Total Eclipse of the Heart: Part 4 – A Soul Still Broken – What remains, when one is already tried and found guilty?
By
Deborah (Kosagi) Brown

Skies of Arcadia and all associated characters are copyrighted to Overworks and Dreamcast. They just hang around my Gallery to cause trouble.

I gaze out of my window and consider my options. I cannot stay here in Valua. Vyse has not said one way or the other, but, if I am permitted life, I fully intend to be one of those who go with him when he takes the Far Horizon into Deep Sky. I just have to convince him that I should go. Enrique would be happier if it were so. Here, I am a constant reminder of a horrible crime.

He does not, I think, blame me, but he cannot deal with me. In a way I wish he would hold me responsible, that he would send me to trial and to judgment. So far, however, he has shown no sign of doing so. Days have passed and the only ones I see are the servants sent to bring me food. They know who I am and they hate me, yet they obey their Emperor, saying nothing. They need no speech to make their feelings clear. It is there, in their eyes, and I do not blame them.

I would go to execution willingly, I think, if Fina did not need help. She is alone, vulnerable and now weaponless. I have seen to that. I look at my hand, reshaping it to something sharp and deadly, then let it return to its proper form. It's so easy now. Trapped in my Crystal for so long, I understand the nature of my existence better. I wonder, could I let the animal exist again? Be just Cupil and Fina's beloved pet?

No. That way is closed to me. My awareness is too deep. Too real. I cannot close it off. Nor can I return Cupil to her. Remove the Crystal in my body from me and the flesh that contains it will die. There is, frankly, nothing for it but to live. To live at least long enough to face Galcian. At least long enough to save Fina. If they will permit it, that is.

"I didn't know you could do that."

The voice is familiar, though I had not heard it for some time. It is the voice I have heard from within my Crystal. The voice that spoke soft words of comfort as I recovered from the spell I cast to save him. I turn from the window and my eyes meet dark eyes behind round glasses. So serious. So utterly calm. So serene.

"My body is not human flesh," I tell him coolly. "It is formed from the body of a Silver creature. Thus, it can be whatever shape I choose." I don't know why I'm talking to him. I do not want to discuss it. Don't want to discuss anything with him.

"You've been avoiding me."

I most especially don't want to discuss that. "Yes."

"Why?"

"I can't answer that." I turn from him, look back at the men and women working in the fields below to clear more land. Land I destroyed. Land my Rains destroyed. How can humans be so determined? In the face of utter destruction, their world and loves wiped away, yet still they try. I would have given up long ago. And that, I think, is the greatest fault of my people. We give up too soon. My memories, or Elder Prime's, tell me that much, though he would not have believed it so. He gave up on humanity. Gave up and sought to destroy it so he could create it anew. In his image.

Ilchymis hasn't left and I wonder if this is another of the Moon's jokes on me. This man, who ought to have been everything I loathed and hated about Valua and about humans, has transcended that fate to become something I can barely comprehend. A man of compassion, in a people who had none. A man of wisdom, in a people devoid of sense. A man of power, who turned that power towards healing and not destruction.

Father. Where was your faith that such men could be?

***

Ilchymis watched the thin dark-clad figure for a long moment. It was obvious from Ramirez' entire posture that he was uncomfortable. Was it the fact that Ilchymis had owned the Crystal containing Ramirez' consciousness for so long? Embarrassing memories of long conversations held with that Crystal made Ilchymis wince. How much, he wondered, did Ramirez remember? And if he does remember, how much of that is why he doesn't want to be around me?

"I've come to give you a check up," Ilchymis said finally.

"You don't have to. I'm fine." Ramirez' slow, awkward, movements told Ilchymis differently. The Silvite was covering up weakness. His chest rose and fell too quickly, short shallow breaths of a man too exhausted to stand.

"You do if you think Vyse is going to take you with him." That scored. Ilchymis had guessed that Ramirez intended to go with the Blue Rogue to deal with Galcian and rescue his kinswoman. "Come now. Am I that frightening a figure?"

Green eyes turned to look at Ilchymis, one pale brow arched. "You think I'm afraid of you?"

"If you're not, take off your shirt and cough." Ilchymis walked forward to stand and wait, expectantly, for the Silvite to decide. He forced his expression to be firm. Forced himself to meet the emerald eyes with a gaze that held only professional interest. "Well?"

At last, unwillingly, Ramirez undid the buttons of his shirt and slid it off.

***

"Cough again."

Ilchymis is enjoying this. He isn't the sort to take pleasure in pain or humiliation, but it does amuse him, I think, to treat the most feared and hated man in Arcadia like a recalcitrant child. The fact that I feel like a recalcitrant child is beside the point.

His fingers are, despite everything, gentle. He even takes the time to warm his stethoscope before putting it to my back. More likely to leave me nothing to complain about than any consideration for my feelings. That's what he usually says when he's examining his human patients.

"Your heart beats rather quickly. Is that normal?"

"How should I know?" I ask in return. "I'm not a healer."

"Mmmm. True enough." He shines a light in my eyes, causing me to wince, then makes me open my mouth wide. "Interesting. Is that your Crystal shining down there?"

"Very funny." Why is it that he always insists on making jokes during his examinations? Some desperate need to be a comedian? Or simply a way to make his victim I mean patient feel more comfortable? It does not comfort me. Or does it? I feel confused.

He chuckles. "No, it's over here, isn't it." He touches a spot between my eyes and I give him a startled look. "I used a sensor to find it."

I recall a similar examination and the memory sends a sharp pang through me. Without thinking about it, my hand goes to my chest. Remembered pain, strangely real despite the length of time since the experience, drives through me. I don't want to think about it.

I can't stop thinking about it.

Falling Again.

***

Vyse opened the door to find a shirtless Ramirez sprawled on the floor, Ilchymis holding his shoulders. The Silvite was keening as he clutched at his chest. "What the" Behind him, Aika and Enrique stared.

"He just collapsed. I don't understand it." Ilchymis' arms were wrapped around the Silvite, holding him tightly. "We were just talking about his Crystal All I did was tell him I'd found it with a sensor" He shook his head, panic in his dark eyes.

At first Vyse couldn't think of a reason. Then he remembered the recording. "That's where it was when DeLoco took his Crystal from him the first time." He shoved the image out of his head quickly and knelt beside the shuddering form. "It wasn't pleasant for him."

Somehow Ramirez managed to stop shaking and look up, pushing away from Ilchymis as if shamed by his momentary weakness. "Not pleasant? Try amazingly agonizing. Try absolutely and awe-inspiringly torturous. Try sheer unadulterated pain beyond anything any living thing ought to endure."

It was Aika who blinked at him. "Why?" she asked reasonably. "You just did."

It took Ramirez several seconds to take in the red-head's meaning and when he did, he started chuckling. A dry, exhausted chuckle that held more wry pain than real humor. "Never let it be said I lack verbal skills," he murmured, pulling himself to his feet, ignoring the hand that Ilchymis offered him. "I really am not this overwrought usually." He picked up his shirt, covering himself.

Glancing the healer's way, Vyse thought he saw a flash of hurt feelings, followed by comprehension. He wasn't sure what was going on there, but he had a feeling he shouldn't interfere. "Somehow," he answered Ramirez' last comment, "I have my doubts. Care to explain what just happened?"

The emerald eyes were rueful. "I spent months within my Crystal with only my memories Unable to work through them. Unable to truly feel them." He rubbed at his chest tiredly. "Ordinarily I would not recall so much of my previous lives. Now, however, I cannot forget. Not yet, at least. The memories – all my lives – are more immediate than they ought to be."

It was Ilchymis who made a sound of comprehension. "Sensory deprivation. Your mind, your consciousness, used your memories to maintain some sort of awareness, to make up for what you didn't have. So now you're too sensitive."

Ramirez didn't even look at the healer, shrugging a bit, as though he couldn't be bothered to acknowledge the explanation. Rather to Vyse's surprise, Ilchymis' expression remained quiet, gentle. As if he understood something that the rest of them didn't.

Aika, in particular, was annoyed. "Don't be rude, Ramirez. Ilchymis is the closest thing to a friend you have in this world."

"Indeed?" Ramirez' emerald eyes met Aika's blue ones disinterestedly. "I wouldn't have thought I had any."

Before Aika could say another word, Ilchymis made a small gesture of negation, as if cautioning the rest of them against further speech. When silence fell, Ramirez frowned in puzzlement, then shrugged again. "Was there something you needed?"

"Are you ready to go?" Enrique asked.

***

Ilchymis watched the Silvite's expression shift. Confusion, then – at last – wry acceptance. "So you've decided what to do with me." He turned, looked at Enrique. "I trust you will be quick about it?"

The healer winced, realizing that Ramirez was pretty well assuming that he was to be tried and executed. Enrique's expression showed nothing of the thoughts that had to be roiling with confusion, hatred and sympathy. Ilchymis knew his Emperor. Knew that Enrique's compassion was at war with his anger at what Ramirez had done. He held his silence, standing behind Ramirez.

"Frankly," Enrique said. "A trial would be a moot point. Unless you would wish to bring forth some evidence in your favor. We all know what you did. We all know you're guilty. Do you want to bother?"

Ramirez shook his head, "No. Not really. It would serve little purpose. Whether or not I regret it does not matter. No amount of tears on my part will change what I have done. Consider the trial done and over. Judge me and execute me, if that is your intent."

Ilchymis wanted to reach out, to put a hand on the Silvite's shoulder. To somehow offer comfort. He won't accept it. Something in him denies all hope. Denies all chance of forgiveness. He looked at the too thin figure, noting the way the Silvite stood, the effort that it must take.

***

I watch him. See the calm in those blue eyes. The determination to – somehow – be fair, even to me. I think I appreciate it, but I really wish he'd get this over with. I wouldn't mind dying so much if it weren't for Fina. Yet pleading for time, for a chance to rescue her before I am executed, is beyond my power. Vyse was right. Arrogance always and ever is my downfall.

"I would note. There is enough evidence that even a jury of Valuans alone would recognize that you could not help what you did. The tortures you endured"

Lifting my hand, I stop him. The memories are trying to flood back and I can feel the whip again. Feel the tortures at the edge of my consciousness. Feel my death once again "Don't." I whisper. "Would you have me endure it again? Here and now?" It is difficult to force my thoughts away. I am trembling with the force of them.

"Ramirez. Think of something else. Something pleasant." It's Ilchymis, voice soft as he stands behind me. I can't understand the man. I have lashed out at him, hurt him, surely, yet he still finds the compassion to help me. Somehow I force my thoughts on something else and – inevitably, perhaps – those thoughts are on a quiet place, laying still and content in my Crystal, listening to his soft voice telling me things about the world that I had never known and had never wanted to know before.

At last I open my eyes again and look at Enrique, who, to my surprise, apologizes. "I should have realized, considering what just happened, that you wouldn't be able to discuss other matters either." He sighs. "Very well. No trial."

"Leaving only judgment and execution, your Majesty," I tell him. "Finish it, Enrique."

He nods. "Yes. Ramirez, I find you guilty of having brought down the Rains of Destruction on Valua. I find you guilty of countless deaths and injuries. I find you guilty of treason and murder, not just against Valua, but against your own people."

I watch him, though I would like to close my eyes. "I accept your judgment," I tell him.

"I find too that your guilt is mitigated by the circumstances. Therefore, for your crimes, I sentence you to a life of servitude. Just as your tears would not wipe away one death, neither would the shedding of your blood." My eyes widen as he continues, "From this day forward you will serve Valua's interests and her people. You will work towards healing what you have destroyed."

Before I can speak, he gives me a direct look. "Your sentence begins now. I order you to join the crew of the Far Horizon as assistant to the ship's doctor. There to aid in its journey into Deep Sky and its search for your kinswoman, Fina."

At my utter, stunned, silence he raises a brow. "Do you understand?"

Slowly, barely able to find the words, I bow my head. I can't fail to understand. He offers me leniency under the guise of punishment, knowing I cannot accept it in any other form. "I understand. And I accept my punishment."

***

Ilchymis put a package into the crate. "Balloon flower essence," he told his assistant, turning back to his shelves and gathering together the next item. "It's used to clot blood."

"Check." Ramirez' voice was quiet. He paused, and added, "Is there a reason you're explaining so much?"

Carefully inserting the glass containers into their packing material, Ilchymis smiled, though he knew Ramirez couldn't see it from his position at Ilchymis' desk. "You're my assistant."

"I see."

There was another long silence, broken only by Ilchymis' voice describing what he was taking and Ramirez' acknowledgement. Only when Ramirez was rocked by a series of powerful sneezes did the healer stop and turn to look at his new assistant. "Are you all right?" He wouldn't have been quite so concerned if Ramirez hadn't laid his head on the desk, gasping for air.

"Does it look like I'm all right?" The thin, exhausted, voice was bitter. Slowly, though, the Silvite sat up and made a sour face. "It's the odor the dust in the air I'm not used to it." As Ilchymis raised a brow, he added, "I haven't had a sense of smell for a long while. Nor lungs to be irritated."

"There's more to it than that," Ilchymis said, walking over to his new assistant and checking his pulse. So fast, so very fast. And his breathing was too quick. "Are you sure"

"My body is still weak," Ramirez answered, submitting to the examination with ill-concealed impatience. "It needs time to assimilate."

Ilchymis pointed out that Ramirez' body had had several days already to recover. "Do you know how long it takes?"

Emerald eyes gazed off at nothing. "As long as I take things slowly, I will be fine." There was a faint note to the Silvite's tone, though, that suggested he was concealing something.

If it weren't for the fact that he knew Ramirez needed to go on this trip, that he needed to help in the search for Fina, Ilchymis would have suggested that the Silvite remain in Valua and wait for his recovery. Still, "You're hiding something, aren't you?"

Slowly Ramirez looked at him, eyes level and calm. "What else would there be?"

Ilchymis had to admit that he had no idea. Silvite physiology was similar to that of other humans, but when you had a body that was formed from the shape-shifting flesh of another creature, all bets might be off as to what might affect it. "Ramirez I won't pry. I hope, one day, though, you'll trust me enough to explain."

***

Trust him enough to explain. I feel a sharp sour laugh try and escape, but after that sneezing attack I can't afford to aggravate my throat and lungs any more. I suppose it could be a matter of trust, but how can I possibly explain to him that my condition is directly caused by my saving his life?

Some spells are cast by an ability to access the flow of magic and limited only by how much magical power one's self can hold. Others, however, depend on something more integral to the personality. Vyse's Pirate's Wrath, my Silver Eclipse, Aika's Delta Storm All require spiritual strength to cast and – unlike the other magics – force of will can occasionally allow one to access more power than one actually has available. There is a price, however. It eats into one's physical reserves, leaving little strength for the body.

I was physically and spiritually one of the strongest of my people. After being reborn, I'd had just enough strength for a Silver Eclipse, but none left for Silver Resurrection. Yet I'd cast it anyway and now I pay the price. I may recover. Only time will tell, but Fina does not have time for me to wait and see. The last thing I want is to tell him. The last thing I need or want is his gratitude.

Ilchymis sighs, removing his hand from the pulse of my throat and walking back to his task. Once again he continues packing and I watch him. I don't understand him at all, but I find myself unable to take my eyes off him. He is too kind. Too gentle with one who has caused so much pain. I am grateful, but I am also – I begin to realize – afraid. His kindness is given to everyone and I fear there is nothing special in his compassion to me. I dare not lean on it, lest it falter.

To avoid the thoughts that are trying to percolate in my head I ask, "Why are you going? Are you not needed here?"

"I have assistants. The worst of the work is over, really. It's been over a year and a half since the Rains, after all" He breaks off, looks stricken. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have"

I wonder how he knows how much it hurts me to think of what I did. However, "You don't have to avoid the subject," I say quietly. "Doing so won't make it go away."

"No, I suppose not." He is silent a moment longer, then adds, "But there's also no point in wallowing in it, either. The point is, the hardest of my work is over and while I might be needed here, I think I may be needed more on this trip."

That puzzles me. "How so?"

"Because," he says lightly, as if simply reporting a truth everyone knows, "You'll be alone, otherwise. And I owe you my life. So I want to make sure you don't fall into despair. It would be so easy for you to do so."

Now I really do laugh, though it hurts to do so. "Alone? I'm going aboard the Far Horizon, with Vyse's crew. That's scarcely alone."

"Yes it is," he disagrees, looking at me and smiling that damnably gentle smile. "You are alone in the middle of a crowd, Ramirez. Partly because what you have done has turned everyone against you. Partly because you have turned against yourself. So you need at least one person who is not your enemy. Who would be your friend. Whether or not you are mine."

As I stare at him, he adds, "Besides. You keep falling over every time you stand up. Someone has to catch you."

***

"Doctor?"

Ilchymis turned to the door to find Marco standing there. The young man's uniform – blue and gold – gleamed in the afternoon light. Behind him were more men. The sailors sent to carry Ilchymis' supplies to the ship, and more soldiers beyond that. "We just finished, Marco," Ilchymis smiled. "But why so many men? There isn't that much to carry."

Marco returned his smile, but lost it as his eyes lit on Ramirez. There was no friendliness in his expression. Even on a face long accustomed to hard, sour, looks, Marco's expression seemed particularly cold. "You'll see," he said grimly "Come on."

Ramirez rose to his feet, using one hand to prop himself on the desk. Saying nothing, he simply waited, expression quiet and composed, as Marco directed his squad. Only when they had loaded the cart outside did he move to join Ilchymis.

Outside, Ilchymis realized what the problem was. Someone had apparently passed the word that the man who had brought down the Rains of Destruction was alive. The path that led down from the hut to the main road encircling the Great Circle was crowded with people, all with expressions that suggested they were considering violence and that only the presence of Enrique's guards surrounding Ramirez prevented them from rushing the young Silvite and ripping him to shreds.

***

I walk beside Ilchymis and force myself not to look at the men and women along the path. I cannot feel surprise at their hatred. The only real surprise is that they don't attack me out of hand. Respect for their Emperor's guards, apparently, is enough to hold them back.

It doesn't keep them from screaming at me. Does not prevent a few from throwing small stones. Their words are garbled, too confused to make out exactly, but I really don't have to understand every word to recognize the invective, to feel their hate. The pebbles are avoidable, but I ignore them, and the sharp pain. It is no easy thing to receive. No easy thing to continue walking without faltering. Only the knowledge that I deserve every word they cast keeps me from reacting.

"Ramirez? Are you all right?"

I glance at Ilchymis, seeing the worry in his eyes. I can tell he would like to stop this, would like to demand these people go, that they leave me alone. As calmly as I can manage, I tell him, "Don't concern yourself, Ilchymis. Their words do not disturb me."

It is Marco, the red-headed leader of my guards, who turns on me. "Don't they? You deserve everything they say, every stone they throw, and more!"

It occurs to me that he has mistaken my words. Mistaken my composure for indifference. Softly I say, "Would it help if I wept?"

"What?"

"Would my tears soothe their anger? Would an apology for what I have done make these people feel any better towards me? Any more accepting of my sins?" He is staring at me blankly. "Would anyone believe such tears? Would anyone believe an apology? Would anyone forgive me, if I begged to be forgiven?"

"WHAT YOU DID CAN'T BE FORGIVEN!" he shouts at me angrily and I feel Ilchymis start to speak.

I put my hand out, stopping my would be defender. "Indeed. It cannot. So I save my tears and my breath and simply take what is , after all, only my due. In every word, every scream of hatred." As a particularly sharp pebble strikes me in the cheek, I add, "In every stone."

To Be Continued