******************************************
The Vision of Escaflowne: A Return to Gaea
******************************************
Part Two: Where Dragons Thrive
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
Lord Byron
****
It had been years since she learned to remain publically
pleasant and calm when her mind wheeled, sparking and screaming,
with one of Van's profoundly cutting swings of mood. Still, perhaps
because it came unexpectedly or she had been absorbed with the dry
rationality of research or because Van was hysterically confused and
disoriented himself, Hitomi swayed on her feet and dropped a
reference book about Borderline Personality Disorder on the carpet
with a lump of a thud. Her body felt rubbery and disjointed, and she
leaned back on a table behind her for support, slumping to her knees.
Uirichi was an immediate, blurred presence by her side, trying
to check her vitals. "Hitomi? Hitomi, do you feel faint? Do you have a
history of migraines or anemia in your family? Allergies?"
Hitomi bent her neck in a delicate curve; unable to control the
panic darting in her eyes, she could only try to hide it. She stayed on
the floor where there was some degree of safety, tense and panting,
until Van started to drive back the snakes in his mind. Hitomi could almost see his eyes
close and his body constrict as he concentrated on only each thick,
uncertain breath.
Uirichi was shaking her now, hard. Suddenly Hitomi had never
been so furious, inflamed by the impertinence of this stranger. But
Uirichi wasn't a stranger, she told herself, brushing the characters with
broad white strokes on the darkness. Uirichi was her fellow student
and researcher and he was only trying to help. It was a thin,
trembling thread of reason but it calmed them both, and Hitomi
managed a long hitching breath instead of her previous gasps. She sat
there, breathing, for long minutes; Uirichi's hand a cool, friendly
pressure on her back.
"You were starting to hyperventilate," he told her gently, after
a time, helping her sit up. "Do you know what happened?"
"I... I used... to have fainting spells when I was a kid," she
said, glad that she didn't have to lie. "I thought I grew out of them,
but..."
"Did you use to see colored lights before you fainted? Did you
only faint after physical exertion?" Uirichi asked, forehead furrowed
with the pretentious, earnest compassion of most medical students.
Hitomi shook her head gingerly. "The doctors could never
explain them. Ano... thank you for your concern, but I think I just felt
a little dizzy because I didn't have breakfast today."
"Everyone needs food," Uirichi agreed. "Tell you what, I'll
take you to lunch. My treat."
"Uirichi-san, it's only nine-thirty in the morning."
"Well, the ice-cream parlor down the street opens at ten. We
can have lunch then." He helped Hitomi to her feet. One of his arms
was wound tight around her waist and almost lifted her off the ground,
he was that much taller than she. Uirichi's eyes, so blue they crackled
purple in certain lights, were gentle, almost pleading. "Please say yes.
The summer's almost over and I barely know anything about you. I
want to know more about you, Hitomi."
Feeling the heat spreading from her cheeks, Hitomi could
imagine how flustered and inexperienced she must look. Van, sensing
only her embarrassment, was concerned, then disgruntled at her vivid
streak of guilt. A watermark of, 'just trying to help, huh?' lurked at
the back of Hitomi's mind until she flashed annoyance that Van was
the one who set this scene. She saw dark anger and regret common
of Van-- before the sense of him receded to a subtle awareness of his
presence in the corner of... of her.
Uirichi was waiting for her answer. Staring into his relaxed,
empty face, Hitomi was almost appalled at how casually he was
treating this, treating her. After Gaea and Zaibach and Van, the idea
that love or the desire for love could be considered a source of
entertainment was sacrilegious. The candy couples, who wrote each
other notes on purple paper and celebrated their three week
anniversaries, compared their feelings to flowers and spring. They
couldn't conceive of a love whose only metaphor was the ocean. They
wouldn't understand a mottled-green, fierce, soft love, simultaneously
boundless and all-enclosing. Flowers and spring are vibrant, but they
die quickly. The ocean is infinite.
"Milk upsets my stomach, Uirichi-san," she said, peeling his
fingers off her waist. "I think I'll just ask Tsukawa-sensei if I can go
home early and rest instead."
Uirichi shriveled, and Hitomi felt awful for being so callus
before he said, "Oh, don't bother with all that. I can let you go."
She blinked. "Really?"
Uirichi nodded enthusiastically. " I'm your superior, after all.
I'll just write you a note to let you home for the rest of the day and
Tsukawa-sensei won't be the wiser."
They both jumped a good foot when Tsukawa Tomoe's purple
rippling voice behind them said, "Truthful as always, Uirichi-kun. For
one who is so painfully centered on collecting correct details while
working, your aptitude for blurring the lines of honesty is quite
impressive. I never thought it needed to be said, but the senior student
researcher does not control the working hours of the assistant
researcher. But..." Uirichi parted for Tsukawa as she glided to Hitomi
and held her chin, moving the girl's head to check her eyes. "She does
look quite tired. Go home and rest for today, Hitomi-chan, and sleep
and eat regularly after this. You college students seem to think you're
made from synthetic materials. Come, we'll wait for the bus."
She was gone in a whisper of fabric. Anything Hitomi had to
say would only be swallowed by the vacuum Tsukawa always created
leaving a room, so she shrugged apologetically with one shoulder at
Uirichi, gathered her things and followed her sensei out of the
university library.
Tsukawa smiled at the sound of footprints and patted Hitomi's
shoulder when the girl stopped to stand beside her. "Please let me
apologize for Uirichi-kun's behavior if it made you uncomfortable. He
is essentially a sweet boy and a harmless one."
"... I know, Tsukawa-sensei. I wasn't offended or anything."
Hitomi was always frustrated at her bland, superficial responses to this
woman, as if she was a foil in a bad play whose only purpose was to
prevent an excess of monologue.
"You were, Hitomi-chan," Tsukawa refuted, serenely assured.
"But not in a prudish way. I can barely begin to explain the expression
on your face. Somewhere between astoundment, condescension and
sorrow. Occasionally you seem so wise, and amused by the antics of
your peers. You've experienced great tragedy in your life, haven't
you, Hitomi?"
It was said that Tsukawa Tomoe had been dissuaded from
private practice as a student because any condition would only be
more pronounced after extended exposure to her personality. She
taught instead, an established expert on abnormal psychology and an
informal authority on the world at large. She was a brilliantly sadistic
professor, and her students always whined piously about the workload
and insulted her under their breath and signed up for at least two of
her courses every year. Hitomi always believed Tsukawa's true calling
was the stage, with her egotistically caustic and grandiose charisma.
The pomp and conviction thrown into everything she did were
magnetic, hypnotic and exasperating, in that she _was_ devastatingly
intelligent and beautiful and her conceit was justified.
Hitomi was still bewildered that Tsukawa noticed her in that
sophomore Advanced Psychology course dense with shining intellects
let alone saw something in Hitomi that she believed was worth
cultivating. Tsukawa-sensei poured over Hitomi's papers with an
intensity usually reserved for defusing bombs, excused her from her
other classes so she could attend professional conferences, had even
bought Hitomi flowers at the end of junior year. She had asked Hitomi
to stay on campus over the summer as a research assistant for her
latest book about the mental diseases associated with eating disorders.
Most under-grads were denied the privilege, let alone requested, and it
never occurred to Hitomi that she could say no.
"You don't have to talk about it," Tsukawa assured her, noting
Hitomi's nails were nearly embedded in her palm. "You seem well
adjusted enough, and sometimes talking about scars can only open
them. But, Hitomi-chan, if you ever need--"
"Thank you, Tsukawa-sensei," said Hitomi quietly.
Tsukawa nodded, already toying with another subject. "Did
you like fantasy as a kid, Hitomi?"
Hitomi asked carefully, "Do you mean myths?"
Tsukawa clucked a little, disgusted 'tch.' "Japanese fairy tales
have been excavated for psychological explanations down to the
molten core. I'm thinking about western concepts of fantasy, swords
and sorcery, unicorns, dashing knights. An eastern, impartial
interpretation of Arthurian legends might be informative."
"That's very different from eating disorders."
"The exact point, my dear. But I'll only get the grant if people
know enough about it to be interested. So, did you like fantasy as a
child?"
"I... I used to..." Hitomi struggled to say the words, because
she shouldn't let herself hide from them. "I... fooled around with tarot
cards for a few years, Tsukawa-sensei."
"Ah, the tarot," Tsukawa said significantly. "An ancient and
proud art. How does it work exactly?"
Hitomi felt a little smile tug the corners of her mouth. "You're
never supposed to tell the secrets of the tarot."
"Oh, excuse me. Were you any good at it?"
"It was just playing," Hitomi said evasively, thinking of middle
school lunch periods when what seemed to be hundreds of bubbly,
identical girls clamored to have her read their fortunes. Yukari
eventually was forced to organize lines and lists to prevent absolute
chaos. Hitomi, always very shy and never before so popular, had been
dazzled that people wanted her attention and advice. It had felt like
blooming.
"Mostly," she added, a white feather free-falling through her
mind.
Tsukawa arched an eyebrow, about to ask more pointed
questions. The bus came, Hitomi almost leapt aboard, and Tsukawa
had only time to command her to eat more protein before it drove
away.
******
Hitomi's apartment was tiny even by the Lilliputian standards
of a Japanese university, but it was clean, affordable and every inch of
it belonged to her. She adored it with forgiving, tender pride, like it
was an old dog.
It was a release to simply walk inside where everything was
hers and loved and safe. She dropped her bag on an end table that was
the dinning room and, after drawing the blind and snapping off the
light, settled on the cot, automatically curling into a caterpillar ball.
She hadn't really lied to Uirichi about feeling weak. She was tired and
wrung out, and needed to lie down somewhere soft and familiar so she
could think.
She reached out to Van, hoping for a reason or consolation.
He had long calmed down and was too busy with something for more
than a gentle touch of reassurance. It had been a dream, it was over,
he had to go now although he felt guilty for being abrupt. They both
withdrew to the normal sense of connection, a liquid shadow hovering
on the fringes of thought.
"Maaah," Hitomi sighed, frustrated. It had been a raw angry
year before she understood that Van was separating himself from his
pain, not deliberately trying to push her away. It must be second
nature after a lifetime of training to be strong, untouchable. But he
didn't have to do that anymore, she would try to tell him as clearly as
possible when communicating without language. He shouldn't have to
stand alone anymore. She was here too...
A burst of tangled grief and frustration, and Van would retreat
behind a sulky blank screen of such fortitude it awed Hitomi even as
she longed to smash it, crush it, tear it down with her bare hands. She
had known its presence ever she met Van, but she never understood
the lengths required to make it, the sorrow hidden behind it.
Oh, Van.
...and he would open, shy at the touch of her sympathy, and
they wouldn't talk about it for a few months. She was convinced she
could help Van destroy his walls if he allowed her a hammer. Things
had changed so drastically, improved beyond comparison, since his
childhood. He didn't need this kind of coping mechanism anymore.
"Maaah," she said again, lightly now, trying to cheer herself
up. "Van doesn't even know what coping mechanisms are. If they
have therapy on Gaea, Van probably thinks it's a stupid waste of
resources. Shows me what I really know about my major."
It didn't help, she recognized, turning onto her back and
staring at the ceiling. It didn't help because she was succumbing to a
creeping doubt that Van's denial was unneeded. That it didn't help
cushion something. Hitomi had always known her last sight of Van
would be looking down at him in the graveyard, reaching for him,
wanting his warm, resigned wet eyes for just a little longer. The
adventure had been over. The mysteries had been explained. Her
purpose on Gaea had been done. Everything was concluded, like it
was the end of a saga. Leaving then had not been easy but it had felt
supremely natural and right.
Van, however, didn't see things as cycles or stories and an
instinctive part of him had always believed Hitomi would come back.
He had been prepared to give her up from the day they met her, yet
Hitomi always had returned, somehow, someway. Van missed her
steadily, faithful and patient as a matter of course.
He had been so volatile lately, wildly grievous and angry and
confused. The eventual necessity of an heir, an heir she could not
possibly provide, had occurred to neither of them before. After five
long years of having her in only fleeting brushes of recognition, maybe
Van understood they were all he could expect. Maybe this sadness
stemmed from rebellion against a maturity of sorts, fighting off the
growing realization he would have to move past her.
Hitomi blinked hard, swallowing. She was selfish, mean and
nasty, and the idea of losing Van so definitively weighed sharply on
her chest, threatened to cut off her air. Duty might force him to get
married but she had no such obligation, no reason to give him up. She
couldn't let go of Van voluntarily, watch him grow close and old with
someone else. Yet, her return to Gaea meant endangering it, and Van
would sooner cut off his hand than abandon Fanelia in order to live
with her. Neither of them would think to expect such sacrifices,
anyway. They were settled. They were home.
Home had taken Hitomi a long time to find. The light had
vanished unceremoniously after returning from Gaea, leaving her cold
and disoriented on the track near Amano, Yukari cheering her on by
the bleachers. Hitomi had stumbled badly and didn't win a bet whose
purpose she had to struggle to remember and found endearingly silly
when she did. Yukari had run over to console her, full of concern,
sympathy and guilty relief, a bare tremor of hope in her voice. Hitomi
held her in a long, silent hug, then turned Yukari around and nudged
her firmly toward the increasingly incredulous Amano before walking
off the track, beginning her solitary journey home.
The first few months of her old life hadn't felt solid beneath
her. Hitomi was almost scornful of the people here, who were so
pampered by their technology and affluence and peace but simply
didn't care. They never thought about it. They barely thought at all.
Girls she once thought of as friends seemed substantial as paper dolls,
giggling, shallow approximations of humanity. Hitomi sometimes saw
herself as the only thing with dimension and texture in the world,
sometimes as a watery ghost wallowing in her memories while other
people lived. Without her tarot cards and her puppy love for Amano,
which had so defined her before, Hitomi drifted, looking for
somewhere to stand. She felt a stranger in her own life, which was far
more surreal than anything on Gaea. Gaea was fantastic but simple,
direct. She didn't care about the unspoken yet rigid and complex rules
on Earth anymore.
She ached for Van and simultaneously had to grow used to his
constant presence. Learning, by endless experimentation, how to think
of emotions in terms of consistency, (happiness was vapor, guilt
dripped slowly as syrup, worry skittered, slimy like insects) how to
force those feelings through a mental funnel into someone else's mind
and then organize and understand what was sent in return was
exasperatingly tedious for Hitomi, even with her experience in this sort
of cognitive metaphor. It was nearly impossible for stubborn,
unimaginative Van. The alternative of eternal awareness without
understanding would have destroyed both of them, so they worked as
diligently and patiently as they knew how until Van felt Hitomi's first
hesitant expectation of success, and his subsequent joy rang through
her.
They had been sweetly, typically naive. Emotions are seldom
coherent and often overpowering and unpleasant. They are never
substitutes for sight or sound or smell, and Hitomi was shocked to
learn how important physical sensations really were to her, how much
she missed Van's touch. Empathy is always crucial but what she had
with him was only a salty echo of a caress. She drifted further and
further into herself, trying to find him and escaping from the
absurdities at school, at home, with friends. Her eating and sleeping
patterns grew increasingly erratic. Her grades dropped significantly.
She forgot about track meets. She barely spoke, saying as little as
possible in a tiny, wispy voice when forced to. She seldom left her
house, her room, except to go to school.
Hitomi didn't know how long she would have stayed a wraith
if Yukari hadn't visited her two months into what would prove to be a
successful relationship with Amano. Yukari's skin had been too pale
and her eyes were rimmed a swollen blue as she started crying on
Hitomi's bedroom carpet, sobbing with horrible sincerity that she was
sorrier than she had ever been in her life that she was such a horrible
friend. She would break up with Amano. She would never speak to
him again; she would _kick_ him if that's what Hitomi wanted. She
would do anything, anything at all, if Hitomi would just be okay
again.
Hitomi had sat, numb and unsure, before the focus stirred in
her mind and then, for the first time in too long, her vision clicked into
clarity. She had hugged Yukari hard, rocking them both back and
forth; apologizing for making it seem as if it was her fault; telling her
that she couldn't be happier for Yukari or Amano, and if they broke
up because of her she would never forgive herself; assuring her best
and oldest friend, as their tears mingling together and streamed off
their cheeks, that she was going to be okay.
And she was okay, in a manner of speaking. Hitomi,
determined to regain her former respectability by restoring her grade-
point average and position on the track team, worked at a horribly
grueling pace for months, then forgot to relax when she had caught
up. She became one of the strongest students in school, captain of the
track team and an active member in the choir and student council,
popular in the obligatory, distant way of most accomplished students.
Swamped with homework and practices and parties, Hitomi seldom
went to bed before midnight during the rest of high school, always fell
asleep immediately and without dreams. Van was busy himself with
forming a system of ultimate peace. He wasn't bothered by how little
attention she paid him, allowing Hitomi years to diligently and
productively avoid thought.
One day in the last term of her last year, after she had been
accepted to every college she applied to and had chosen the largest
and most prestigious of them, she finished her night's studying, packed
up her things neatly, sat down her bed and began to cry, sadness
keening as it clawed its way out of an abandoned heart.
Van was soundly asleep for the first time in more than three
months, finally home from smoothing out part of the main treaty
involving Fried and Zaibach. Still, he felt her tears as knives piercing
his throat and woke. Hitomi felt his concern and wonder and
exhaustion immediately. She could picture him in more detail than she
had in years-- sitting up on his pallet in his large, empty, wooden
bedroom, his thick black hair wildly askew and sweet combined with
noble, obvious efforts not to yawn. The image was a warm one and, in
picturing it, Hitomi again realized she loved Van so deeply it was a
tangible pain. It ached in her chest, choked her throat.
In the face of this new-old affirmation she could only cry
harder.
Because, she tried to convey miserably at Van's bewilderment,
she _missed_ him. She had always missed him but it had hurt to miss
someone so much, so futilely. She had tried to work through those
feelings but she had only papered them over, confusing rejection with
healing. She wanted Van here with her and she didn't care where here
was if they were there together. But a here didn't exist for them. They
had nowhere to go.
Van didn't answer. He knew nothing to say. All he could do
was to stay awake with her as she cried, making his presence strong
and warm and comforting. He wished-- he tried to hide it from Hitomi
but did a clumsy job-- he wished on all that was holy and powerful
that he could hold her for just this one night. That she could hold him.
Hitomi finally slept, and sleeping, dreamed for the first time in
years, dreams with texture but no substance. She woke up swollen and
rubbery and resigned that the pieces of her had come apart and needed
to be assembled differently, correctly this time. She got out of bed,
washed her face and took the first tiny, quivering steps towards being
okay.
Hitomi went off to college that fall serene in her knowledge
that she could not exclude Van from her life any more than it could
around him. She worked industrially although not so frantically that
the colors in her life faded from neglect. She made good friends in
every value of the word, which is not a blessing, as some say, but a
gift. Hitomi discovered psychiatry. The study of the soul and the
correction of the mind appealed to her pronounced sense of empathy
and seemed fitting, almost poetic, somehow. While an underclassman,
she had vague speculations for medical school which had evolved into
names and plans as a rising-senior. The main choice was yet undecided
but only a fluff of worry obscuring the shape of her life. And she had
Van, although he was not beside her. That was enough, for now at
least. Also there were times, when she felt him with such precision she
could have been a mirror or when her breath would catch in her throat
a moment before a white feather floated to the ground, almost
touching her tennis shoes, she knew their paths would cross again as
certainly as she knew anything.
And now that she had finally swept up all the broken glass in
her life, now that she had a new and brilliant hope that a fairytale
ending might exist somewhere, the mere speculation of a child
threatened to destroy it. How did this satisfy their story? How was this
right?
*****
Celena had always privately believed Van would be an
excellent troll, with the amount of time he spent skulking in the dark.
At the very least he was a creature attuned to the wet promise of
caves, always seeking out enclosed, dusky places to lurk in whenever
possible. She didn't know whether he had made a conscious decision
to go there, but Celena was certain she would find Van in the
Crusade's cargo hold.
Van was sitting on, Celena realized with a touch of dismay, a
soft cloth bag containing her best dresses. A lamp flickered by his side,
making his face look careworn and illuminating a sheet of pink paper
he was holding. He looked up at her footsteps padding down the
stairs, hand automatically reaching for his absent sword. Recognizing
her, he relaxed and nudged the oil lamp over so she could see clearly
enough to reach him.
"What are you doing down here?"
"Hiding from Allen." Celena barely avoided tripping over a
suitcase, managing to be dainty about it. "He's trying to lecture me on
proper Daedalian etiquette and I just can't take it anymore. What are
you doing down here?"
Van held up the paper. "Merle wrote yesterday. I didn't have
time to read it then."
"How is she?" Celena asked, more from courtesy than interest.
She had only heard of Merle in passing reference and had never known
the catgirl personally.
Van took a little too long to say, "Happy. She likes all the
children at the center. The people in the village are nice, and someone
named..." he checked the letter for confirmation. "Setzal brings her
flowers every other day and took her to the summer festival."
"That sounds nice."
It could have been a trick of the light, but Van seemed to
grimace. "He'd better have serious intentions towards her. If he's just
messing around with Merle for fun..."
"You're going to make a very scary brother-in-law when she
gets married. Honestly, you sound almost like Oniisama."
Van uncurled, swinging his legs over the side of her garment
bag. "You shouldn't say things like that."
"Eh?"
"About Allen. You love him and respect him, but he can't
know it from the way you talk," Van stood up, rubbing his arms. "Is
Sherazarde on board?"
"What? Of course not, this is a visit to promote peace."
Van blinked, staring somewhere at his side, far away. "Of
course. Why would it be?"
"Is something wrong, Van?" Celena picked up the lamp,
making the shadows flee to the corners where they crouched, waiting
to come back. "You're acting funny."
Van blurted, almost sheepish but almost fierce too, "I don't
know. I just have this feeling... it feels like... like something bad's
gonna happen."
"What do you mean by something bad? How do you feel
differently?"
"I don't know. Just... it's nothing. Dreams. It's not important,"
Van sat down again, crossing his arms and scowling at the floor to
indicate the conversation was over.
Celena crossed her own arms in parody. "If you're going to
mope while sitting on my dresses and rumbling them all up, I have the
right to know what you're moping about."
Van eyed her balefully beneath the fall of his hair like a sullen
pony. She arched an eyebrow and started tapping her foot to
demonstrate she wasn't impressed when the ship shifted suddenly from
heavy turbulence and, caught off-balance, Celena's feet skidded out
from under her as she landed on her bottom. Van snorted as she tried
to regain her hauteur, not because of the fall in itself. He had never
found the fact that she was hopelessly clumsy amusing or even
particularly noteworthy.
When she had first moved in with Allen, when she had first
moved back home although everything was too disjointed and
frightening for her to see that it was home at the time, she never acted
the part of the clown, exactly, but she had almost unconsciously
accentuated her trips and blunders. Dilandau's every action was one of
poised, arrogant, grace; Celena considered it a good day if she hadn't
walked into a tree. It was one of the dozens of little personality
differences between them that everyone, including the princesses and
even Allen, kept a private catalogue of. They knew Celena wasn't
Dilandau. They _believed_ that Celena wasn't Dilandau, which meant
much more, but he had presented such a threat and Celena had been so
skittish and quiet in her uncertainty. She had changed back into
Dilandau before and who could say she wouldn't again? Who could
say that wasn't her _true_ form after all this time?
So Celena had been as politely meek and awkward as she
could let herself be, hoping strangers would relax their guard around
her, trying to ease the occasional guilty flashes of worry in Allen's
eyes. But, after they decided they could trust each other, Van
unconditionally stopped associating her with his old rival. For much of
those first two years he was the only person in her world who fully
trusted her and Celena was infinitely grateful to him for that.
"So whatsa matter, Van?" She asked again, not breaking
rhythm.
Van cradled his chin in his palms, debating something. "It took
me a while to realize Merle wasn't coming home."
Celena blinked. "Ah?"
"It never occurred to me that she would ever leave," Van
continued, shoulders slumping. "She was always... there for me. We
were all each other had. But something changed after the war. She
didn't let go of me, really, she still writes three times a week, but...
One day she came to me almost crying, saying that things were too
different now and she couldn't help me by staying by my side
anymore. That I didn't need her like that anymore. She said the only
way she could help me now was to help Fanelia, and she was leaving. I
couldn't force her to stay, I didn't have the right, but I wanted to. I
really wanted to."
Van never lied but Van hid things. He was hiding now,
diverting attention from the real problem to a cleaner, more
sympathetic one. It might have been a tactical confession but Celena
could see it was also an honest, painful sacrifice for such a private
person and she didn't have the heart to confront him about it.
He scared Celena sometimes, he was so clever. They could
only be thankful Van _was_ direct and honest if given the choice.
A buttery, unexpected light shone in as the hatch opened, and
Van was immediately on his feet, holding her back with one hand.
Celena eyed him, cool and skeptical, as a child's round, vaguely
hopeful face peaked in.
"Van-sama?"
Van shot Celena a pre-emptive glare before she could laugh at
him and stepped forward to help the boy down the ladder. "I'm here.
It's Ren, isn't it?"
On solid ground now, Celena could see the page blush. "Yes,
Van-sama. Van-sama, Allen-dono says to tell you that the ship will
land within the hour."
"And that I should come up?" Ren nodded. "Tell him I'll be
there soon. Thanks."
After the boy had skittered back up again, Celena said, "He
seems sort of young to be allowed to be part of a traveling party."
Van shrugged. "I requested that he should come. I like him.
He's smart and... I don't know. Familiar. Are you coming up too?" He
added before she could say anything.
"Not while Oniisama's still on a decorum kick."
"Alright, fine," Van's voice almost echoed in the deepness of
the hold as he started climbing up the ladder. "I'll just tell him you're
in here."
Celena stuck her tongue out at his uncaring back before
scrambling over her skirts to follow Van up.
*****
Hitomi must have slept because she woke when someone
banged heavily on her door. The sky was ink-blotter thick and dark
from the pocket of her window, and, disoriented, Hitomi sat halfway
and tried to make sense of the spidery green numbers of her alarm
clock. It was almost nine. Finally she ran her fingers through her hair,
straightened her shirt and went to the front door, peering through the
peephole on tiptoe.
"Who is it?"
It was a laughing, low voice, a clarinet of a voice. "Kitsune.
We'll either steal all your rice or give you an unlimited supply,
depending on our mood. And if you give us money."
Hitomi only smiled because he could not see it. "I don't have
any rice."
"Oh, for the sake of... Seiko, stop playing around. Hitomi, you
know it's us. Please, open the door."
Hitomi unlocked it and took a cautious step back. "If you're
going to be so sweet about it..."
Seiko slammed open the door like a Viking, proudly holding a
white plastic sack in front of him. "Food!"
"That's a bag," Hitomi pointed out.
"There's food in the bag." Niabi stepped out behind him, a
miraculously smooth, calm presence in his wake. The girls hugged,
and Niabi's almond eyes narrowed, getting down to business. "I
bought some ramen for you on the way home from work because I ran
into Uirichi in the cafeteria. I'm very disappointed, Hitomi."
"You're disappointed that I felt dizzy?"
"Partially, but you slept all day and you'll eat a good dinner so
I'm not very worried," Niabi said, voice echoing from inside the closet
where she was getting trays. "Uirichi said you turned him down."
Hitomi shrugged uncomfortably with one shoulder. "Oh,
that..."
"Yes that," Niabi mimicked, a little pinched. "And don't say
this one isn't your type again. Uirichi is _everybody's_ type. He's nice
and smart and handsome--"
"Let's not get carried away," Seiko said in warning, sprawled
on the couch the three of them had rescued from a dumpster when
Hitomi had first moved in, gawky legs and arms almost eclipsing it.
"And he's not always covered in paint..."
Seiko groaned, one hand prominently displayed over his heart.
"See how she treats me? Most girls would love to date a creative,
sensitive artist like myself, and yet I fall in love with a woman made
entirely out of right brain. The fate I suffer."
"Poor Seiko-chan." Niabi perched on the armrest, stroking his
hair back with the lightest brush of her fingertips. "It is hard to be
involved with the only person capable of organizing your life,
considering how screwed up you are."
"I don't think that's a medical term."
"It's not." A timer beeped in the kitchen nook, and Niabi
returned to attention like a hunting dog. "The water's boiling."
"Thank you," Hitomi whispered when she was out of earshot,
sitting down beside him.
Seiko shrugged, always a long, leisurely gesture for him. "If I
can do anything, it's distracting Niabi-chan. But I only did it because I
think it's your business if you want to die alone, not because I disagree
with her."
"I don't want to die alone..." she protested feebly.
Seiko leaned over and tapped her on the nose with a paint-
smeared finger. "I know you don't really. Sorry if Niabi-chan and I
seem pushy sometimes. It's only because we love you and want you to
be happy, and because we want to pay you back for introducing the
two of us. You know that, right?"
Hitomi nodded, and Niabi poked her head in to announce that
dinner was ready. They ate on the floor with splintery chopsticks,
talking about things worth very much and very little. The ramen was
awful, salty enough to be brine, and the floor was uncomfortable but,
in memory and in truth, it was a lovely dinner.
*****
In theory he could understand why the people treasured Van,
clinging to a physical manifestation of right in these uncertain times.
He knew that Van dwelled in the delicate gap between royalty and
commoners, and how passionately people would react to a leader they
could both trust and revere. Hypothetically, he understood perfectly.
But if it was only a theory Allen would never have met Van,
certainly not as a sullen, irrational kingling of ashes. He would not
know how fundamentally wrong Van had been about so many matters
that needed to be perfected for a kingdom to have any grasp at
prosperity. Allen would not be able to remember the things he had
taught Van; how he once considered him not inferior, exactly, but
someone who could exist in the peripheral if Allen was unable to tend
to his problems.
So, he could acknowledge but not quite understand why it
seemed as if the entire nation of Daedalus came to watch 'The
Crusade' land, eager to personify a myth. It was an ocean of people,
as many dressed in linens or velvets as in burlap, centralized but
seething like the waves or the tide. Van appeared faintly surprised
himself but he always acted ignorantly perplexed when he saw proof
of his influence, as if he had stumbled into power by happy accident.
Knowing Van, maybe he had, but he used his leverage with such
calculated finesse that Allen was becoming irritated at his continual
claims of anonymity.
He gave a speech. It was simple and short. Allen could not
remember the details, only that it dealt with peace and Van's gratitude
for the crowd's participation in the process and how silent those
hundreds of people had been during it, drinking his words with
parched faces. Allen remembered being a little moved himself. It was
as if he saw, not just in theory but with his eyes, Van's picture of Gaea
as a circle-- an equal, perfect circle -- how this meeting was to
hammer in a kink so it would be smooth and peaceful.
Daedalus was a red kingdom, a dry kingdom, where the iron in
the earth destroyed all possibilities of farmland. The heat-cracked
ground gave off billows of rusty dust which turned the sky the tired
crimson of dried blood. Daedalus was a mining nation, a country that
lived on trade and careful planning. Asturia should not be an
unknowing partner in any plan and that was why they came.
Daedalus' king, Daelin, was tall and stooped with a strong
nose and grey hair, formidable in the way of all men who had wielded
power long enough to be at ease in it. He had not had any major
problems with the alliance that either Allen or Van could remember,
just joined in the general disagreeable rumblings towards Zaibach and
expressed concern for the long-term safety of his kingdom which was
quickly put to rest. He greeted the delegation in his throne room in full
attire and ceremony, then moved to some sort of library or office
where Van and Celena, at least, were more comfortable although
Allen was nettled by this lack of respect. Daelin bowed deeply to Allen
and Van, as the leaders, and kissed Celena's hand before taking a seat
behind a gorgeous wooden desk.
"We are, of course, honored to have the Shezars with us again
as one of the most influential families in all of the great kingdom of
Asturia. And Fanelia-dono, your presence is a true honor to this
country."
"Only as much of an honor as I feel from being allowed here,"
Van said, polite if a little distant. His impatience with formality was
legendary, however, and would not be considered offensive.
"You are too kind, Fanelia-dono. As pleased as I am at the
presence of both Asturia and Fanelia, I have no choice but to wonder
why exactly Daedalus has this pleasure."
"Bandits have killed three more Asturian citizens since our last
visit," Allen answered, really speaking for the first time since they
landed, voice low and throaty.
Daelin had the decency to lower his eyes. "That is a tragic loss,
Shezar-dono. We are doing everything in our power to apprehend
these thieves and stop their spread of horror."
"Indeed."
Allen had time to glimpse Van looking at him, surprised by his
threadbare gentility, before a scuffle could be heard, muffled by the
door but still distracting. A low feminine voice was raising in timber,
responding angrily to a person they could not hear, and then the door
swung open and a girl entered, declaring, "I don't care if you have
visitors, Papa, I have to talk to you about the water rations for the
Eastern border. It's just not fair--"
"Sarine!" Daelin rumbled, warning thunder before the storm.
"This is hardly the time!"
She put her hands on her hips. "I _said_, Papa, that I don't
care who the guests are. We need to--"
"Allen and Celena Shezar, Van Fanel, please meet my only
daughter and child, Sarine Dauldus," Daelin said with weary finality.
She froze, then her hands fell to her sides again. "That was
_today_? Oh... please forgive me if I seemed rude." She smiled, it was
beautiful, and curtsied before each of them. "Allen-san, Celena-san, it
is a pleasure." After curtsying to Van she took his hand gently in both
of her tiny, pale ones. "Van-san... this is an honor. I have always
admired your work."
Van shook his head lightly as he launched into a modified
speech about how very little credit he deserved, seemingly unaware
that a creature of the divine had graced him with her touch. Sarine was
a few years younger than Celena and infinitely more delicate, with the
long-legged almost gawky grace of a deer. Her eyes were large and
dark, too dark to see what color they were a variation of but the
constant play of light made them sparkle blue then grey then green.
Her hair, now bound with jeweled clips, could have tumbled in dark
brown waves to at least the small of her back and emphasized the
cream of her complexion and her elegant pink mouth. She listened
intently as Van talked, lovely head slightly tilted.
Celena sidled up to Allen to whisper in his ear, "You're an
engaged man. A _really_ engaged man, this time, and she can't be
more than eighteen."
"I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, Celena-
chan "
Celena snorted a quiet but an unladylike snort, leaning back
against a bookshelf.
"We have, of course, prepared entertainment every night
during your stay," Daelin said, seeing any semblance of order
disintegrating. "To celebrate your arrival, for example, we are
throwing a ball. I trust that will please you, knowing how you
Asturians adore balls so."
Van deflated, visibly sank a few inches. Allen hurried to fill any
gap in the conversation. "We all look forward to it of course."
Daelin nodded. "I imagine that you must be tired from your
long journey. You will be shown to your chambers. Let us have a
pleasant day of greeting before forcing ourselves through politics."
"Yes," said Van. "And again, thank you for your hospitality,
Daedalus." He took a step forward, meaning to bow, before realizing
that Sarine was still holding his hand. He blinked at her, mildly
curious, and she dropped it immediately. Van bowed and turned to
leave, Celena and Allen at his heels, before adding as an afterthought,
"During any sort of negotiation we might have, I would be interested
to know about any water problems Daedalus might be having. Crimes
stemming from a lack of resources are the most common, as Sarine-
san seems to know."
Confusion crossed her face like a cloud. "Resources? Oh...
water rig- rations. Yes."
They left shortly after that.
*****
the first meeting. an event for history. how did it go?
as expected. slipped a little but recovered.
careful. he could catch on quickly. keep up in front of the
others, they're quick too.
understood.
impressed?
more than expected. he's... strong.
he's perfect. be perfect for him.
*****
Van did not hate balls even though he considered them empty,
pointless social gatherings because he was careful only to hate what
was dangerous enough to deserve his hatred. But he didn't see the
point of dressing up and dancing anymore than he understood the
theater or cardgames or education beyond basic reading and
arithmetic. Van had no interest in entertainment; he had never had the
luxury of boredom.
But he understood why his presence was required at Daelin's
festivities that night. Van came, sat at his table and tried to stay
awake, until Allen demanded, with urgent, quiet outrage, that he leave
the main hall considering it was only a matter of time before his
ingratitude offended the assembled Daedalians. Not for the first time,
Van couldn't begin to understand Allen's reasoning but he conceded
to it eagerly and snuck out to the balcony. Van always fit into himself
better outside. Life felt more concrete, more substantial, there. He
settled down on his back, arms folded behind his head, savoring the
pressure of cold, rough stones against his shirt. The mystic moon was
shining, huge, above him, made from a purer, wiser light than sunstuff.
He had brought Folken's dragon to Daedalus because he didn't
know what else he could do with it. The carving, the dream, this visit,
were all important somehow. A thrumming, crouching, energy had
been bothering him all day, offering a hint of something that was going
to happen, something big. Van could taste it, feel its itch on his
fingertips, but he was missing a key element, some connecting theme,
that would make the situation clear. Van found it
profoundly frustrating.
He felt the vibrations of careful footsteps, footsteps of
someone trying to hide, more than he heard them. Van jumped up,
whirled around, only to see Sarine, almost invisible in the dark of her
midnight blue gown except her lines were illuminated by the surreally
bright reflection of the room she had come from. She took a step back
in surprise. Van forced himself to stand in a less threatening position.
"Van-san," she started, a little uncertain. "You're not enjoying
yourself tonight, are you?"
Allen had been right about Van's taciturnity. The king of
Fanelia had the natural social skills of an oyster and polite
conversation was always an incomprehensible tribulation for him. Still,
peace could only result from discussion and Van tried to be tactful
here. "I'm enjoying myself here as much as I ever do at these things.
I... don't find them comfortable.
"Don't you? I don't like them either." She glided to the edge
of the balcony with the slightest swish of her skirt, gripping onto the
railing, staring at the moons."
"You were laughing and smiling and dancing whenever I saw
you in there."
"Yes, well," the catch in her voice could be interpreted as
insecurity. "I do it for Father. He needs me to be the laughing, gay
princess. The Mystic Moon certainly is big tonight."
Van said, "Aa."
She half-turned around, head tilted almost expectantly. Van
had the nagging suspicion he was supposed to stand beside her, and he
covered the distance between them cautiously, settling a few safe feet
to her side. Satisfied, Sarine turned back to the sky.
"They say you've been there," she said. "They say you killed
the dragon there and went back again just before the final battle with
Zaibach."
"They say a lot of things," Van said evenly.
"They do," she agreed with sudden conviction, turning around
and staring up at him, impossibly, ethereally, beautiful. "They say
you've disappeared in pillars of white light and can kill ten men with
one blow and that your guymelef is magical. The say you were sent by
the gods to save Gaea in its time of need. It can't all be true, can it?"
"No," Van simply said. "It can't and it isn't."
Sarine drew back with a sigh. "I know it has to be somewhat
exaggerated, but I still think you're not being completely honest with
me, Van-san. I doubted those stories before I met you, but you seem
like someone who could do something like that. Let's not lie to each
other, Van-san. I think we could be friends."
Inexplicably, Van felt echoes of the time he went on a fishing
trip with Folken and Balgus, and had gotten bored and wandered into
the underbrush and met a lovely, iridescent, purple snake. It had been
the size of Van's foot and stared at him with cool amber eyes, and Van
had stared back and was about to reach down to pick it up before
Balgus, correctly suspicious of quiet little boys, charged forward and
chopped it in half, explaining later that that type of snake's venom was
poisonous enough to kill a cow in six seconds.
"Excuse me, I promised Allen that I would talk to him about
something," and Van left, so swift and quiet anyone could tell he used
to be a soldier. Sarine watched his red shirt grow smaller and brighter
as he walked back into the inside light, her intricate, luminous eyes
harder than marbles.
*****
should have known it couldn't have been done like that. he's
too reserved, too focused.
shouldn't matter. it was tailor made for him. couldn't have
failed from strength of will alone.
didn't. they're still connected. he won't be seduced without a
fight.
how do you know?
from watching. one can learn so much by watching.
at least it can be fixed.
indeed.
*****
City dawns are not often colorful but, with their thin,
diamond light, they are lovely in a calm, disturbing way. Hitomi
watched the morning sky from her postage stamp of a window,
resigned to the new day. Normally a firm believer in staying in bed
until at least eight at the remotest possible chance, she hadn't slept
well the night before and did not see the point in continuing to try. She
stretched, grimacing as her joints popped, and padded into the kitchen
to make tea.
She was filling up the pot in the sink when the dizziness hit. It
physically plowed into her, absorbed her, and her vision flickered and
refocused on colors that were too bright and pictures that made no
sense.
No, she might have whispered although it could have only been
a thought as she struggled against the almost-forgotten rhythm. No, I gave
that up. There's no reason for this. I shouldn't have them anymore.
Please
Atlantis was burning red and gold next to the blue of the sea. It
roared with its last reserves of strength, its golden dome dripping what
almost looked like tears down the scorched marble pillars. The sky
was red and grey and black: painful colors. Dying colors
In the largest dome, only standing now on the strength of its
former majesty, prideful angels were floating in a circle, concentrating
on their last chance of redemption. Some looked peaceful, resigned,
others were crying silently with their eyes closed in concentration,
some appeared angry.
The draconians had been angry?
Sun-sparkling dancing blue-green light filled the room just
before the roof caved in and most of the draconians looked relieved at
this final, hopeful, promise. Some of them, with uncertain glances and
quick hugs of loved ones, floated to the center of the room, of the
light, and...
And Hitomi was falling, falling into endless darkness when a
figure made of light and masked by shadows grabbed her hand, its
graceful wings spread wide, unseen eyes boring into hers. Hitomi's
eternal savior, who made everything strong and safe again.
"Van," she whispered.
But then she was level with the person, although never equal
to her pale, beautifully sad face and cascades of forest colored hair,
and it was not Van at all.
"Van no kasan?"
Varie smiled, serene and distant. "Hitomi." She squeezed her
hand. "My apologies. You will understand soon, I promise."
Hitomi had time for a startled, "What?" before everything she
ever knew was pain. Something was being torn from her without her
consent, leaving trails of fire and ice. Hitomi tried desperately to hold
on, unsure of the specifics, but knowing she needed what was being
stolen with all that made her human.
But she didn't know who or why she was fighting and they
took it completely, with little effort. Hitomi screamed and screamed
and screamed and screamed before she was swallowed by the
darkness again, which she knew would numb the shock for a little
while.
*****
They were walking to the first conference of their visit when
Van staggered forward as if from his dying wound. An almost
inaudible whimper came deep from his throat, and Van nearly threw
himself against the wall to keep from collapsing.
Fortunately they had not gone far from his room and Allen was
always a rock during these times. He caught Van, who slumped over
bonelessly at the touch of his arm, and supported him by the waist
back to his chambers.
Van curled up tightly, swallowing convulsively, when Allen
dropped him on the bed. The knight considered slapping the younger
boy out of whatever shock he was in. Van didn't seem to be hysterical
so much as he was hurting, and he settled on tentatively resting his
hand on the boy's forehead. Van still remained nearly catatonic but he
started breathing somewhat normally.
"Van," Allen murmured, trying to keep his voice soft and
soothing although he would not have been more anxious if Dornkirk
had materialized in the room. "Van, what happened? What's wrong?"
Van swallowed hard once, curling up even tighter in poor
defense against whatever nightmare he had been thrown into. A lesser
man would probably be screaming. Allen sat lightly on the bed,
smoothing over Van's hair and feeling quite awkward and foolish for
it, but Van seemed as close to weakness as Allen had ever seen him,
and he would rather die than live knowing he had not helped a fallen
comrade. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, Van relaxed, stretching out
a little, eyelashes trembling against the curve of his cheek and
breathing noisily, like a child.
"Van," Allen tried again. "What's wrong?"
He opened his eyes slowly, looking up at Allen with touching
uncertainty. In such a terribly sad and fragile voice Van could have
been spun glass, he said, "She's gone."
Allen's eyebrows met in confusion before his expression
softened, sympathetic towards broken hearts. He said, even softer than
before, "She's been gone for years, Van."
Van froze again, Allen was afraid he might have triggered a
relapse, before he turned over, hiding his face. "She has, hasn't she?"
They stayed like that, a sculpture's model of bereavement,
until Van said, in what was perhaps a too clipped and hard voice, he
was well enough to go.
*****
it worked. we can proceed as planned.
almost. they'll be upset. move slowly.
no reason. she's separate. he won't be effected by outside
forces.
cocky.
perhaps. he is stronger than expected. handsome too. doubtless
he's faced similar situations.
growing attached? unwise. affection, yes, but be rational.
always. besides, we know how he thinks.
foolish. never presume to know how any class of being thinks.
he wouldn't be so powerful if he was easy to understand. same
with her, the surface means very little.
her? who cares about her now?
he does. remember that.
*****
Red.
A pool of flat, watery red was the first thing Hitomi saw upon
waking up with an aching shoulder and a throbbing wrist. She lifted
herself up by her arms, wincing as the muscles there protested leaving
the hardwood floor. Shards of glass were scattered all over, sharp and
menacing but nearly invisible except when the light glinted off them.
She must have dropped the pot and cut herself on a piece of it, judging
from the placid trickle of blood running off her arm to the floor.
Hitomi stood up, accidently cutting her foot, and held her arm under
the rush of the faucet to staunch the bleeding, trying not to shake.
It had been another vision. Not a long or directly threatening
one but still, after all this time and all those fiercely made, fiercely
kept, promises, she had felt another brush with something fantastic
and insane. It had to be a premonition of something important and,
without even consciously deciding to do so, she reached out to warn
Van.
And stopped dead, all sound filtering out of the room except
for the increasingly loud pounding of her own heartbeat. She wasn't
empty, exactly; Hitomi's thoughts and moods and memories were still
in her as they are in everyone. She felt closed, as if a door to a cage
she never realized had a door or even the ability to trap had slammed
shut.
Sorry, Varie had said. You'll understand.
"Van?" Hitomi called out softly, feeling stupid since it would
have been a useless gesture in any case but desperate. She needed to
hope, to hold onto something spectacular that she had almost taken
for granted and push the grey truth away. "Van?"
But she knew in her bones that he wasn't there. Hitomi was
alone. The salt of her tears stung her cut briefly as they mixed with her
blood until the flow of water carried both away.
End Part Two