1 Gaea Regained
II. Kingdoms Near & Far
Knows't thou the mountain, with its bridge of cloud?
The mule plods wearily; the white mists crowd.
Coiled in their caves the brood of dragons sleep,
The torrent hurls the rock from steep to steep.
Knows't thou the land so far and fair!
Thou, whom I love, and I will wander there.
Goethe, "Mignon Songs"
1.1 I think of you, whenever sun's bright shimmer
From ocean streams;
I think of you, whenever moon's soft glimmer
In wellsprings gleams…
I am with you, though you be far and pining,
You are so near!
The sun goes down. The stars will soon be shining.
Would you were here!
Goethe, "Love's Proximity"
Legend has it that the Aegean island, Thera, was once the empire of Atlantis. According to Plato and other texts from the ancient people, Atlantis was built on an island, situated between Asia and Africa, with three concentric circles of land, at the centre of which was the island temple of Poseidon, glittering with splendid gold and silver. Thera matches such a description. Her inhabitants had splendour reminiscent of the divine race of sea and air Atlanteans who moved the Earth and, as Hitomi knows, moved Gaea. Some historians have identified the earthquake and flood that allegedly punished the Atlanteans for their omnipotence and omniscience as the 1500 B.C.E. volcanic explosion that sunk the central part of Thera. 3000 years later, archaeologists unearthed an entire city beneath the remaining grounds of the Aegean island. The first discovery, this key piece of clue leading to the lost empire, was named Akrotiri.
. . . . . . .
Looking out into the green expanses of the Sea of Crete – the deepest section of the Aegean – Hitomi pressed her fingers vexingly into a copy of Timaeus & Critias. Plato had accounted true the Egyptians' belief that their ancestors were Atlanteans, wise ones who travelled from west of the Pillars of Hercules (which Atlantis scholars now take to mean the cliffs of the Peloponnes), escaping the oceanic grave of their island kingdom. Atlantis still eluded her. If the Mystic Valley was Atlantis on Gaea and the draconians were the descendants, then where was Atlantis on Earth, and to whom did the Atlantean bloodline go? Is there some power source on Earth that can transform human thought into energy? Is Fate on Earth more inescapable than on Gaea? Can there be a kind destiny for her, for a world that does not have him? The labyrinth of these questions almost burned the emerald waters to charcoal. She shut her eyes tightly at her own incompetence to solve the mystery, and at the impossibility of her ever sharing what she knows of the draconians with her fellow Atlantis searchers.
Boreas, god of the northern wind, suddenly swept through her fawn tresses. A voice reached out to her. Hitomi.
She opened her eyes and stared out beyond the horizon. Her teardrops mingled with the waves beneath. Great heaven and great earth meet.
Van…
What held her the most was his voice, at once resonant and tender, steady and quivering. She often filled her blood with the sound and intonation of Van shouting, whispering or crying, and her soul would tremble with each cadence. That voice is the deathless song of the Phoenix that unites life and death, and carries her above the bounds of mutability.
Where can I find Atlantis, Van? Oh, please…
Shh, it's okay. You're going to be just fine.
Caressed, she dropped her books and fell to the ground, intoxicated by his presence yet struck by the knowledge that he was in fact far away.
"Hitomi! Hitomi!" The high-bouncing voice of her old friend floated from a few feet away. A ship now sailed, like a black dot breaking the horizon. The Mediterranean air was once again suffocating.
"Whoa! Are you alright?" Yukari gently held her up. "Hitomi, you should take better care of yourself. Your mom will blame me if something happened to you. It's the heat isn't it?" She wiped Hitomi's brows with a handkerchief.
"Yeah, probably," Hitomi gasped for air in short, tight intervals, hoping Yukari would not notice.
"Well, here, a letter just came for you. After you finish, you should come back to the tent. We have to get packing soon. Dr. Van Riel is taking us to Thera in three hours. Get ready for some sailing!" Yukari stood up, patted Hitomi on the head and walked off, half practicing this Greek dance she had just learned.
Dusting the sepia dirt off her books, Hitomi balanced them on her lap and used them as a small table on which she placed her letter:
"My dearest daughter,
How is the warm Cretan weather? I trust that you are taking care of yourself with as much caution as you take care of the ancient ruins. The Mediterranean may be well enough, but here in the Pacific, things are chaotic. As you undoubtedly know, the Pan Pacific war has gotten worse. In Tokyo, there are talks about abandoning neutrality and attacking either China or America. But to anger either one of the warring superpowers would mean our destruction. Why can't they stop fighting? You understand, don't you, my Hitomi, you know about humanity's bloodthirsty death wish and you see beyond it all. Would there were more people like you. If we do go to war, your father says he would join the forces and fight either one of the countries that have so foolishly boiled the Pacific. His heart is good and righteous but he is aged and he has us to take care of. I wish you could return soon and dissuade him. But then, I want you to stay where it is safe. Everyone else is well. I will write again soon. Don't forget to call home every weekend.
Love Always, Mother."
"Oh, mother…" with bittersweet thoughts about home, she headed back to the campsite.
. . . . . . .
After three painstakingly laborious years of studying ancient civilizations during her spare time, Hitomi entered the University of Tokyo, confident in her knowledge of the mysteries that are symbolized by the pendant that constantly swings in her nostalgic mind. Coming back to Earth, coming back to adolescent preoccupations that she neither yearned for nor remembered, the then fifteen-year-old Hitomi felt herself to be a hundred, so weak, disoriented, shrivelled up, with one foot in death's door and far too old for life. "Nothing", that nihilistic word consumed her with such hopelessness that she sometimes forgot to breathe. Nothing has meaning. Nothing is the same. Nothing matters more than he. Nothing.
Benumbed by this substantial enemy, she withdrew herself into an abandoned room, full of cobwebs and dark corners, and she called the room, "Eternity".
Whenever Van called out to her, his throat would choke with pain from seeing her thus. Yet as she buried herself into his sublime immanence, she'd cry – a deluge of tears, a whirlpool of agony. It would rain, the beating of the drops on the roof in sync with her heartbeats.
How was this a life? How can such a destiny beautiful? Perhaps they did not surpass Fate after all. Why did their love, which had so mysteriously penetrated Gaea's dark clouds, now scorch them in such a crucible? Existence appeared in the shape of a colossal question mark, and the spirits, gods they cried out to, stood deaf and motionless.
But one day, one of them – they could not remember which one since the so often felt as a single being – realized that they have to be strong, they could not let death-in-life trample them. It was not like either of them to be the epitome of misery. They had to move on, but before doing so, they tied a string between themselves so no matter how far the distance, they'd always be connected.
Run, Hitomi, run! We must leave this starless, sunless place.
So she ran, sprinted and dashed. She ran towards the finish line and when she finally made the eleven seconds, Amano's kiss threw her off with embarrassment and disgust she could not have imagined a year ago. She ran away from shallow and rosy-eyed girls who only wanted to have their love fortunes read. She ran towards archaeology, which gave her the satisfaction that she could still participate in solving mysteries of a distant world. She ran away from the black hole of depression that threatened to draw her in.
Three years of racing brought her to that lecture, given by the American archaeologist, Dr. Theo Van Riel. When he talked about Atlantis, her eyes glowed with curiosity and wonder, even when she knew some of his information to be false. After the speech, Hitomi carefully made sure that all the other students were gone, and then silently walked up to the professor who was cleaning up his lecture material.
"Doctor?" she muttered shyly, her cheeks flushed, her eyes rolling, trying to search for the correct English words. "You say Atlantis has…secret power. Is it…ano…power of mind?" She glanced at the professor with half chattering teeth, fearing he'd find her crazy or ignorant.
He put down his books, leaned forward over the table and observed Hitomi closely. "Young lady," he finally addressed, releasing the tension. "Would you like to come to the Aegean?"
Just like that, she ran to Crete in a year, and has stayed there since, spending intervals of time in Egypt, Greece and Thera.
There is much immortality in this Aegean Hitomi. She is enamoured of colossal ruins, mysterious codes, labyrinthine passages and endless expanses of time that lead all the way to the ancient kingdoms, full of beauty, wisdom and tragedy. These together form a radiant column, with golden dust flinging from its core as it winds up towards the receding Gaea.
. . . . . . .
Organizing their equipments and folding tents near the coast of Crete, the team of international archaeology students bustled with excitement. It was not easy being chosen as one of the thirty who actually get to see and touch what they loved studying in books. It was even harder to work with Dr. Van Riel, a most rare scholar who believed in empiricism and mythology simultaneously, and who had the audacity to search for Atlantis.
"You're right, there is only a thin line between truth and myth." Hitomi couldn't help overhearing the conversation between two students. "I mean, Karl Georg in his The Aryans tied Atlantis to a place called Asgard. Who's to say he's not right?"
Asgard…her eyes widened and her mind entered the tunnel of memory. But isn't that where the Mystic Valley is?
'Hey, Hitomi, I got you your ice cream." Startled, she turned around and saw the tall Greek boy, with a "sorry look" on his face, because the ice cream was half melted.
"Oh, thanks, Jason!" She said cheerfully.
"Hey, I just found out from Dr. Van Riel that you and I are partners for the dig at Akrotiri this afternoon." Hitomi became silent, and awkwardness from the both of them filled that silence.
He coughed and cleared his throat. "Um…well, I think I'd better…" Someone suddenly came up to them with two lunch boxes.
"Yo, Jason, you should clean your tools better, man. I always go after you and I end up having to wash off the dirt." The young American yelled boisterously, pretending to be either annoyed or offended.
"Yeah, whatever." Jason shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes.
"Hey, Hitomi," there was blatant flirtatiousness and disrespect in his honeyed tone. "You're looking fine today!" She simply stared at her tools and pretended he was not there.
Then, out of uncontrollable stupidity, the boy slapped Hitomi's behind. She gasped and looked straight at him with burning eyes. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"
Jason could hold in his rage no longer. "Come here, you!" He grabbed the boy by the neck and dragged him outside. A string of shouting and rustling followed.
When he returned inside the tent, he saw Hitomi just sitting there, almost like a Greek statue, painted real by some lover of goddesses. "Are you okay, Hitomi? I apologize for that little jerk. He's just sexually repressed, you understand?"
She giggled a bit but then frowned sadly at his bruised left cheek. "I'm sorry…thanks."
"Nah, no problem." He chuckled a bit then sat down on the equipment box. "Can I ask you a…a personal question?" She looked up with an uncertain expression, afraid of what he'll ask, then nodded after some thought.
"Tell me," he said gingerly, rubbing his chin with his fingers. "Who is he?"
This bizarre question caused Hitomi's brows to narrow in confusion. She feared that she was right about what he meant. "Wh-what do you mean? Who's…who?"
Jason sighed at her reluctance to disclose. "Come on, you know." She turned to face the wall. "Hitomi," he leaned forward and whispered with a fatherly calm, "The one you love. Who is he?"
"I don't know what you mean!" she turned around abruptly and threw her ignorance at him. "How could you assume that I love someone?" The black hole was opening.
"I've known you for a year. And…I've liked you for a year." Hitomi looked down shyly from his flushed face. "I see you thinking about him when you look at the sky or sea. When you talk about Atlantis, you're talking about the mystery you share with him, aren't you? Where is he?"
For a second, her lips parted but no sounds came out. Jason had been as faithful a friend as Yukari, but his infatuation frightened Hitomi. He made a wish about the cheerful and knowledgeable Hitomi, a wish she can't always fulfill. She does still believe in returning people's trust and love, but his affection seemed uncomfortable somehow, like how it was with Allen. She now understood the encumbrance of being someone's dream that's like an unattainable unicorn prancing in the unseen fairyland. And now he wanted to know about…the only sensible action was to get up and walk out. Regret could not begin to describe what shame she felt for having to turn from someone who would teach her Greek and pick fruits for her.
He caught her by the arm just as she was about to exit. "Look, you don't' have to tell me if you don't want to. I only asked because…because I want you to stop minding my liking you. Just ignore me and let me do it secretly. Don't go, let me finish. I also wanted to tell you that you should keep on lo-loving him. I know it brings you great pain, but for God's sake, don't ever stop, or else you'll regret it. I don't know what happened between you two, but I know that he is always with you." Jason heaved a pitiful sigh, hung his arms and head, then sat down in deep repose. The black hole vanished.
Thank you, my friend, she must have thought or whispered, but it was not needed. Acknowledgement and declarations are for what cannot be felt without words.
Stepping out into the sultriness of noon, Hitomi stole away from the peopled camp and went to look for olive and orange trees that are common on Crete.
From the little mound where the fruit plants grew, she glimpsed at the world around her. This ancient land before her, full of faded riches, lay in a 5000-year sleep, but the modern land on the other side of the shiny globe spun in the turmoil of war. Which of these lands is truly alive? Which is closer to her?
Life, for Hitomi, was a conglomerate of all the words man ever created as synonyms for "good" and "evil". Everywhere was neither jungle not garden, but a tornado, tumultuous all round yet tranquil in the middle, where the rare gifts of living assumed the shape of a soft, white feather.
She stood with a pocket poetry book in one hand and an orange in another, her eyes turquoise as the Aegean. Looking upwards, she saw pass the ring of substance that seemed to lower itself continually towards the earth, a strange substance with a colour she could neither name nor recognize – it was not a part of the human colour code. She stared above, wondering if the Van Allen Belt surrounds the Earth just as her Van and Allen surrounded Gaea during the war.
Boreas blew a feather against her arm. She suddenly remembered that "dragon" in Latin is "drakon", originally meaning, "to see". You make me see, Van, see the Truth, the centre of the cosmos. But I would gladly give up sight if only I could see you beside me.
Was he far like ancient Egypt is far? Like Atlantis? Or was it like the stars that she may reach by some celestial locomotive, or by death? She opened her little book and read a line by the English playwright, Marlowe: "Absence is to love what wind is to fire: it extinguishes the small, it inflames the great."
For five years, the string between them did not snap – dreams brought their reunion. She remembered catching a fish with him, watching a sunset with him, looking at him sleeping, running together, and in the most recent dream, she sat sewing his shirt while he alphabetized her books. A circumference of joy.
They've always believed that they had something beyond physicality, even needless of it. The thoughts, images and dreams sufficed for this lifetime. But if it would also satisfy life after life of longing, then why did they ache thus?
She pressed the book to her chest, leaned against the tree, and cried. Never has she done so openly, so dramatically, her heart bleeding drop by drop, silencing all menacing thoughts that ricocheted off the world's walls. She shut herself inside a prison, terrified that Van would hear or sense her – she did not want him to worry and to hurt as well. But unbeknown to her, he did experience the same longing that felt like death.
Poor child, the present pain will be worth it, I promise. Be brave. I'm sorry for what I have to do.
His arms, his scent, the valley between his neck and collarbones…it may be wisdom to be able to let go of what one loves, but she never wanted such wisdom. It is impossible to love and part. Love can be stretched, repressed, transfigured, obscured, but no, that feeling of cosmic transcendence cannot be left behind. Having risen above spurious infatuation and earthly possessions did not mean that she would feel less alone – all, all alone without his touch.
If Love exists elsewhere, how may a mortal reach it?
. . . . . . .
"Hit!"
"No, that was the wall!" Van snarled under his panting breath. "C'mon, concentrate harder. Close your eyes and listen for my movement."
"Geez, I'm trying!" Orion made a clown face – only because Van could not see it. "Hyah!" he leapt up and struck with two hands on the sword. The thunderous clash of steel vibrated the room.
"Don't thrust so hard right after you swing around. Build up the momentum and focus your energy on the last second before you strike." The image of Balgus always swayed before him and he followed it faithfully. To be a valiant samurai like Balgus was what many young knights dreamed of. But for this little hero, it was no fantasy, but a duty he held, for Fanelia and for the martyred dead. In his eagerness to become a better fighter, Van was unconsciously preparing for a future war he consciously prayed would never come.
"Yes, sir! You know, I have no pendant!" Orion laughed but immediately slapped himself for it, knowing that his stupid joke must have elicited thoughts of her.
"Quit joking around!" If anyone else ever made a joke about the holy relic that he consecrates daily, Van would unleash more than a shout. His best friend was the exception.
Orion always marvelled at, and was somewhat intimidated by Van's request for them to practice fencing in the dark, sealed room where no sight would be possible. Van could not see Orion or his own fingers, but he knew that they both exist, each gripping the hilt, intent on hearing the other's movement. The pendant swings. They both exist. Whenever he hid himself under the covers, he could sense the presence of the Mystic Moon – even though he could not see it. To know that the moon exists and that she exists on it, that is already the whole of life.
"How did you know I made that particular move, Van? Can you actually see me?" Orion asked half-sarcastically, knowing that Van, being human, can't possibly have vision in darkness.
"No, of course I can't. I just memorized all your mistakes."
"Very funny." A sudden burst of light from the doorway dissolved the darkness of sparring.
"Hey, who's there? I was about to say something sarcastic!" Orion complained with one hand over his brows. Any chance to make Van laugh was hard earned. He always kept an eye open for opportunities, trying out new wit, physical stunts, or just simple foolishness. To not say something that he thought might have made his friend laugh would lead to self- reproach. The difference between Van and him, he thought, was that he himself wishes without ever gaining much either for himself or for others. Whereas Van, who hopes and gives for the whole world, has not received his one true wish.
"Fighting the invisible enemy?" A clear and succulent voice rang from the silhouetted figure who leaned against the doorway.
"Allen," Van immediately recognized the voice.
"Oh, King Allen, I-I am so sorry." Orion nearly stuttered. Like many other boys, he grew up hearing legends about the invincible knight Caeli, and to be in a room with one's childhood hero was an ecstatic and nerve- wrecking experience. It can also be ideal shattering.
"At ease, commander. Well, everyone has settled into their rooms so I thought I'd come and look around."
"Come in," Van walked over to the side and lit a torch. "I'm afraid I'm not a very good host. You can just do what you like."
"Whatever you say." Somehow, Allen had sensed the carelessness in Van's words.
Van thumped onto the ground and began whetting his sword. Allen still stood at the door, examining him silently,
Staring at the two monarchs, Orion felt it incumbent on him to make an ungainly cough. "Um…well, well…say, Van, weren't you planning to wrap Merle's present yourself, and maybe…write a card. Oh, and you haven't finished your philosophy books. So, why don't you go do that and I'll…maybe learn something about swords from King Allen, o-okay?"
"Orion, I'd love to be your sparring partner." Allen responded casually, to Orion's relief.
Van stared at them with empty eyes, then stood up and walked towards the door.
"Van, about Selena…" Allen called from behind.
"We'll talk about it tomorrow. Good night." He said without even looking back.
. . . . . . .
After seeing Allen's calm smile, blended so warmly into the golden cascade of his hair, Van wanted to shiver. In his memory was the heartrending image of Meifia Bridge in Palas, the hatred for which was culminated on that last day when Escaflowne and Scherazade thundered the battlefield. How can I not forgive someone who has helped me and even saved my life? He could not think of a reason why he still seemed to be paying for the mistake he made five years ago when he drew the sword in the forest, upon first meeting Allen – he should have heeded the warning. Having ignored it stubbornly, Allen did give him a world of hurt. Why? Allen is not made of the same stuff Dornkirk was, so why him? Ah of course, first it was Hitomi…had it not been for this shadow, fears about her spending a life with someone else would not plague him thus.
Then there was Selena, thought Van as he sat down at his desk, gritting his teeth. For her, Allen would have killed him, and he could have died without ever hearing Hitomi say the words. For her, Allen became king so he could shape a new Asturia that can ensure the impossibility of her ever turning back into Dilandau. And now, for her, he had the temerity to fight the dragon once again.
A plain wooden desk was set in front of the window next to which hung a wooden, charcoal shield, a persevering survivor of time. This somewhat oddly shaped object often inflicted reminiscenece of loving anecdotes. When still a child of four, Van had learned, from Folken, how to make wooden shields and weapons. This was the first product and was later used when his father played sword fighting with him. For Van, paternal warmth belonged to another lifetime, so filled with laughter and joy once that to have lost it to death also meant the dying of one part of life. Sitting with his hands behind his head, his body leaning backwards, he stared at the ceiling, wishing futilely that he could remember his father's voice, or arms, or eyes…
Three soft knocks came from the door. Van promptly straightened up and opened a book. If whomever was out there earnestly believed the king to be in serious study, that person would hopefully go away – especially since it was already late.
The thrice knocking came thrice. Knowing that it could not have been Orion or Nestor, Van vexingly said in a coarse, exhausted voice, "Come in."
Flowing into the room like a silver stream set in the wooden sea of the hall, was none other than the Duchess of Palas, the one Asturian men called the paragon of beauty and purity – Selena Schezar.
Suavely, she curtsied, her ivory dress wavering like her long satin hair, brushing away any petulant air. And her voice, that serenade of a voice, less charming than Allen's but more natural, flowed to Van like a straight line bedewed with crystals. "Your Majesty, sorry to disturb you at such a late hour."
Van looked up at her through his long bangs. "You don't have to be so formal with me. Just my name is okay. Here, sit down."
She daintily went over and pulled the chair away from the desk and sat very still, either with respect or fear.
As any courteous host would do, Van put away his studies and sat quietly like a stone, waiting whatever news the messenger may bring. However, this message was unlikely to be of a political nature.
The book that Selena held before her chest when she came in was then placed neatly on the desk. On its maroon cover was printed the title, Kurlaeo.
"This is Dryden's book," she announced, "I guess you probably haven't had time to read it, but you really should – it's about you and Escaflowne."
"So Nestor tells me," he responded flatly.
""Well, it's quite marvellous, really. It tells people about how you valiantly saved Gaea, and how you flew…" upon this thought, she blushed a bit, for she secretly wished to see Van's wings – "immaculate" as her brother described.
"Don't believe everything you read. I'm not such a hero."
"Well," she paused a bit then continued with naughtiness. "I figured as such – you look like you could be blown away by the wind." She giggled coyly with one hand over her mouth.
Van gave a half-real grin then looked away. Tension hovered over him like a beast breathing down his spine. Besides, he has no taste for elegance, and still worse, are attempts to be humorous when one is not. These were what Van saw in her, not because she was Allen's sister, not even because she was once Dilandau, a fiend whom he has nearly forgotten and would never associate with her. All of this was because of her ethereal appearance and her even more ethereal adoration for the most unconquerable of all men.
He looked down at his own fingers, trying not to catch her diamond eyes. "So, Selena, what can I do for you?" he said this out of desperation for words, despite his uncomfortable suspicion of what she came here for.
Fluttering her eyelashes nervously, she whispered, "Van?" and gazed at him until he looked up reluctantly.
"Were you thinking about…Hitomi?"
No one could ever enter his Empyrean without invitation; no one should ever trespass on what he considered to be the only reality. And Selena was certainly not one to utter her name.
Even though she noticed the onset of what could be exasperation or rage, she charged on. "Van, you know and I know what the situation is. I cannot help it, I'm sorry." Tears nearly swelled out. "You love her, I know, and you need her, but don't you see that she is not here with you."
The wrath of the dragon threatened to burst forth from his eyes. "No, you're the one who does not see – she is always with me…" the fire was cooled by a hell made out of ice.
Seeing his sudden withdrawal into sadness, she hurt. And in order to find strength for both herself and him, she unthinkingly reached across the table and held his hand. Van paused for a moment in bewilderment then stole his hand back.
At least I got to touch him a bit, she thought. Some incredible majesty breathed out from his large, rough hands, like ancient sculptures that could be entitled "strength and masculinity". Though scarred by the battles of his days she found the large knuckles, thick fingers, ample palms and young skin to represent heroism akin to godliness. So it was with the fiery faith of an innocent heroine that she consecrated her admiration for someone who was once her – no, Dilandau's, enemy.
After her return home, disillusioned at having lost ten years of her life to a malicious role, she let herself fall freely into the caress of her brother and Millerna, who treated her like their own child. However, their company merely made her more sensitive to the love between them two, and naturally, the young maiden began to desire proximity with someone to call her own. Flamboyant and dashing suitors came and went. When they heaped precious riches and honey words at her feet, she merely told them that they should not sanctify her as a goddess.
Wandering through the gardens and meadows, she often thought about her mother, about Jajuka, Folken and even Dilandau, whose agony at the thought of being alone had always been hers. Sometimes Allen would come and put an arm around her, and then she'd prance away, beckoning him to chase after her. Until that day when they all visited Fanelia during the reconstruction, she never knew what it was to hope, to desire, and to have nothing in life except these two universal forces.
"Selena, can't you understand?" Van suddenly said with a lapse of tone. "You're harming yourself, not to mention your brother, me, and as you well know, Orion. Do you want Allen to declare war on me?" – she bent her head all the way down – "If you dislike having someone whom you don't love admiring you then you should know how I feel. Orion does not deserve this, none of us do. You're a wonderful girl, I mean it, and you're a good friend. But my heart is elsewhere. I can't love you like that and I can't marry you. Please stop this." His eyes became crystallized with pity and sorrow.
Shaking her head, the tears flinging out, her bejewelled voice was broken. "Van, I'm not a little girl anymore, and I'm not Dilandau. You'll learn to love me, please!" She pushed the chair away and knelt down on the ground. "Everyone will be so happy, I promise. Our countries will be united and best of all, you will have an heir, a healthy, beautiful boy. I can give you all that. Think about it.'
Witnessing his obstinate stillness, she nevertheless made the mistake of pushing forward. "Oh, stop it, Van. It's been five years, you should get over her. She's not coming back, she can't. Such a person is not worth…"
"Get out!" The dragon towered up from his chair and pounded his hands on the desk that trembled with indignation.
"Wha…"
"Shut up and get out!" His blade-like finger pointed towards the unpromising dark forest behind the door.
Whimpering, she scurried out, tripping over sobs and unsaid words. Her perfume drifted after her.
Loathing the volcanic temperament of this fiasco and no longer able to hide in the solace of books, Van stomped towards Orion's room.
. . . . . . .
Down the hall from the king's quarters was a most peculiar room, with a green door and inside were murals of verdant plants. Along the walls were boxes upon boxes of oddities, like twisted metal, half-burnt books, twigs, and rocks all collected during the reconstruction. In the middle was a tall pile of old books and bricks forming a table, and next to it was the futon, on which Orion lay on his stomach, scribbling. He had always proudly proclaimed that one can build a world out of this "clustered storage room" as Merle called it.
Storming monarchs was one of the things that startled the otherwise alert Orion. "Geez, don't you knock, dragon boy? You nearly scared my wits out!"
"What are you doing?" asked Van as he lay his head down on the pillow.
"Writing a letter to our dear feline friend. I'll tell her that you said hi."
Pausing for a moment to listen to the scratching of Orion's pen, Van cautiously asked, "She's fond of you, you know?"
"I know," he somewhat grieved at the thought. " But hey, who wouldn't be, me being the prince charming that I am." Another miserably failed jest. Orion swung himself up to the sitting position and crossed his legs. "But I suppose in the present situation, I'm not so charming."
"Dot' say that," Van looked up at Orion and noticed, to his despair, that his friend's sapphire eyes appeared somewhat grey.
"I thought I heard something. What happened?"
"Nothing happened. It was just a continuation of all the endlessness that has no destination."
"Why'd you yell at her?"
"I'm so sorry, Orion." Van closed his eyes and pressed them into their sockets. "I just…got out of control when she mentioned her and then she had blatant disregard for your feelings or for anyone else's. I know that you care."
"Don't fret about it. You know that I'd never turn on you for her. I like Selena, but you love Hitomi. That's a world of difference."
"Perhaps." A moment of silence reigned. "You shouldn't ask for leave, you know? The heart has the right of way." Van turned on to his side, drew his knees up to his chest and rested in the position of a foetus in a womb, so tranquil at the dawn of life.
Like Nestor, Orion had always wanted to learn what this ancient boy, who had lost everyone to the ebb and flow, really thought about love.
Sitting there scrunching his short brunette locks, and contemplating Van's slender, hauntingly poetic body, Orion fathomed it. Van has a vision, one that the god of Love himself had given to him and Hitomi. It is the vision of Eternity. Taken in by the pinnacle of his apprehension, Orion let the possible images of such a vision invade his imagination. He himself would be standing at the edge of a cliff, seas of cloud beneath and before him. Then, an enchanting aria would flow from the bottom of the sea. Hearing the mournful tune, an angel with moulting wings flew down from above and dived into the gloomy vapours beneath. The observer wept helplessly on the cliff. Suddenly, streaks of gold pierced through the surface, the billows parted, trumpets flourished and, bursting forth with a parade of colours, was the seraph holding his love. Their wings glowed with perpetual light, their youth and beauty everlasting, and stars were scattered down from them as diamonds to deck the earth. Is Love the bursting of colours? Is it the creation of a new world? Orion would never know for himself. He only understood that it is greater than a kiss, a touch, and an idolization.
He sighed and resolved, like the sky did, to be a defender of Love. "Fight, Van, you have to fight them. Don't' listen to what they say about heirs or peace. This is the war of your life; the Destiny War was just like a practice. This is the ultimate challenge. You can't retreat, nor should you charge on too aggressively. Remember her, remember Folken and your parents. Know that I will always stand by you. Please don't' lose it."
Yes, listen to your friend, young one. Be strong. You have to be for what is to come.
"I'm just so tired," Van's voice began to crack. Turning to the other side, he hid his head between his knees and clenched onto the burning pendant. "I can't, I just can't. I want to have her beside me, everyday. I now it's selfish, but neither of us can hold on for much longer. I'm so tired."
Orion bent down and gently laid a hand on Van's violently shaking shoulders. "Maybe you should cry it out, it'll make you feel better. I have a feeling, Van, that you will be together once again. I'm not a prophet but I know what I feel. Just you wait and see. Get some sleep now." He blew out the candle and went outside, leaving Van amid the dark, painted trees.
But he did not rest. He merely faded off into the unconscious.
. . . . . . .
Yukari girlishly threw dirt at Jason for jokingly giving her the accolade of "modern Medusa". They indulged in the senseless playfulness and danced on the firm ground underneath which no bones or relics would be sacrilegiously crushed.
"And as for her…" Jason shouted but paused. There is no classical or modern parallel for Hitomi. Persephone perhaps, but more likely Psyche, one not born an Olympian but became one, through the union with Love. Within the marvellous tapestry that is she, are woven threads from a rich, mystical and far-off land. Jason thought that it is perhaps Atlantis where she always is. He wanted to make a joke about that right there, but refrained, knowing that no dreamer is full of more reality than Hitomi.
After a brief break, Hitomi cracked her knuckles, stretched her back, and then resumed her dig at Akrotiri. Brushing the loose, brown earth with stoicism, she was lulled by the repetitious movement, so insignificant in itself yet vital to the quest for ancient secrets.
Just before she felt like she could fall asleep, a glimmer shone onto her eyes, blinding her for a second before she could brush off the dirt. What was revealed was an exquisite piece of gold, in a crescent shape, probably broken off from a necklace or headpiece. This was not the first time Hitomi had unearthed anything by herself so there was no need to call for the others. She smiled and wanted to savour this discovery by herself first. Thus she reached down to touch the little piece of time immemorial.
Just when the tip of her pale fingers came in contact with the gold, a deluge rained down on her. A dynamic rhythm swelled up from the ocean of Time and pulled her soul forward, transfiguring and plunging it into an ineffable gaudiness, until her mind contained nothing but the words, "No, please."
Her soul entered a whirlpool, spinning and spinning away from the earth and humanity. An abrupt halt flung her forward. From where she knelt she looked up and saw a ring of stone giants…dancing.
But, isn't this…Stonehenge?
Standing peerless on the windswept plain, the colossal stones seemed to have formed the centre of the cosmos. Half-visible clocks were flying all around the granite, sandstone ring, saturnine in their graveyard hues.
A being appeared and positioned itself in the middle of the ring. It was the august draconian she once saw standing in the middle of Atlantis. In his hand was a tablet, and written in strange a language that she miraculously understood, was the word "Avalantis".
With the same mystery and dignity, he raised up the pendant towards the heavens. But this time, no new world was created. Instead, a dragon and a phoenix, all ablaze, descended and advanced towards Hitomi. Securing her in their claws, they soared up and then loosened the screaming girl.
Thus she fell, wingless into the chasm below, hysterically praying for Van's hand to reach out to her.
Then her spirit awoke in the body held safely by Yukari and Jason. The Mediterranean sun beat down on them. Their faces were twisted with anxiety, their mouths moving, but Hitomi heard nothing.
Unnerved by that fantastical and turbulent flight, tears streamed down, tingling her cheeks. Until then, she has never cried out to him openly, out into the windless, cloudless welkin.
~ End of Part II ~
II. Kingdoms Near & Far
Knows't thou the mountain, with its bridge of cloud?
The mule plods wearily; the white mists crowd.
Coiled in their caves the brood of dragons sleep,
The torrent hurls the rock from steep to steep.
Knows't thou the land so far and fair!
Thou, whom I love, and I will wander there.
Goethe, "Mignon Songs"
1.1 I think of you, whenever sun's bright shimmer
From ocean streams;
I think of you, whenever moon's soft glimmer
In wellsprings gleams…
I am with you, though you be far and pining,
You are so near!
The sun goes down. The stars will soon be shining.
Would you were here!
Goethe, "Love's Proximity"
Legend has it that the Aegean island, Thera, was once the empire of Atlantis. According to Plato and other texts from the ancient people, Atlantis was built on an island, situated between Asia and Africa, with three concentric circles of land, at the centre of which was the island temple of Poseidon, glittering with splendid gold and silver. Thera matches such a description. Her inhabitants had splendour reminiscent of the divine race of sea and air Atlanteans who moved the Earth and, as Hitomi knows, moved Gaea. Some historians have identified the earthquake and flood that allegedly punished the Atlanteans for their omnipotence and omniscience as the 1500 B.C.E. volcanic explosion that sunk the central part of Thera. 3000 years later, archaeologists unearthed an entire city beneath the remaining grounds of the Aegean island. The first discovery, this key piece of clue leading to the lost empire, was named Akrotiri.
. . . . . . .
Looking out into the green expanses of the Sea of Crete – the deepest section of the Aegean – Hitomi pressed her fingers vexingly into a copy of Timaeus & Critias. Plato had accounted true the Egyptians' belief that their ancestors were Atlanteans, wise ones who travelled from west of the Pillars of Hercules (which Atlantis scholars now take to mean the cliffs of the Peloponnes), escaping the oceanic grave of their island kingdom. Atlantis still eluded her. If the Mystic Valley was Atlantis on Gaea and the draconians were the descendants, then where was Atlantis on Earth, and to whom did the Atlantean bloodline go? Is there some power source on Earth that can transform human thought into energy? Is Fate on Earth more inescapable than on Gaea? Can there be a kind destiny for her, for a world that does not have him? The labyrinth of these questions almost burned the emerald waters to charcoal. She shut her eyes tightly at her own incompetence to solve the mystery, and at the impossibility of her ever sharing what she knows of the draconians with her fellow Atlantis searchers.
Boreas, god of the northern wind, suddenly swept through her fawn tresses. A voice reached out to her. Hitomi.
She opened her eyes and stared out beyond the horizon. Her teardrops mingled with the waves beneath. Great heaven and great earth meet.
Van…
What held her the most was his voice, at once resonant and tender, steady and quivering. She often filled her blood with the sound and intonation of Van shouting, whispering or crying, and her soul would tremble with each cadence. That voice is the deathless song of the Phoenix that unites life and death, and carries her above the bounds of mutability.
Where can I find Atlantis, Van? Oh, please…
Shh, it's okay. You're going to be just fine.
Caressed, she dropped her books and fell to the ground, intoxicated by his presence yet struck by the knowledge that he was in fact far away.
"Hitomi! Hitomi!" The high-bouncing voice of her old friend floated from a few feet away. A ship now sailed, like a black dot breaking the horizon. The Mediterranean air was once again suffocating.
"Whoa! Are you alright?" Yukari gently held her up. "Hitomi, you should take better care of yourself. Your mom will blame me if something happened to you. It's the heat isn't it?" She wiped Hitomi's brows with a handkerchief.
"Yeah, probably," Hitomi gasped for air in short, tight intervals, hoping Yukari would not notice.
"Well, here, a letter just came for you. After you finish, you should come back to the tent. We have to get packing soon. Dr. Van Riel is taking us to Thera in three hours. Get ready for some sailing!" Yukari stood up, patted Hitomi on the head and walked off, half practicing this Greek dance she had just learned.
Dusting the sepia dirt off her books, Hitomi balanced them on her lap and used them as a small table on which she placed her letter:
"My dearest daughter,
How is the warm Cretan weather? I trust that you are taking care of yourself with as much caution as you take care of the ancient ruins. The Mediterranean may be well enough, but here in the Pacific, things are chaotic. As you undoubtedly know, the Pan Pacific war has gotten worse. In Tokyo, there are talks about abandoning neutrality and attacking either China or America. But to anger either one of the warring superpowers would mean our destruction. Why can't they stop fighting? You understand, don't you, my Hitomi, you know about humanity's bloodthirsty death wish and you see beyond it all. Would there were more people like you. If we do go to war, your father says he would join the forces and fight either one of the countries that have so foolishly boiled the Pacific. His heart is good and righteous but he is aged and he has us to take care of. I wish you could return soon and dissuade him. But then, I want you to stay where it is safe. Everyone else is well. I will write again soon. Don't forget to call home every weekend.
Love Always, Mother."
"Oh, mother…" with bittersweet thoughts about home, she headed back to the campsite.
. . . . . . .
After three painstakingly laborious years of studying ancient civilizations during her spare time, Hitomi entered the University of Tokyo, confident in her knowledge of the mysteries that are symbolized by the pendant that constantly swings in her nostalgic mind. Coming back to Earth, coming back to adolescent preoccupations that she neither yearned for nor remembered, the then fifteen-year-old Hitomi felt herself to be a hundred, so weak, disoriented, shrivelled up, with one foot in death's door and far too old for life. "Nothing", that nihilistic word consumed her with such hopelessness that she sometimes forgot to breathe. Nothing has meaning. Nothing is the same. Nothing matters more than he. Nothing.
Benumbed by this substantial enemy, she withdrew herself into an abandoned room, full of cobwebs and dark corners, and she called the room, "Eternity".
Whenever Van called out to her, his throat would choke with pain from seeing her thus. Yet as she buried herself into his sublime immanence, she'd cry – a deluge of tears, a whirlpool of agony. It would rain, the beating of the drops on the roof in sync with her heartbeats.
How was this a life? How can such a destiny beautiful? Perhaps they did not surpass Fate after all. Why did their love, which had so mysteriously penetrated Gaea's dark clouds, now scorch them in such a crucible? Existence appeared in the shape of a colossal question mark, and the spirits, gods they cried out to, stood deaf and motionless.
But one day, one of them – they could not remember which one since the so often felt as a single being – realized that they have to be strong, they could not let death-in-life trample them. It was not like either of them to be the epitome of misery. They had to move on, but before doing so, they tied a string between themselves so no matter how far the distance, they'd always be connected.
Run, Hitomi, run! We must leave this starless, sunless place.
So she ran, sprinted and dashed. She ran towards the finish line and when she finally made the eleven seconds, Amano's kiss threw her off with embarrassment and disgust she could not have imagined a year ago. She ran away from shallow and rosy-eyed girls who only wanted to have their love fortunes read. She ran towards archaeology, which gave her the satisfaction that she could still participate in solving mysteries of a distant world. She ran away from the black hole of depression that threatened to draw her in.
Three years of racing brought her to that lecture, given by the American archaeologist, Dr. Theo Van Riel. When he talked about Atlantis, her eyes glowed with curiosity and wonder, even when she knew some of his information to be false. After the speech, Hitomi carefully made sure that all the other students were gone, and then silently walked up to the professor who was cleaning up his lecture material.
"Doctor?" she muttered shyly, her cheeks flushed, her eyes rolling, trying to search for the correct English words. "You say Atlantis has…secret power. Is it…ano…power of mind?" She glanced at the professor with half chattering teeth, fearing he'd find her crazy or ignorant.
He put down his books, leaned forward over the table and observed Hitomi closely. "Young lady," he finally addressed, releasing the tension. "Would you like to come to the Aegean?"
Just like that, she ran to Crete in a year, and has stayed there since, spending intervals of time in Egypt, Greece and Thera.
There is much immortality in this Aegean Hitomi. She is enamoured of colossal ruins, mysterious codes, labyrinthine passages and endless expanses of time that lead all the way to the ancient kingdoms, full of beauty, wisdom and tragedy. These together form a radiant column, with golden dust flinging from its core as it winds up towards the receding Gaea.
. . . . . . .
Organizing their equipments and folding tents near the coast of Crete, the team of international archaeology students bustled with excitement. It was not easy being chosen as one of the thirty who actually get to see and touch what they loved studying in books. It was even harder to work with Dr. Van Riel, a most rare scholar who believed in empiricism and mythology simultaneously, and who had the audacity to search for Atlantis.
"You're right, there is only a thin line between truth and myth." Hitomi couldn't help overhearing the conversation between two students. "I mean, Karl Georg in his The Aryans tied Atlantis to a place called Asgard. Who's to say he's not right?"
Asgard…her eyes widened and her mind entered the tunnel of memory. But isn't that where the Mystic Valley is?
'Hey, Hitomi, I got you your ice cream." Startled, she turned around and saw the tall Greek boy, with a "sorry look" on his face, because the ice cream was half melted.
"Oh, thanks, Jason!" She said cheerfully.
"Hey, I just found out from Dr. Van Riel that you and I are partners for the dig at Akrotiri this afternoon." Hitomi became silent, and awkwardness from the both of them filled that silence.
He coughed and cleared his throat. "Um…well, I think I'd better…" Someone suddenly came up to them with two lunch boxes.
"Yo, Jason, you should clean your tools better, man. I always go after you and I end up having to wash off the dirt." The young American yelled boisterously, pretending to be either annoyed or offended.
"Yeah, whatever." Jason shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes.
"Hey, Hitomi," there was blatant flirtatiousness and disrespect in his honeyed tone. "You're looking fine today!" She simply stared at her tools and pretended he was not there.
Then, out of uncontrollable stupidity, the boy slapped Hitomi's behind. She gasped and looked straight at him with burning eyes. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"
Jason could hold in his rage no longer. "Come here, you!" He grabbed the boy by the neck and dragged him outside. A string of shouting and rustling followed.
When he returned inside the tent, he saw Hitomi just sitting there, almost like a Greek statue, painted real by some lover of goddesses. "Are you okay, Hitomi? I apologize for that little jerk. He's just sexually repressed, you understand?"
She giggled a bit but then frowned sadly at his bruised left cheek. "I'm sorry…thanks."
"Nah, no problem." He chuckled a bit then sat down on the equipment box. "Can I ask you a…a personal question?" She looked up with an uncertain expression, afraid of what he'll ask, then nodded after some thought.
"Tell me," he said gingerly, rubbing his chin with his fingers. "Who is he?"
This bizarre question caused Hitomi's brows to narrow in confusion. She feared that she was right about what he meant. "Wh-what do you mean? Who's…who?"
Jason sighed at her reluctance to disclose. "Come on, you know." She turned to face the wall. "Hitomi," he leaned forward and whispered with a fatherly calm, "The one you love. Who is he?"
"I don't know what you mean!" she turned around abruptly and threw her ignorance at him. "How could you assume that I love someone?" The black hole was opening.
"I've known you for a year. And…I've liked you for a year." Hitomi looked down shyly from his flushed face. "I see you thinking about him when you look at the sky or sea. When you talk about Atlantis, you're talking about the mystery you share with him, aren't you? Where is he?"
For a second, her lips parted but no sounds came out. Jason had been as faithful a friend as Yukari, but his infatuation frightened Hitomi. He made a wish about the cheerful and knowledgeable Hitomi, a wish she can't always fulfill. She does still believe in returning people's trust and love, but his affection seemed uncomfortable somehow, like how it was with Allen. She now understood the encumbrance of being someone's dream that's like an unattainable unicorn prancing in the unseen fairyland. And now he wanted to know about…the only sensible action was to get up and walk out. Regret could not begin to describe what shame she felt for having to turn from someone who would teach her Greek and pick fruits for her.
He caught her by the arm just as she was about to exit. "Look, you don't' have to tell me if you don't want to. I only asked because…because I want you to stop minding my liking you. Just ignore me and let me do it secretly. Don't go, let me finish. I also wanted to tell you that you should keep on lo-loving him. I know it brings you great pain, but for God's sake, don't ever stop, or else you'll regret it. I don't know what happened between you two, but I know that he is always with you." Jason heaved a pitiful sigh, hung his arms and head, then sat down in deep repose. The black hole vanished.
Thank you, my friend, she must have thought or whispered, but it was not needed. Acknowledgement and declarations are for what cannot be felt without words.
Stepping out into the sultriness of noon, Hitomi stole away from the peopled camp and went to look for olive and orange trees that are common on Crete.
From the little mound where the fruit plants grew, she glimpsed at the world around her. This ancient land before her, full of faded riches, lay in a 5000-year sleep, but the modern land on the other side of the shiny globe spun in the turmoil of war. Which of these lands is truly alive? Which is closer to her?
Life, for Hitomi, was a conglomerate of all the words man ever created as synonyms for "good" and "evil". Everywhere was neither jungle not garden, but a tornado, tumultuous all round yet tranquil in the middle, where the rare gifts of living assumed the shape of a soft, white feather.
She stood with a pocket poetry book in one hand and an orange in another, her eyes turquoise as the Aegean. Looking upwards, she saw pass the ring of substance that seemed to lower itself continually towards the earth, a strange substance with a colour she could neither name nor recognize – it was not a part of the human colour code. She stared above, wondering if the Van Allen Belt surrounds the Earth just as her Van and Allen surrounded Gaea during the war.
Boreas blew a feather against her arm. She suddenly remembered that "dragon" in Latin is "drakon", originally meaning, "to see". You make me see, Van, see the Truth, the centre of the cosmos. But I would gladly give up sight if only I could see you beside me.
Was he far like ancient Egypt is far? Like Atlantis? Or was it like the stars that she may reach by some celestial locomotive, or by death? She opened her little book and read a line by the English playwright, Marlowe: "Absence is to love what wind is to fire: it extinguishes the small, it inflames the great."
For five years, the string between them did not snap – dreams brought their reunion. She remembered catching a fish with him, watching a sunset with him, looking at him sleeping, running together, and in the most recent dream, she sat sewing his shirt while he alphabetized her books. A circumference of joy.
They've always believed that they had something beyond physicality, even needless of it. The thoughts, images and dreams sufficed for this lifetime. But if it would also satisfy life after life of longing, then why did they ache thus?
She pressed the book to her chest, leaned against the tree, and cried. Never has she done so openly, so dramatically, her heart bleeding drop by drop, silencing all menacing thoughts that ricocheted off the world's walls. She shut herself inside a prison, terrified that Van would hear or sense her – she did not want him to worry and to hurt as well. But unbeknown to her, he did experience the same longing that felt like death.
Poor child, the present pain will be worth it, I promise. Be brave. I'm sorry for what I have to do.
His arms, his scent, the valley between his neck and collarbones…it may be wisdom to be able to let go of what one loves, but she never wanted such wisdom. It is impossible to love and part. Love can be stretched, repressed, transfigured, obscured, but no, that feeling of cosmic transcendence cannot be left behind. Having risen above spurious infatuation and earthly possessions did not mean that she would feel less alone – all, all alone without his touch.
If Love exists elsewhere, how may a mortal reach it?
. . . . . . .
"Hit!"
"No, that was the wall!" Van snarled under his panting breath. "C'mon, concentrate harder. Close your eyes and listen for my movement."
"Geez, I'm trying!" Orion made a clown face – only because Van could not see it. "Hyah!" he leapt up and struck with two hands on the sword. The thunderous clash of steel vibrated the room.
"Don't thrust so hard right after you swing around. Build up the momentum and focus your energy on the last second before you strike." The image of Balgus always swayed before him and he followed it faithfully. To be a valiant samurai like Balgus was what many young knights dreamed of. But for this little hero, it was no fantasy, but a duty he held, for Fanelia and for the martyred dead. In his eagerness to become a better fighter, Van was unconsciously preparing for a future war he consciously prayed would never come.
"Yes, sir! You know, I have no pendant!" Orion laughed but immediately slapped himself for it, knowing that his stupid joke must have elicited thoughts of her.
"Quit joking around!" If anyone else ever made a joke about the holy relic that he consecrates daily, Van would unleash more than a shout. His best friend was the exception.
Orion always marvelled at, and was somewhat intimidated by Van's request for them to practice fencing in the dark, sealed room where no sight would be possible. Van could not see Orion or his own fingers, but he knew that they both exist, each gripping the hilt, intent on hearing the other's movement. The pendant swings. They both exist. Whenever he hid himself under the covers, he could sense the presence of the Mystic Moon – even though he could not see it. To know that the moon exists and that she exists on it, that is already the whole of life.
"How did you know I made that particular move, Van? Can you actually see me?" Orion asked half-sarcastically, knowing that Van, being human, can't possibly have vision in darkness.
"No, of course I can't. I just memorized all your mistakes."
"Very funny." A sudden burst of light from the doorway dissolved the darkness of sparring.
"Hey, who's there? I was about to say something sarcastic!" Orion complained with one hand over his brows. Any chance to make Van laugh was hard earned. He always kept an eye open for opportunities, trying out new wit, physical stunts, or just simple foolishness. To not say something that he thought might have made his friend laugh would lead to self- reproach. The difference between Van and him, he thought, was that he himself wishes without ever gaining much either for himself or for others. Whereas Van, who hopes and gives for the whole world, has not received his one true wish.
"Fighting the invisible enemy?" A clear and succulent voice rang from the silhouetted figure who leaned against the doorway.
"Allen," Van immediately recognized the voice.
"Oh, King Allen, I-I am so sorry." Orion nearly stuttered. Like many other boys, he grew up hearing legends about the invincible knight Caeli, and to be in a room with one's childhood hero was an ecstatic and nerve- wrecking experience. It can also be ideal shattering.
"At ease, commander. Well, everyone has settled into their rooms so I thought I'd come and look around."
"Come in," Van walked over to the side and lit a torch. "I'm afraid I'm not a very good host. You can just do what you like."
"Whatever you say." Somehow, Allen had sensed the carelessness in Van's words.
Van thumped onto the ground and began whetting his sword. Allen still stood at the door, examining him silently,
Staring at the two monarchs, Orion felt it incumbent on him to make an ungainly cough. "Um…well, well…say, Van, weren't you planning to wrap Merle's present yourself, and maybe…write a card. Oh, and you haven't finished your philosophy books. So, why don't you go do that and I'll…maybe learn something about swords from King Allen, o-okay?"
"Orion, I'd love to be your sparring partner." Allen responded casually, to Orion's relief.
Van stared at them with empty eyes, then stood up and walked towards the door.
"Van, about Selena…" Allen called from behind.
"We'll talk about it tomorrow. Good night." He said without even looking back.
. . . . . . .
After seeing Allen's calm smile, blended so warmly into the golden cascade of his hair, Van wanted to shiver. In his memory was the heartrending image of Meifia Bridge in Palas, the hatred for which was culminated on that last day when Escaflowne and Scherazade thundered the battlefield. How can I not forgive someone who has helped me and even saved my life? He could not think of a reason why he still seemed to be paying for the mistake he made five years ago when he drew the sword in the forest, upon first meeting Allen – he should have heeded the warning. Having ignored it stubbornly, Allen did give him a world of hurt. Why? Allen is not made of the same stuff Dornkirk was, so why him? Ah of course, first it was Hitomi…had it not been for this shadow, fears about her spending a life with someone else would not plague him thus.
Then there was Selena, thought Van as he sat down at his desk, gritting his teeth. For her, Allen would have killed him, and he could have died without ever hearing Hitomi say the words. For her, Allen became king so he could shape a new Asturia that can ensure the impossibility of her ever turning back into Dilandau. And now, for her, he had the temerity to fight the dragon once again.
A plain wooden desk was set in front of the window next to which hung a wooden, charcoal shield, a persevering survivor of time. This somewhat oddly shaped object often inflicted reminiscenece of loving anecdotes. When still a child of four, Van had learned, from Folken, how to make wooden shields and weapons. This was the first product and was later used when his father played sword fighting with him. For Van, paternal warmth belonged to another lifetime, so filled with laughter and joy once that to have lost it to death also meant the dying of one part of life. Sitting with his hands behind his head, his body leaning backwards, he stared at the ceiling, wishing futilely that he could remember his father's voice, or arms, or eyes…
Three soft knocks came from the door. Van promptly straightened up and opened a book. If whomever was out there earnestly believed the king to be in serious study, that person would hopefully go away – especially since it was already late.
The thrice knocking came thrice. Knowing that it could not have been Orion or Nestor, Van vexingly said in a coarse, exhausted voice, "Come in."
Flowing into the room like a silver stream set in the wooden sea of the hall, was none other than the Duchess of Palas, the one Asturian men called the paragon of beauty and purity – Selena Schezar.
Suavely, she curtsied, her ivory dress wavering like her long satin hair, brushing away any petulant air. And her voice, that serenade of a voice, less charming than Allen's but more natural, flowed to Van like a straight line bedewed with crystals. "Your Majesty, sorry to disturb you at such a late hour."
Van looked up at her through his long bangs. "You don't have to be so formal with me. Just my name is okay. Here, sit down."
She daintily went over and pulled the chair away from the desk and sat very still, either with respect or fear.
As any courteous host would do, Van put away his studies and sat quietly like a stone, waiting whatever news the messenger may bring. However, this message was unlikely to be of a political nature.
The book that Selena held before her chest when she came in was then placed neatly on the desk. On its maroon cover was printed the title, Kurlaeo.
"This is Dryden's book," she announced, "I guess you probably haven't had time to read it, but you really should – it's about you and Escaflowne."
"So Nestor tells me," he responded flatly.
""Well, it's quite marvellous, really. It tells people about how you valiantly saved Gaea, and how you flew…" upon this thought, she blushed a bit, for she secretly wished to see Van's wings – "immaculate" as her brother described.
"Don't believe everything you read. I'm not such a hero."
"Well," she paused a bit then continued with naughtiness. "I figured as such – you look like you could be blown away by the wind." She giggled coyly with one hand over her mouth.
Van gave a half-real grin then looked away. Tension hovered over him like a beast breathing down his spine. Besides, he has no taste for elegance, and still worse, are attempts to be humorous when one is not. These were what Van saw in her, not because she was Allen's sister, not even because she was once Dilandau, a fiend whom he has nearly forgotten and would never associate with her. All of this was because of her ethereal appearance and her even more ethereal adoration for the most unconquerable of all men.
He looked down at his own fingers, trying not to catch her diamond eyes. "So, Selena, what can I do for you?" he said this out of desperation for words, despite his uncomfortable suspicion of what she came here for.
Fluttering her eyelashes nervously, she whispered, "Van?" and gazed at him until he looked up reluctantly.
"Were you thinking about…Hitomi?"
No one could ever enter his Empyrean without invitation; no one should ever trespass on what he considered to be the only reality. And Selena was certainly not one to utter her name.
Even though she noticed the onset of what could be exasperation or rage, she charged on. "Van, you know and I know what the situation is. I cannot help it, I'm sorry." Tears nearly swelled out. "You love her, I know, and you need her, but don't you see that she is not here with you."
The wrath of the dragon threatened to burst forth from his eyes. "No, you're the one who does not see – she is always with me…" the fire was cooled by a hell made out of ice.
Seeing his sudden withdrawal into sadness, she hurt. And in order to find strength for both herself and him, she unthinkingly reached across the table and held his hand. Van paused for a moment in bewilderment then stole his hand back.
At least I got to touch him a bit, she thought. Some incredible majesty breathed out from his large, rough hands, like ancient sculptures that could be entitled "strength and masculinity". Though scarred by the battles of his days she found the large knuckles, thick fingers, ample palms and young skin to represent heroism akin to godliness. So it was with the fiery faith of an innocent heroine that she consecrated her admiration for someone who was once her – no, Dilandau's, enemy.
After her return home, disillusioned at having lost ten years of her life to a malicious role, she let herself fall freely into the caress of her brother and Millerna, who treated her like their own child. However, their company merely made her more sensitive to the love between them two, and naturally, the young maiden began to desire proximity with someone to call her own. Flamboyant and dashing suitors came and went. When they heaped precious riches and honey words at her feet, she merely told them that they should not sanctify her as a goddess.
Wandering through the gardens and meadows, she often thought about her mother, about Jajuka, Folken and even Dilandau, whose agony at the thought of being alone had always been hers. Sometimes Allen would come and put an arm around her, and then she'd prance away, beckoning him to chase after her. Until that day when they all visited Fanelia during the reconstruction, she never knew what it was to hope, to desire, and to have nothing in life except these two universal forces.
"Selena, can't you understand?" Van suddenly said with a lapse of tone. "You're harming yourself, not to mention your brother, me, and as you well know, Orion. Do you want Allen to declare war on me?" – she bent her head all the way down – "If you dislike having someone whom you don't love admiring you then you should know how I feel. Orion does not deserve this, none of us do. You're a wonderful girl, I mean it, and you're a good friend. But my heart is elsewhere. I can't love you like that and I can't marry you. Please stop this." His eyes became crystallized with pity and sorrow.
Shaking her head, the tears flinging out, her bejewelled voice was broken. "Van, I'm not a little girl anymore, and I'm not Dilandau. You'll learn to love me, please!" She pushed the chair away and knelt down on the ground. "Everyone will be so happy, I promise. Our countries will be united and best of all, you will have an heir, a healthy, beautiful boy. I can give you all that. Think about it.'
Witnessing his obstinate stillness, she nevertheless made the mistake of pushing forward. "Oh, stop it, Van. It's been five years, you should get over her. She's not coming back, she can't. Such a person is not worth…"
"Get out!" The dragon towered up from his chair and pounded his hands on the desk that trembled with indignation.
"Wha…"
"Shut up and get out!" His blade-like finger pointed towards the unpromising dark forest behind the door.
Whimpering, she scurried out, tripping over sobs and unsaid words. Her perfume drifted after her.
Loathing the volcanic temperament of this fiasco and no longer able to hide in the solace of books, Van stomped towards Orion's room.
. . . . . . .
Down the hall from the king's quarters was a most peculiar room, with a green door and inside were murals of verdant plants. Along the walls were boxes upon boxes of oddities, like twisted metal, half-burnt books, twigs, and rocks all collected during the reconstruction. In the middle was a tall pile of old books and bricks forming a table, and next to it was the futon, on which Orion lay on his stomach, scribbling. He had always proudly proclaimed that one can build a world out of this "clustered storage room" as Merle called it.
Storming monarchs was one of the things that startled the otherwise alert Orion. "Geez, don't you knock, dragon boy? You nearly scared my wits out!"
"What are you doing?" asked Van as he lay his head down on the pillow.
"Writing a letter to our dear feline friend. I'll tell her that you said hi."
Pausing for a moment to listen to the scratching of Orion's pen, Van cautiously asked, "She's fond of you, you know?"
"I know," he somewhat grieved at the thought. " But hey, who wouldn't be, me being the prince charming that I am." Another miserably failed jest. Orion swung himself up to the sitting position and crossed his legs. "But I suppose in the present situation, I'm not so charming."
"Dot' say that," Van looked up at Orion and noticed, to his despair, that his friend's sapphire eyes appeared somewhat grey.
"I thought I heard something. What happened?"
"Nothing happened. It was just a continuation of all the endlessness that has no destination."
"Why'd you yell at her?"
"I'm so sorry, Orion." Van closed his eyes and pressed them into their sockets. "I just…got out of control when she mentioned her and then she had blatant disregard for your feelings or for anyone else's. I know that you care."
"Don't fret about it. You know that I'd never turn on you for her. I like Selena, but you love Hitomi. That's a world of difference."
"Perhaps." A moment of silence reigned. "You shouldn't ask for leave, you know? The heart has the right of way." Van turned on to his side, drew his knees up to his chest and rested in the position of a foetus in a womb, so tranquil at the dawn of life.
Like Nestor, Orion had always wanted to learn what this ancient boy, who had lost everyone to the ebb and flow, really thought about love.
Sitting there scrunching his short brunette locks, and contemplating Van's slender, hauntingly poetic body, Orion fathomed it. Van has a vision, one that the god of Love himself had given to him and Hitomi. It is the vision of Eternity. Taken in by the pinnacle of his apprehension, Orion let the possible images of such a vision invade his imagination. He himself would be standing at the edge of a cliff, seas of cloud beneath and before him. Then, an enchanting aria would flow from the bottom of the sea. Hearing the mournful tune, an angel with moulting wings flew down from above and dived into the gloomy vapours beneath. The observer wept helplessly on the cliff. Suddenly, streaks of gold pierced through the surface, the billows parted, trumpets flourished and, bursting forth with a parade of colours, was the seraph holding his love. Their wings glowed with perpetual light, their youth and beauty everlasting, and stars were scattered down from them as diamonds to deck the earth. Is Love the bursting of colours? Is it the creation of a new world? Orion would never know for himself. He only understood that it is greater than a kiss, a touch, and an idolization.
He sighed and resolved, like the sky did, to be a defender of Love. "Fight, Van, you have to fight them. Don't' listen to what they say about heirs or peace. This is the war of your life; the Destiny War was just like a practice. This is the ultimate challenge. You can't retreat, nor should you charge on too aggressively. Remember her, remember Folken and your parents. Know that I will always stand by you. Please don't' lose it."
Yes, listen to your friend, young one. Be strong. You have to be for what is to come.
"I'm just so tired," Van's voice began to crack. Turning to the other side, he hid his head between his knees and clenched onto the burning pendant. "I can't, I just can't. I want to have her beside me, everyday. I now it's selfish, but neither of us can hold on for much longer. I'm so tired."
Orion bent down and gently laid a hand on Van's violently shaking shoulders. "Maybe you should cry it out, it'll make you feel better. I have a feeling, Van, that you will be together once again. I'm not a prophet but I know what I feel. Just you wait and see. Get some sleep now." He blew out the candle and went outside, leaving Van amid the dark, painted trees.
But he did not rest. He merely faded off into the unconscious.
. . . . . . .
Yukari girlishly threw dirt at Jason for jokingly giving her the accolade of "modern Medusa". They indulged in the senseless playfulness and danced on the firm ground underneath which no bones or relics would be sacrilegiously crushed.
"And as for her…" Jason shouted but paused. There is no classical or modern parallel for Hitomi. Persephone perhaps, but more likely Psyche, one not born an Olympian but became one, through the union with Love. Within the marvellous tapestry that is she, are woven threads from a rich, mystical and far-off land. Jason thought that it is perhaps Atlantis where she always is. He wanted to make a joke about that right there, but refrained, knowing that no dreamer is full of more reality than Hitomi.
After a brief break, Hitomi cracked her knuckles, stretched her back, and then resumed her dig at Akrotiri. Brushing the loose, brown earth with stoicism, she was lulled by the repetitious movement, so insignificant in itself yet vital to the quest for ancient secrets.
Just before she felt like she could fall asleep, a glimmer shone onto her eyes, blinding her for a second before she could brush off the dirt. What was revealed was an exquisite piece of gold, in a crescent shape, probably broken off from a necklace or headpiece. This was not the first time Hitomi had unearthed anything by herself so there was no need to call for the others. She smiled and wanted to savour this discovery by herself first. Thus she reached down to touch the little piece of time immemorial.
Just when the tip of her pale fingers came in contact with the gold, a deluge rained down on her. A dynamic rhythm swelled up from the ocean of Time and pulled her soul forward, transfiguring and plunging it into an ineffable gaudiness, until her mind contained nothing but the words, "No, please."
Her soul entered a whirlpool, spinning and spinning away from the earth and humanity. An abrupt halt flung her forward. From where she knelt she looked up and saw a ring of stone giants…dancing.
But, isn't this…Stonehenge?
Standing peerless on the windswept plain, the colossal stones seemed to have formed the centre of the cosmos. Half-visible clocks were flying all around the granite, sandstone ring, saturnine in their graveyard hues.
A being appeared and positioned itself in the middle of the ring. It was the august draconian she once saw standing in the middle of Atlantis. In his hand was a tablet, and written in strange a language that she miraculously understood, was the word "Avalantis".
With the same mystery and dignity, he raised up the pendant towards the heavens. But this time, no new world was created. Instead, a dragon and a phoenix, all ablaze, descended and advanced towards Hitomi. Securing her in their claws, they soared up and then loosened the screaming girl.
Thus she fell, wingless into the chasm below, hysterically praying for Van's hand to reach out to her.
Then her spirit awoke in the body held safely by Yukari and Jason. The Mediterranean sun beat down on them. Their faces were twisted with anxiety, their mouths moving, but Hitomi heard nothing.
Unnerved by that fantastical and turbulent flight, tears streamed down, tingling her cheeks. Until then, she has never cried out to him openly, out into the windless, cloudless welkin.
~ End of Part II ~