That we should set up camp here for the night and then, in the morning, head to Gennai's. Right Taichi?"
The wild haired boy roughly jerked his arm from the redhead's grasp, eliciting a startled yelp from the redhead, and glared in Kohaku's direction.
"Taichi."
The wild haired boy reluctantly broke the staring contest between the two and grudgingly turned towards the dark haired boy.
"Right. We'll spend the night here. Sora, you and Koushiro can go gather firewood tonight. Take Biyomon and Tentomon with you." The girl with sandy hair and the redhead both nodded and left, the pink bird and the over-sized red and green beetle went with them.
"Takeru," Taichi crouched down in front of the smaller, blond boy. "Can you handle building the fire tonight," He made that a statement, and not a question. "Agumon will help you." Kohaku watched the small orange dinosaur nod and briskly trotted after the child.
"Jyou, you, I, and Yamato will set up the rest of the camp." The last two boys nodded, the blond boy, Yamato, a little stiffly Kohaku saw with a prick of twisted pleasure. Then Taichi turned to him.
"If you want to help," He said stiffly. "Then you're welcome to join in."
Kohaku said nothing and the older boy left.
Once the last of the strange children had left him alone, he bowed his head upon his knees, and crossing his arms over his stomach as if it ached.
If the other children heard a high-pitched keening sound coming from Kohaku's direction, they did not mention it.
4.
"I'm finished Yamato."
He blinked, dazed, at Jyou. "Hm?"
Jyou gave a despairing chuckle and pointed at his bandaged arm. "I've cleaned the cut."
"Oh. Right."
They were silent for the moment as they looked over the camp.
"We should probably be asleep, you know. Storing up energy."
"Yeah."
Jyou tilted his head back to look at the bright speckling of stars in the blackness of the heavens. "You know, when I was little,"
Yamato looked over at Jyou. "Yeah?"
"When I was little and the nights clear like this," He waved a hand at the bright darkness above them. "I would go and wake up my brother, 'cause I was too afraid to go outside by myself, and we would sit on the balcony. Just watching the skies together. I know that Shin did it just to humor me; I often caught him trying to hide yawns from me."
"Why did you do it?"
"Because as a little kid I had privately thought that each star was another world, one with people and history and cultures so similar to our own but at the same time radically different from ours. The thought of other worlds fascinated me."
"Really?"
"Hai, but I never thought of them as things that we would conquer or need decimate them or defend ourselves from, like in the movies, but as people that we would learn and grow from knowing them, just as they would from knowing us."
They both fell silent again, just watching the stars.
"I never thought about the stars like that." Yamato murmured softly. "I'd always . . . "
"Hm?" Now it was Jyou's turn to look over at Yamato curiously.
"I know this will sound really stupid, but, before my Mother . . . went away, she would, sometimes on the clear nights, take me outside and point out the different constellations to me. And she would tell me that the stars that weren't in constellations were all the good wishes of every person on earth."
"It would be nice if that was true." Jyou said wistfully.
"Yeah."
Below them they could see Koushiro, a dark, hunched form backlit by his laptop screen. Sora was lying curled up with Biyomon, giving a pretense of trying to sleep. Taichi was sitting by himself, a little ways from the fire, just staring blankly into the core of the flames. Takeru was sleeping quietly for once, not tossing or whimpering as he had for the past two weeks. And though this sleep wasn't a completely restful one, there was a small frown on his face; it was a more peaceful one than any of his previous attempts. Patamon was burrowed into his arms.
"It's good that he's sleeping."
"Yeah," Yamato saw no need to say who 'he' was when both knew whom Jyou was referring to.
"Kohaku hurt Taichi badly today," Jyou said abruptly, turning his gaze to their young leader.
"I thought you said it was just a fat lip . . . " The younger boy tried to feigned ignorance to what his friend was referring to.
Jyou gave him an impatient look. "What he said to Taichi just brought to the surface and confirmed what Taichi believes to be true."
Yamato sighed. "We can't survive like this Jyou, you and I both know it, hell, they know it. We can't survive half alive and afraid to trust our own judgment." He ruefully ran a hand through his hair. "This afternoon just makes that even more apparent."
"You're right," The older boy rubbed his temples, as if a headache had suddenly struck. "Everything you said couldn't be more true, but there is nothing we can do. Human nature is erratic at best, look at the different reactions to death that each one of us had, fear, denial, humor, anger; each one of us is over compensating in some way. And there is no way to tell what will bring everything back to normal."
Yamato was quiet for a moment. "You're right." He groaned as he got up stiffly. "Let go down to where it's warm." He rubbed vainly at the goose flesh that the cold night air had raised on his arms.
Kohaku had moved closer to the fire, driven there by the deep chill in the air, and was closest to where Takeru slept. So when the youngest Chosen woke with a gasp and a quiet sob he was the only one near enough to give any comfort. He looked in faint surprise at the other children when they didn't come over to comfort or check on the boy, sobbing in soundless, tearless cries. If anything they seemed to curl more tightly into themselves at his cries. Finally, he let out a pent up sigh, and went over to the little boy.
"Hey, gaki," Kohaku said softly to the younger boy, making the child look up, surprised. "If you don't stop crying, I'll never get to sleep." He said with gentle exasperation in his voice. "I'll tell you what, you lay back down and try to go to sleep, and I'll do for you what my neechan always did for me when I couldn't sleep, hai?" The child nodded mutely, eyes still bright with tears he could not shed.
Kohaku nodded gruffly in return as the child lay down again and closed his eyes. Then Kohaku closed his eyes and began a wordless humming deep in his throat, just the way Mimi had taught him. Then he opened with a few minor vocal exercises and began to softly sing the old lullaby that had always soothed him when he was upset, slowly bringing his voice to its normal range and tone. "Tell me I will never die, Take away my pain, Rock me gently in your arms, Say that I'll remain in your keeping,"
Across the fire Sora and Biymon turned towards the familiar voice in tired wonder.
"Brush the hair out from my eyes, Read me a good story, Kiss my fingertips goodnight, Say that I can stay in your company,"
Taichi looked up bemused as he heard the light voice drifting with the smoke from the fire around him. Agumon blinked sleepily as he sat up.
"And I know this much is true, I have lived inside of you, You have always seen me through, While I am peacefully sleeping,"
Koushiro straightened from his laptop, even going as far as closing it half way and turning a face haggard from sleep deprivation towards the singer on the other side of the fire. Tentomon, Gomamon, Gabumon and Palmon all quietly moved closer to the fire.
"You have always been my friend, I can see your beauty shining, I will love you till the end, Long will I remain in your keeping,"
Yamato looked with surprise at the young boy singing, while Jyou felt something painful rising in his throat, and swallowed hard.
"And I know this much is true, I have lived inside of you, You have always seen me through, While I am peacefully sleeping, While I am peacefully sleeping . . . "
The last words of the song seemed to linger with the wood smoke among the quiet children camped in the brightly dark forest on the strange world.
"Thank you," Takeru said softly, almost hesitantly.
Kohaku didn't seem to really be paying attention. He nodded vaguely in recognition to the younger boy's thanks.
"Your sister had a beautiful voice, just like yours." Jyou added softly, using the back of his hand to rub at his eyes.
"Yes," Sora nodded. "Your mother must have a beautiful voice."
"Okaasan?" Kohaku snorted absently. "She couldn't sing her way out of a paper bag, no offense intended, she just has a really crummy voice. Mimi and I, we got our voice from our father."
"Really?" Taichi asked, obviously surprised by this piece of information and momentarily forgetting the earlier confrontation.
"Yeah, his mother was a singer, very beautiful alto, that's where Otousan got his voice. When I'm older and my voice breaks, I'll probable be either a baritone like Otousan or a tenor."
"Mimi used to sing me that song." The words were slurred by the sleepy child voice. All the children turned in surprise to look at Takeru.
"She did?" Kohaku whispered, feeling something in his chest twist painfully.
"Mmmm hmmm, 'cause sometimes, when she was on watch an' even sometimes when she wasn't, I would wake up 'cause of a scary dream. Most time when I did it woke her up too, she said it was 'cause she was a light sleeper, an' she would stay up an' talk to me for a little bit. An' to help me go back to sleep she would sing that song to me. She said it was a magic spell that . . . " The little boy fell asleep before he could finish his last thought.
"Was used for keeping bad dreams away." Kohaku finished softly for him.
"We need to get all the rest we can," Taichi said quietly after a short silence. "In the morning we go find Gennai. Sleep while you can, I take first watch, Yamato second, Jyou third, and–"
"I'll take last watch." Kohaku interrupted fiercely.
Taichi looked into the younger boys face and nodded slowly. "And Kohaku takes last watch. Those not on watch are recommended to get some sleep while they can."
The rest of the children nodded and tried to find a comfortable place to sleep. And, for the first time in two weeks, they fell asleep as soon as they found a comfortable position, and did not wake from night terrors and ghosts.
For just a moment, they were children again, and not the Chosen. For just a moment, they were pure again.
– – –
~Japanese used in this chapter:
"Gaki" – Basically it means brat.
"Otousan" – Father. But you should know that by now.
"Okaasan" – Mother, and again you should know this by know.
"Hai" – Yes.
~Latin used in this chapter:
"Liber" – this means [a child] or, in plural, [children]. I shall be using this term to refer to the 'baby' stage of the Digimon.
"Tiro -onis" – this means [a young soldier; a recruit; beginner, learner]. I shall be using this term for the rookie stage.
"Speculum" – means, [mirror, image, or copy]. This is what Myotismon calls the mirror that Mimi looked into.
"Seminariums" – means [a plantation, or nursery], and is what I will be calling the primary nurseries.
"Ovum" – means [egg], and will be used in referring to the egg stage in Digimon.
"Arbitratus" – means [Will, choice, or decision]. A/N: It will seem very confusing right now, but I will explain the name thing in a later chapter.
"Mea culpa" – literally means, [through my fault, or I am guilty].
"Adiudico" – means [to award as a judge, assign, or grant].
"Tuus possess" – means [thy, thine, or your].
"Venia" – means [grace, indulgence, favor, permission; pardon, forgiveness].
"Mater matris" – means [mother, source, or origin].
"Genitor" – means [father, begetter, or source].
"Ignosco" – means [to overlook, forgive, or pardon].
"Meus" – means [my, or mine].
"Culpa" – means [fault, or blame].
A/N: these are very loose translations. The prayer that Myotismon says, is meant to say; "I am guilty . . . Grant thy (or thine, which ever you prefer) forgiveness Mother/Source Alphamon, Father/Source Omegamon . . . I am guilty, forgive my fault . . . " that's basically what he should be saying if he isn't, please, please let me know.
– – –