Dineer sighed, lifted his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. "I resisted telling Folken right away, only because I knew how much his heart depended on that girl. Should he have known she was in any sort of danger I knew his mind would be distracted and we'd see just another line of failures."
"Your project mattered more?" Eries remarked, disappointment coloring her tone.
"Ah, no my lady!" Dineer exclaimed defensively. "At least I hope not. I was quite motivated back then to succeed in the Academy, a lot for my poor mother's sake. I admit, regretfully, that some of this ambition may have clouded my judgment. In any case, I kept the secret from him for a good four years. They flew by quickly, mostly because we were so busy. Apparently our 'intact rat' was the most successful anyone had gotten utilizing the particular Fate particles that we'd been working with. The Sorcerers were therefore rather persistent that we continue. I can count the number of days that we were allowed off per year on one hand.
"Needless to say, it was mostly Folken's doing. His foreign approach to traditional Zaibach scientific experimentation gave our research what it needed to succeed where others had failed. All of it sort of stopped rather abruptly once we found out what they were using it for --" the Strategos glanced over at the prone ex-Dragonslayer Commander and shook his head.
"I spent much of my free time trying to find out what it meant to be Selected. Many of my colleagues were completely clueless. Others... well, the question frightened them. Jajuka feigned ignorance, which, although frustrating, was essential to prolong his very existence. I found very, very little, other than it had something to do with an experiment that the Emperor himself was involved in.
"Folken, in the meantime, spent most of his free time in the nearby soldier's barracks honing his swordsmanship. It was strange to see a fully uniformed Madoushi student exchanging trained blows with the best of the General's trainees, but it was obvious he held his own and more.
"And then, the same day I finally convinced a fellow to allow us access
into the Library, Folken met Dilandau for the first time."
The progress that they'd made even impressed Kyr. Though the praise was never directly spoken, but it was a good sign that his daily tirades and insults regarding their workmanship habits had stopped.
Dineer commented that many of his fellows were envious of their success. A great many had stopped talking to him altogether, which did little to damper his optimism. It was clear, though, that something or other had shortened his smile, and Folken attributed it to the stress.
Since they'd managed to isolate working Fate articles, their subsequent experiments produced breakthrough results. What excited the Senior Sorcerers the most was how they'd managed to reverse an organism's habits, color, and even its sex. An excitable, cheese-loving male mouse became a sluggish, meat-eating hermaphrodite after being injected with one of their later mixtures. The two most recurring failures were the impermanence of the transformation, and the bizarre habits that began to appear after only a few months of therapy. One bashed its own head against the cage bars so that the skull split, and even then continued until its brains had been dashed against the metal. Another turned upon her babies, viciously ripping apart the tiny, pink bodies and then spreading them about her cage.
Despite these setbacks, Folken found a few extra moments to begin work on what he called a "Destiny-Prognostication Device," something he felt could virtually predict the future. The Emperor was more than pleased upon seeing the initial schematics, and even considered letting him a few months respite from the Fate Experimentation project to complete the mechanism. Instead, the young man handed over the project to another and returned to the laboratories, shrugging off the Emperor's rare, monstrously ancient vocal praise as insignificant.
The twin cat-girls adored him more and more as they grew, but even they could not erase the troublesome worry that sometimes interfered with his concentration; he'd found nothing of Celena for at least four years. Jajuka's jaws were clamped shut, and Dineer had heard nothing from his fellows. He'd learned to blockade such thoughts when working on experiments, or when sparring with the soldiers. Whenever possible, he pushed the limits of both his mental and physical stamina until his one remaining thought was to return to his chambers and fall asleep, blessedly free of his miserable thoughts.
One such day the sun shone brightly, and while Dineer ran off to pursue an errand, he took advantage of the fine, spring's day to join his friends in the barracks.
"Damnit," cursed the latest fallen soldier, "I've had enough already! Left-handed cripple, my fucking ass."
Folken gave him a small smile and reached down to help the young man up. He took it graciously, adding his laughter to those of his fellows. "I swear, when is it that you'll finally hang up the skirts and put on some armour like a proper man?"
It would be an anomaly if someone didn't ask him that question, and always he'd smile and shake his head. He did so now, and the soldier clapped him on the back. "Ever to have your hands in some rat's guts, eh Ken?"
"Master Folken is a genius!" cried the ever present Naria.
"Do not treat him with such disrespect!" added the golden Eriya.
Another round of guffaws colored the sunlit, dusty courtyard. "Careful Nisset!" shouted one errant fellow. "They'll tear your eyes out with those pretty claws!"
Folken cast a withering look at the twins, whose presence in both the Academy and in the barracks was treated as if he'd took upon himself two companionable puppies. It pained him to think that there were few in the world who would treat beastpeople such as themselves as they would any other human being, despite the fact that they thought, fought, and loved just the same. Bright, adoring smiles decorated the young girls, whom he was certain were approaching their seventeenth year. Their figures had blossomed beautifully, and they'd taken to wearing the tight-fitting uniform of a Guymelef pilot, making him the object of even more gossipy sexual speculation among the Madoushi students and had gained him the obvious envy of his soldier fellows.
The two girls were inseparable from themselves and from their dear "Master." He'd objected highly at first to their almost god-like worship, but when they were unrelenting he wearily let it happen. Without Celena, they were the only two could truly bring out a joyful feeling in his heart, and their sisterly devotion reminded him without pain of the brother he'd left behind. While he toiled in the laboratories, they'd taken it upon themselves to visit the soldiers that Folken often sparred against. Their charm and their relationship with their Madoushi companion helped them convince the young men and boys to train them to be fighters and pilots. The initial reluctance and jeering disappeared once the trainees realized how their natural feline agility and weaponry placed the simple human boys at an incredible disadvantage. Though women were rarely allowed to train in either academy, the novelty of their skill and enthusiasm caught the eye of a Guymelef drill sergeant who took it upon himself to allow the girls to become part of his company.
After all, Eriya and Naria told themselves, what good were they if they couldn't protect their beloved savior?
Nisset, a clean shaven raven-haired man who loved battle, women, and his food in exactly that order, walked over to the stone wall that the girls were sitting upon. He kissed the hand of the silver haired Naria. "My lady, I apologize for my crude remark."
Naria smiled coyly while her sister rolled her eyes. "Sir Nisset," she said, smiling promisingly, though the young man knew that her body and heart would belong to one man only.
Nisset looked disparagingly at the tall Madoushi apprentice. "It's a shame you have two of these and I have none."
Folken smiled, sheathing his sword. He began to reply, for exchanging banter with these men, both crude and colorful in their insults and commentary, was a respite from the jargon that he had to use with most of the Sorcerers, when a slithering, cool young voice interrupted him.
"It's more a shame he wastes time on such trash. And that you waste time with him."
The courtyard's noises dimmed considerably, aside from the chirping of birds and the distant metallic crash of a pair of Guymelefs in training. The group's once cheerful demeanor changed abruptly, as the men looked up on the newcomer with a mixture of loathing and respect.
The surprise on Folken's face was evident as he turned to confront what turned out to be a young boy, no more than fourteen, followed by six boys of similar age. Silvery-white, straight hair spread from a simple, straight part in the middle of his forehead creating a pale frame to a pretty face. His lips were curled in a scornful smirk and eyes that were an unnatural shade of red were narrowed in a critical gaze at Folken's Madoushi uniform. He wore the standard, undecorated uniform of the Military Academy's students; a simple, collared white tunic and a set of dark breeches tucked into high, hard leather boots. A simple chain necklace hung at his neck, bearing some sort of odd-colored pendant. The boy was tall for his age, reaching as far as Folken's mid-chest, and the muscles on his arms and legs were small, but defined.
Folken blatantly stared, his mouth hanging slightly agape. Something about the boy rang infernally false...
"Is there a problem, Skirt?"
The boy's insult jarred him out of his thoughts. He stared the boy down, using his height at its fullest advantage. "I trust, young sir, you have a reason for insulting a man you don't even know."
The sneer widened into an amused grin. "Oh but I do know you, Skirt. You keep filthy beastgirls in your quarters and you fiddle with your assistant when you're done throwing chemicals into rats. Any one of these men can attest to the rumours, although only you can prove them true. Perhaps you'd like to show me if there truly IS a man underneath those robes and cloaks?"
"Be silent, brat! How dare you say such things!" Naria shrieked, jumping down from her perch. Eriya shouted her sister's name and followed.
Six swords slid from their sheathes. A malevolent laugh burst from the boy's mouth.
"Commander?" requested one of the other boys.
A seventh sword appeared. The silver-haired boy walked over to Naria, the smile gone. He stood a few feet away from her, looking up at the slightly taller young girl. Though her face was contorted in rage, and her slightly pointed teeth were bared in an animalistic snarl, he was undaunted. They circled each other, measuring each other up, attempting to intimidate the other into feeling just enough fright to swing the impending fight in their favour. Only the distant, grinding echoes of the sparring Guymelefs and the chirps of some errant birds impeded the courtyard as all eyes focused on the two steely combatants. On the boy's face was an easy, arrogant grin. A faint, feral growl rumbled from beneath his opponent's lips.
"Let's see you burn me, bitch!" shouted the boy, rushing forward and descending his sword in a long, swift arc.
Naria had never liked the sword, and never tried to excel at fighting with one. She had, however, managed to hone what was naturally hers to defend and counterattack against the weapon, especially since the ability was necessary for proper Guymelef combat. Natural feline reflexes saved her from a blow that would have split her skull in two. Easily she tumbled and lifted back onto her feet, only to find the boy had followed her. A heavy leather boot smacked into the side of her head, sending her back into the dirt. She rolled, and the sword bit into the ground inches away from her torso.
Her sister took a hesitant step forward. "No, Eriya!" she said, springing to her feet while the boy looked on, a smile playing on his lips. "I will do this on my own!"
"Then you'll be crushed on your own!" laughed her opponent. He leapt forward, swinging the flat side of his blade at her face. Though the distraction was momentary, the mistake was fatal. Skin and metal slapped together, and the girl fell to the floor a second time. Insulted and enraged, she turned to attack and was forced to stop, halted by the pointed end of a well-crafted blade.
"Well," gloated the boy, "I'd say that was quick and pointless." He pushed the sword in towards Naria's chest, scraping the point back and forth lightly against her breasts. She glared up at him, grasping clumps of tannish brown dirt to keep herself in check. It would take but a small stab to slide the blade between her ribs and into the flesh beneath. As it was, the hard woven cloth of her prized uniform had broken and frayed underneath the boy's ministrations.
"Enough."
The deep tone and the shuffle of his body length uniform marked the distinct owner of the voice. The boy cast a dark, promising look in Folken's direction, but the sword did not move. Eriya was behind him, worry playing on her patterned face. "I said, enough," repeated Folken. "You've insulted and harassed us enough for today. Perhaps it's time you rejoined your fellows in the barracks."
"Back away, skirt!" called one of the boy's six followers.
"Shut up, Guimel," the boy snapped. "If the Sorcerer wishes to stop me, than let him stop me." He grinned, an expression that seemed to stretch the skin on his face and twist the features into a gruesomely handsome mask. The bright metal moved steadily from Naria's chest to Folken's, pressing lightly on the thinner cloth. "What are you going to do? Challenge me?"
A hard clang answered the boy. He pulled at his sword, his smile dissipating. "Let go!"
Folken loathed exposing the artifice that had replaced his appendage as anything other than a normal arm. At the Academy he was careful to conceal it totally, though in the labs with Dineer, who would not gape and stare, he used it as if it had always been a part of him. During sparring sessions he sometimes used it as a shield, although since the straps to a normal shield would not comfortably fit on either arm such usage was rather necessary. However, he'd never really used it in such an inhuman way before, grasping the killing edge of the boy's sword between fingers that should have split and yielded blood. He was angry, and more than that he was confused, for there was still something about him that made his stomach and his heart react in both fear and loathing.
One sharp tug wrenched the blade out of the boy's hands. Folken dropped it to the dirt and stared down the impudent soldier. The boy looked up and saw within those reddish globes a rage and a will to overpower his own. For the first time since he'd stood on the courtyard, he backed away.
"B-But, Commander-" stammered one of his companions.
A swift, cheek-cracking backhand silenced him. The young man stumbled, but remained standing, clutching his face.
The boy left the courtyard without retrieving his sword. His cohorts followed silently, throwing meaningless, threatening glances at the tall Madoushi Apprentice. Eriya helped her sister up from the ground, and then helped her to brush away clouds of dust and dirt. Naria looked worriedly at her master, whose teeth and fists were clenched in an unusual display of black emotion. The remaining soldiers began to leave, muttering among themselves. As he approached the aggravated trio, Nisset sighed.
"That there's Dilandau Albatou. Popped in several years ago, passed all the intelligence tests with flying colors, got up to an officer position before anyone knew it. Acts like an ass, but all those fuckers following him treat him like he's some goddamn royalty." He looked up and beheld his companion's ashen face. "Something wrong?"
"Master Folken?" Naria whispered, putting one hand gently on his trembling shoulder.
...Dilandau...
...Dilandau... Dilandau iz hapy...
"I think it's time to go," he said finally. He directed a small smile at Nisset before turning to leave. "I'm fine."
"Are you now? Too many muckety muck chemicals messing up the noggin?"
"Not at all, I assure you."
"Mind filling me in?"
"It's just," he replied, patting his charge's furry paw, "I believe
I've met this young one before."
"Astounding!" Dineer exclaimed, upon hearing his friend's tale. "What do you suppose it means?"
"I'm not sure." And he really didn't. The picture that Celena had drawn had long ago been both ripped apart and burned, but he remembered well the bloodstained hands and grinning character that had owned them. Between a child's inarticulate scribbling and the appearance of a flesh and blood boy it was difficult to make a comparison. Yet it was not a common name, either in Zaibach or otherwise. Maybe his little friend had heard of the boy before and attributed both the fame and skill to her mischievous invisible friend. Only...
Only the timing was wrong. Celena talked of Dilandau before Nisset said he'd arrived. Or at least, it was too close for him to have established himself.
Altering the Fates of organic materials... beings... wasn't that what they were trying to perfect?
What if...
What if they were already using their research? What if they'd moved on to animals of far better intellect and functionality than mere rats?
Human beings...?
Impossible. The corpses would be infamous.
Unless the security on the project was high, where waggling tongues meant swift execution. It was possible, and it had been done.
Celena. Was Celena there?
"Well, I have some good news for you anyways. I finally got Wen to open up the damn research library to us. Told him that it was imperative to our project, and told him I'd get him a case of Asturian wine." Dineer grinned.
The merriment was infectious. Folken managed at least a half a smile, turning up one corner. "Very well. Let's go now."
"Now?" his friend echoed, startled. "Folken, it's nearly midnight!"
His incomplete expression melted into a deep, disturbed frown. "Now."
Dineer threw up his arms. "All right, all right. I'm going to owe him
two cases after this."
"My lady," said Dineer, suddenly interrupting the narrative to address Eries alone. "if you would, please, find out for me how the rest of my delegation fares? My absence is sure to be suspect."
The elder princess sighed and stood. "Very well. My sister should be up here shortly as well." She left, glancing backwards once suspiciously only to find a worn, innocent smile on the Strategos' face. When the door closed, he sighed deeply and sadly, running one hand down his face. When he looked up again, there were tears brimming his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, swallowing to gain his composure, "but I needed her out. What I will say next is not for ears of ladies such as she."
The remaining listeners shifted slightly, affected by Dineer's growing uneasiness. He drew in a shaking breath. "No one really knows of what we found. The Emperor probably did, as well as some of the former Senior Sorcerers. God forgive me for what I've done," he finished, breaking his final word with closed eyes.
Allen's hands clenched, and Zhi's hand moved to the hilt of her sword.
On the bed, as if reliving the past with the same vivid misery, Dilandau
Albatou / Celena Schezar sighed.