Author's Note: I would very much like to say thank you to all who have reviewed thus far! Your comments are always appreciated, and I enjoy knowing what people think of my work, whether good or bad. Please continue to review!

Disclaimer: I don't own Escaflowne. I do, however, own the twisted little plot, and any characters I have created. Basically, if you don't recognize them, they're probably mine. In this chapter, I own Tev, Sari, Kenet Tesk, Robero Jor, Tavin Gare and Lady Avengine. Hmm, I think that's everyone.

Re-Visions

Chapter 7

Damn him! Van thought, his temper flaring hot. But he forced himself to show nothing of his anger.

He kicked at the smoldering remains of what had once been a home. The bastard was growing bolder. This was the third fire this sevenday. With the chill of winter still in the air . . . He shivered and pulled the cloak more closely around himself. The smoke was acrid, and it burned his nose and throat.

In truth, the firebug had plagued them almost since they returned to Fanelia. Off and on, starting late that first summer, he'd burnt down single houses and businesses, but at first, no one suspected arson. They all looked like accidents, and there had always been a cookfire nearby, so drifting sparks had been blamed.

Then fires had been started against the walls of houses nearly completed. Only one at a time, and they never spread to neighboring homes. When winter had come, they stopped, and everyone believed the "bad luck" fires were at an end. A few days after the thaw, though, they started up again, the same way.

Even though some homes had been destroyed, work continued on the city. Those homes and businesses were always rebuilt, as soon as could be. All through the summers, the firebug had played his game, and deep into the autumn. As soon as the snows fell, however, he disappeared.

Now, he was back again. Van clenched his fists inside the cloak, one hand gripping his sword, still staring at the embers.

Now, he was a murderer.

The house had been nearly finished, true. But the young family had moved back in only yesterday, eager to have their own roof again. A husband and wife, and their four year old daughter. Lara was Tev's daughter, blond haired and blue eyed, cheerful as her father, and obviously deeply in love with Pol. When Van had started working on Tev's crew, he'd met her once or twice. She treated him with no special deference- in fact, she treated him just as she treated her younger brothers. He'd worked with Pol- a good-natured man full of promise as a carpenter. Their daughter Channa was timid around him at first, but soon smiled shyly when she saw him.

Now, Lara and her daughter were dead. Pol himself was burned so badly that Sari, the healer Van had just contracted from the Healer's Guild to replace old Telemon, who had died last autumn, did not think he'd survive. He hadn't awoken since the rescue team had pulled him from the beneath the fallen timbers. Van hoped he would not. It would be kinder that way. He shuddered at the thought of Pol's agony.

Finally, he turned away from the smoking remains. Tev was next to him, staring with empty eyes. His face and beard were blackened with smoke, and his big hands looked red and blistered. He'd been part of the rescue team, and had tried to save his granddaughter. She'd died in his arms. Van laid a hand on the older man's arm. "I'm sorry, Tev," he whispered. The other man just nodded, unable to tear his eyes from the charred ruin. Van swallowed, and continued, "When we find him, he'll pay for this, I promise."

His voice flat, Tev replied, "You need not promise, my lord. It won't bring them back." His dull eyes closed. "Just make him stop . . ." Tears left trails down his soot-stained face.

Van squeezed his arm in sympathy, and quickly walked away. He climbed back up to the still ruined castle, and his thoughts were black. He could feel the fatigue urging him to go to sleep. The morning was in its early stages yet, the sun just peeking up over the mountains. But he knew he could not sleep. Not now. He rubbed a hand over his face and winced. He looked at his palms, and saw they were red and starting to blister, just like Tev's. He sighed.

He had woken about the middle of the night, from a nightmare about Hitomi. He'd watched helplessly as she was torn away from him screaming. He was unable to reach her. Before he'd jerked awake, he'd heard the voice, that somehow familiar voice, saying, "Not anymore . . . ever again . . ." He'd had the same nightmare often, since that horrible night . . .

When he awoke, he was shivering, having kicked away his extra blankets and the cloak. He'd fallen asleep in his old room, needing solitude. It was when he stood to look out the window that he'd seen the blaze, and sounded the alert in the castle. He'd helped pull Pol from the wreckage, and then Lara, burnt beyond recognition.

I imagine my face is as black as Tev's, too, he thought as he entered the castle. Word had traveled swiftly, and the people who still dwelt there were subdued. They thought now that there was someone bent on burning the city down again- and he could not reassure them to the contrary. Right now, it seemed that this firebug might do just that.

He said nothing to anyone, and indeed, people were wary of his temper. His deep scowl and purposeful walk kept anyone from bothering him as he made his way to the castle infirmary. He shortened his stride as he drew near, and entered Sari's domain quietly. Absently, he noticed that someone- likely Sari herself- had crudely hung a door in the frame.

Sari was not young. When Van had signed the contract with her, she let him know that she'd been practicing medicine for many years, more than he'd been alive, were her exact words. She was a cat person, but a different breed than Merle, or the two that had served Folken. Sari was all golden, except for the streaks of grey in her long blond mane. The fur on her face was a lighter yellow and her eyes were the color of amber. They missed nothing. Her tail had a dark golden tuft at the end. With her years came great dignity and serenity. Merle had been slightly jealous at first, but was now firm friends with the healer, for which Van sighed in relief.

In fact, Merle was with Sari now, watching sadly as the older cat woman gently touched Pol's neck for a pulse. When she shook her head, Merle's eyes filled with tears. Van closed his eyes, but the rustle of the sheet told him that Sari pulled it up to cover Pol's ruined body. He slumped against the wall and sighed again.

"Lord Van!" Merle had heard him. She walked over to him, looking at him critically. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, I just came to see how Pol . . ."

"It was kinder thus, Your Majesty." Sari's voice was low, reassuring, but sad now. She plunged her hands into a basin and washed them, before drying them on a clean towel. "He never awoke, he was not aware of any pain, and he knew nothing of what happened to his wife and child." Hanging the towel on a hook, she finished, "If there is such a thing as life after death, surely he is with them now." She stared at the sheet-draped body for a second, then let out a deep breath. "That doesn't mean I like it, though."

All three were silent for a long moment. Then Merle shook her head and said, "Lord Van, you're a mess. And you stink!" She wrinkled her nose at the acrid odor of smoke that wafted about him. "Go wash yourself and change." She started to push him out of the infirmary.

"But . . ."

"Just do it! You're going to . . . make me . . . Aa-choo!" After her sneeze, her nose kept twitching, as if it was about to repeat. She shoved him out and closed the door in his surprised face.

"Merle." Sari's voice held disapproval.

Merle felt her face grow hot beneath her fur. "I know! But a lot of smoke always makes me sneeze! I can't help it, and Lord Van knows it."

"Lord Van is under a great deal of stress. You do not need to add to it."

Merle shuffled her feet, looking anywhere but at Sari. "I know."

Sari studied the cat girl closely. She looked about 16, on the verge of blossoming into womanhood. Even in the chill air, she wore a sleeveless tunic dress that reached to her knees. Her tail snaked out from beneath the hem. Her pink hair curled over her shoulders. She was very appealing and young, but independent and strong-minded. Sari knew this. "Merle, why do you act like that around Lord Van?"

Without thinking, Merle responded with the truth. "Because it helps him to not think about her." Then her eyes grew wide and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Damn it! she thought. I've got to learn not to speak first and think after!

Curious, Sari inquired, "Not think about her? Who?"

Still covering her mouth, Merle shook her head. "I . . . I've got to go see if the goodwives need my help today! Excuse me!" She pulled open the door and dashed out of the room, still berating herself.

Van returned to the infirmary some time later, and saw that Pol's body had been taken away. He saw Sari seated at her worktable, referring to a text and grinding something with her mortar and pestle. He cleared his throat, not wanting to scare her. She held up one hand. "I'll be with you directly, Sire. I just need to finish this recipe for burn salve."

He looked around. She had a pair of chairs, and her table. There were narrow cots against the walls, and a door in one wall led to the healer's personal room. This was the only room in the whole castle that yet had furniture. Even he and his councilors still sat on empty crates and boxes when they met. He sank into the other chair.

It was only a few minutes later when Sari stood from her table and drew her chair back to face him. "What can I help you with, Your Majesty?" she asked pleasantly.

Van held out his reddened hands. "Actually, Sari, I think I'll need some of your burn salve."

She took his hands and examined them. "Hmmm, so you will. The new one needs to set, but I've a little left of the last batch." She selected a jar off her worktable, and opened it, sniffing. "I hope you don't mind the scent of roses, Sire, but the rose water helps in healing." She brought it back to him, and gently spread a dollop over his burns. He stiffened, thinking it would sting, but slowly relaxed again when it didn't.

Out of the corner of her eye, she studied him. She had seen him only rarely since entering his service late the past autumn. He was tall, perhaps a bit over six feet, she guessed. His hair was black, and his forelock, though slightly damp, still hung into his eyes. He had them closed now, and she could see dark circles beneath them. Frowning slightly, she looked closer and saw how haggard his handsome features were, the fatigue in every muscle of his body. His pallor was more than the winter's lack of sun. His shoulders, though not terribly broad, were still manly, but she could see the terrible weight they bore by the way they slumped. From his shoulders, his body tapered slightly into slim hips, and long legs, sprawled as he sat.

Sari said nothing as she rubbed the balm into his hands, and he was grateful. I don't want to have to think. I am so weary . . . I miss her so much . . . Hitomi . . . Even her name brought him pain.

"Are you burned anywhere else, Sire?" Her voice was soft, but it still brought him back to reality.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, and stared at her, uncomprehending, then shook his head. "No, I don't think so." He made as if to stand, but she shook her head and motioned him to stay seated. Puzzled, he sat back.

"My lord, you look tired. Are you sleeping well?" She turned back to her worktable to replace the jar.

Defensively, he asked, "What makes you say that?"

She snorted quietly. "Sire, one doesn't need to be a doctor to see the deep circles under your eyes. You are pale, and, from what I hear, inclined to be a bit short-tempered. Before you claim it is only from last night, I will remind you that I am a doctor, and I can tell when a patient has had one sleepless night- or many. So, what has been causing your wakefulness?"

Her back was still to him, but her sharp ears heard him get up and take a step toward the door. "I am the king of this country," he said over his shoulder. "Isn't that enough reason?"

She allowed him to reach the door before she spoke again. "Sire, I can't cure you if I don't know your symptoms."

He stopped in the doorway. So softly that she almost couldn't hear, he replied, "I don't want to be cured." When she turned, he was gone.

Sari sighed, and looked down at her cluttered worktable. Well, I knew he was stubborn, she thought. Maybe Merle will tell me more. He's too young to look like that.

Van took a deep breath in relief when he escaped the infirmary. Sari was too perceptive by half, he thought darkly. But that's what makes her a good doctor. After all, your hands don't hurt anymore, do they?

Suddenly, he shook his head. Gods above, I must be tired, he thought. I'm having a conversation with myself . . .

Except for the fire, the council chamber had been left undamaged. The banners and crests that had hung there, the great table and his father's throne were all gone. But, being on the first floor, the walls were solid. Earlier this year, with work on the city stalled, but nearing completion, Van had started work on the castle. It was not actual reconstruction work, being winter still, but rather a survey of the extent of the damage, and an accurate estimate of what needed to be redone. The architect and the pipeman he'd brought with him from Asturia had been crawling through he castle for the remainder of the winter, even going up into the unstable towers. Today was the day he'd requested their final report. He knew, though, that other matters took precedence.

When he entered the council chamber, he saw he was the last to arrive. The captain of the samurai was pacing, but then, Kenet Tesk never had been able to keep still. He was perhaps 12 years older than Van, tall and broad-shouldered with long, long limbs. His black hair was long, but he kept it tied back into a tail. His eyes were a very dark brown, his face a deep tan, with lines from brooding. At best, his temper was uncertain. He was the only one standing; Van's three surviving councilors were seated on their crates.

Robero Jor was an older man who had been selected by Van's father to be on his council. He was slightly stooped in the shoulders. His hair was blond, like Allen's, but he kept it cropped close to his head. It was starting to grey. His eyes were blue and somewhat watery and weak, and he was not very tall. He had been in charge of copying decrees and laws, and the other legalities of running a kingdom. He was soft-spoken, but intelligent. When he offered his opinion, others listened carefully.

The man seated next to him was tall and dark. His hair was a very deep brown, as were his eyes and beard. He wore his hair long, and kept the beard trimmed fairly short. His age was hard to determine, but he, too, had been on Van's father's council. Tavin Gare was slow to anger, but once he did, he was implacable, and just as slow to forgive. He was the most knowledgeable on matters of state between Fanelia and other countries.

The eldest was Lady Avengine, the last surviving member of an old cadet branch of the royal family. That branch had long ago take up commerce, and traded with other countries in the king's name almost exclusively. Lady Avengine had never married, and had taken over the family's business when her older brother had died. Since then, one by one, her other brothers had died, and the younger generation looked to her for guidance. Many of them had been lost in the crash of an airship many years ago, which had left Avengine with a crippled leg. The remaining few had perished in the razing of Fanelia. Lady Avengine herself had been in Asturia at the time. She was withered by her years, small and thin. Her face was lined and stern, but, beneath it all, she was kind. She wore her slivery hair in a bun at the back of her head. Her eyes were nearly lost in the folds of her wrinkles, but they were still sharp, a crisp grey in color. She rested both hands on her cane. She was the first to notice Van when he entered. Her eyes twinkled at him. Distant as it was, they were each other's last remaining relative.

As he settled on his crate, Van noticed his sketches of the castle on the floor. Before anyone could speak, he said quietly, "I know that we were to receive a report on the damages to the castle, but I believe that we have a more pressing matter on our hands. The person who has been setting fires has now raised himself from menace to murderer." The other four nodded. They knew.

The remainder of the morning and most of the afternoon was spend discussing how many more guards could be spared to patrol the streets, and other ways in which to capture the firebug. It was sometime after the midday meal that talk turned toward that state of the castle. That occupied them until dark fell.

Van was tired when he stumbled to his room after supper. He found that Merle had been there. His smoky cloak had been washed and folded neatly on his blankets. Those, too, had been laundered and folded. He remade his pallet on the floor. It was still almost too cold to be sleeping here, but he could not sleep downstairs. I don't want to, anyway, he thought. I just want to be alone . . .

He'd needed to be alone for most of the past year, ever since she'd been pulled away from him. Merle had told him that Hitomi had moved on with her life, but he knew better. Merle hadn't heard the way she called for him, the fright in her voice. She hadn't wanted him to leave, but he couldn't get to her. He sat on the blankets, his back to the window, and pulled the pendant from his shirt. He was able to see where she was, the Mystic Moon large in the sky, but not able to reach her . . . he almost couldn't bear to look at the pendant, but she had given it to him. As it had been every night, it was a pink crystal with no inner light of its own. It sparkled in the moonlight, but that was all.

Wrapping his fingers around it, Van closed his eyes and tried to reach her. She'd shown him the link, and he could find it easily enough, but he couldn't follow it. That was why she had to call him with her thoughts, to reel him in when he made the effort to talk to her. But now, he couldn't even make it that far. He thought he felt another presence, but he'd wished for it, hoped for her touch so many times, he didn't trust his perceptions anymore. He released the pendant, and rested his head on his arms, folding them on his upraised knees, staring at nothing.

Hitomi . . . If only I'd had the courage to tell you that I love you . . . His grief overwhelmed him, grief and guilt at all the wasted opportunities. Tears started coursing down his cheeks, his silent sobs making his body tremble. After a moment, he wiped at his face, and lay down. Stop it, he told himself, but the tears trickled down into his hair, dampening the blanket folded under his head.

Before he finally drifted off to sleep, he was vaguely aware of a blue glow over his head. Drowsily, he dismissed it as the light from the Mystic Moon.

Help me, my King . . . I need your help . . .

For the first time in many long nights, Van didn't have the same old nightmare. Instead, he was drifting weightlessly in a sea of blue, while a voice- oh, so familiar, and yet not, at the same time- called softly to him. The same words reached his ears, over and over. Somehow, he could not respond.

He awoke late the next morning. The sun was already high in the sky when he opened his eyes. He groaned and covered his eyes with one arm. Oh, gods, what am I late for now? he wondered sourly. He'd sat up and was pulling on his boots when he realized that, in truth, all he had missed was breakfast. Work would not start in the city until the next sevenday, and there were no meetings at all today. No one had woken him, so there had been no further fires, but it also mean the firebug had not been caught.

He stood, and looked out at the brilliant blue of the sky. Far off, dull grey clouds promised a rain shower by evening.

Suddenly, a fierce pain blinded him. It felt as though someone had taken a red-hot poker and pierced his very skull. Every part of his being was filled with agony, with . . . fear? . . . longing? Then he heard her voice. Van, help me!

"Hitomi?" He felt her receding down the link, and tried to follow her. "Hitomi!" Desperate, he forced himself on. He had to reach her!

He saw her. She was falling. She hit hard, and lay on the floor, not moving. He could see people milling about her, but abruptly, they were all drifting away, she was drifting away. "No! Hitomi!"

His head was throbbing from her cry when he opened his eyes. "No!" he whispered, sinking to his knees and resting his head against the cold stones of the wall. "What happened? Why couldn't I reach you?"

Suddenly, he saw that faint blue glow again, and realized there was someone next to him. When he turned his head, he saw a girl, clothed in a strange, narrow blue gown, with a wide belt tied beneath her breasts. Her long light brown hair was done in two braids, hanging over her shoulders. Gracefully, she knelt next to him, and he saw her solemn face. At first, he thought it was Hitomi, but there was something different . . . "Who are you?" he asked in confusion. "You look like Hitomi, but . . ."

The girl didn't smile, didn't move at all, but Van could hear her. No, I'm not Hitomi. She is my granddaughter. King of Fanelia, I need your help. Hitomi needs your help. Will you aid us?

"Of course," he breathed. He could still see her falling, motionless on the floor. "Anything I can do for her, I will!" He knew something was wrong with her, with his Hitomi, but he had no idea what. "What . . ." he swallowed painfully. "What is wrong?"

The girl's green eyes stared at him sadly. She is dying.

Author's note: Hmm, another great place to end a chapter! (grin) Please review!