Part 33

Michael stared at the group before him in disbelief, then glanced back at Jemma. "And we're somehow supposed to [I]sneak[/I] into Stonehenge with this crowd?" He demanded, shaking his head. "Do I have to remind you that Tess isn't here? There won't be any mindwarping involved this time."

When Jemma had said she was raising an army, she hadn't been kidding. There were at least a hundred people scattered around the lawn outside the compound, all standing at attention, all ready for his command.

They were waiting for [I]him[/I] to lead them. It was the most ludicrous thing he had ever heard of, but it wasn't that part he found most disturbing. They thought he was the mythical General Tristandor they had heard about for years, from the moment they had been recruited into this fight that wasn't theirs. It wasn't surprising that they expected him to tell them what to do.

It wasn't even that most of these people were human - [I]changed[/I] humans - humans who had been waiting for this call to arms since the moment he, Max, Tess and Isabel had set off the orb over two years before. Although he wasn't crazy about that either because he knew that many of them, in spite of Jemma's insistence that they had had a choice, really hadn't. They had all been dying, whether from a terminal illness or in some other way. Who wouldn't have agreed to something that seemed too crazy to believe - that they would live but that they would be pledged to an alien army, expected to answer the call when necessary - for one more chance at life?

They had come from all over the globe, ready and [I]willing[/I] to give up their lives for them - for people they didn't even know. It was too much responsibility. He didn't want it.

He didn't like it - not at all. And, it was this, more than anything else that told him he was no longer Tristandor of Dernia, in spite of everything Isabel had been trying to convince him of over the past few days. He had absolutely no desire to lead these people to their deaths. Because from what Michael remembered of Illyria and the Dernians, there would be no mercy for any of them. Dernians did not believe in mercy because they had no compassion. The two were intimately intertwined, could not exist without each other.

He was no leader - he was no [I]Max[/I]. He was going to get these people - these complete strangers - [I]killed[/I]. They were going to die simply because, at some point before in their lives, they had wanted to [I]live[/I]. The irony of the situation was not lost on him.

Jemma raised an eyebrow, interrupted Michael's mournful thoughts. "Your Sabrya is the strongest mindwarper, yes, but just because she isn't here, doesn't mean we don't have her gift at our disposal." She motioned to a tall blonde standing nearby. "This is Marianne," Jemma introduced. The blonde bowed deeply to Michael. He felt heat rising in his face. "She is the leader of the changed mindwarpers on Earth. She will be the focus this evening."

"What does that mean?" Michael demanded, sighing heavily, and trying to listen as Jemma explained the plan for that night. He knew that he had no choice.

His daughter had ordered it and so he was expected to obey. And this was what he hated most about this whole thing.

Jennetta was losing her mind. There was no other way to describe what was happening to his daughter since Ren had died, something Michael still hadn't quite come to terms with. It had only been a few hours after all and so sudden - ridiculous actually, that something as mundane and [I]normal[/I] as a car crash could have done in Jennetta's bodyguard - that none of them had even begun to understand what the whole thing meant.

Yet, in the space of those few hours, his daughter's entire personality had changed.

If Michael had been unwilling to believe Maria before that Jenny was attached to the emotionless shapeshifter, he believed it now. Her grief was a force unlike anything he had ever seen before and he had been pretty sure that he had witnessed how low people could go when Max had disappeared for so long, and then when Liz had supposedly died. Jennetta was channeling her pain in a way that made Michael supremely uncomfortable because it was so unlike her.

Her entire being was suddenly focused on getting back to Illyria, on reclaiming her throne, on [I]being[/I] the queen Ren had wanted her to be, in spite of the fact that up until a few days ago, she had been fighting him tooth and nail. Getting in her way was not an option it seemed either. She wasn't listening to anyone.

She was becoming reckless. Michael could see it in her eyes - in the eyes of the child he had missed raising, but who he still felt he knew extremely well, because wasn't she the best parts of he and Maria rolled up in a beautiful package? The open, yet pensive, young woman, who's leadership style had been extremely reminiscent of what Michael thought Max must once have been, had been replaced by someone who was trying so hard to forget how to feel, she was also forgetting that any decision she made affected them all.

Jennetta was no longer asking for aid. She was telling them what to do and Jemma was backing her up, even though they had no idea what to expect on the other side of that portal. The agreement that Michael and Jenny had made privately - that no humans other than Alex, Maria and Valenti of course, would be involved in the voyage to the other side of the universe - had been unceremoniously dumped in the last two hours. And when Michael tried to talk to her about it, she merely turned her head and said, "I am queen. I make the decisions. You can go back and play with Isabel, Michael. I don' t need your help."

It had hurt, needless to say. But, more than anything, it had made him nervous. Because, somehow, he just [I]knew[/I] that going to Illyria with guns drawn and blazing (or in his case, hands blasting) was the wrong tactic.

Jennetta making the same mistake as the Dernians and [I]deliberately[/I] shutting off her emotions was a mistake too. She was playing right into their hands now. He just knew it. Which, was beginning to raise questions in the back of his mind about how much of an accident that car crash had really been.

That maybe Ren, the only one who seemed to have really [I]known[/I] what kind of queen Jennetta was supposed to be - could be - was gone because someone had [I]wanted[/I] him gone.

And there was only one person who had anything to gain by Ren's death. Because, now that he was out of the picture, who had Jenny turned to for guidance?

Who else but one Jemma Stafford.

In fact, he was so sure that things were spinning completely out of control, that Jemma could not be trusted in spite of what Jenny said, he could only think of one way to stop this whole debacle before it got underway. Jenny wasn't listening. He had tried to get through to her, Maria had tried, even [I]Alex[/I] had tried and it had all been in vain.

He would not let his daughter get them all killed because she was so wrapped up in her grief, she refused to hear sense.

And there was only one way to stop her. He was going to have to convince Isabel that she couldn't open the portal. He was going to have to convince Max's sister that they couldn't go after Max and their other friends now, that they were going to have to wait until the next solstice.

Michael hadn't even started to convince [I]himself[/I] that they could abandon his sister, Tess, and his best friend, Max, and the heart of their group, Liz, and hell, even Valenti, on Illyria. How was he supposed to convince Isabel? He wasn't even sure if it was the right way to go.

He was at a loss. And, so, for the moment, he was still playing along.

Michael listened with half an ear as Jemma continued to lecture him on exactly how the whole operation was going to play out. He was extremely aware of the minutes ticking away as she spoke. Every second that passed meant they were one second closer to the time they were supposed to head to the Ring.

He hadn't spoken to Izzy since Maria had come to get them to tell them about Ren.

The whole experience had been horrifying, seeing his girlfriend and his, well, whatever the hell Isabel was to him, coming face to face after he had supposedly chosen Isabel. But Maria had played her role like the trooper she was. Michael had seen how pale she was, that the whole idea of him having spent the night in that room with Isabel had nearly driven her insane, but she had not allowed any of it to stop her from coming to them.

He had actually seen remorse on Isabel's face too, something he hadn't seen there for a good long while. It had been gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, but it had definitely been there.

It had been a good sign, one of many he had seen over the course of their night together. Her heart was not entirely in it Michael had deduced. He had hoped that by pretending to go along with the whole thing, Isabel would see how wrong it was - that they didn't belong together, that whatever they had been to each other in that past life was over. And he had thought that maybe he was making headway, until they had been drawn to each other again and had shared another kiss.

There had been something so unnatural about it though.He [I]knew[/I] that Isabel had felt it too.

He had been more convinced than ever that something - or someone - was controlling both of them.

And, again, suspicion was falling directly on Jemma Stafford's head. Because, wasn't it true, that neither he, nor Isabel had ever had [I]any[/I] feelings for each other before they had come to England? And where had the feelings started? At Stonehenge. And who [I]lived[/I] near Stonehenge? None other than Jemma, who's whole existence revolved around getting back to Illyria and restoring them to their positions.

Jemma had had no way of knowing that they would want to go to Illyria anyway - that Max and Tess would have taken matters into their own hands and gone AWOL, driving everyone else to follow them. It made perfect sense that she would try and convince Isabel and Michael that they belonged together ON Illyria. What better way to do it then by having them remember their past lives?

There was only one flaw in Michael's deduction. How had Jemma known that they were in England? How had she known [I]exactly[/I] when to start the dreams, the memories? And how the hell was she doing it anyway?

Okay, Michael rolled his eyes ruefully, there was maybe more than [I]one[/I] flaw.

But, all of it was enough to make him believe that they couldn't trust her. And if they couldn't trust her, they couldn't go with her to Illyria - which meant they couldn't go at all.

"Are you done yet?" He snapped now, impatient with the whole nonsense of preparing this army - the army that Michael had definitely decided now he wasn't leading.

Jemma stared at him for a moment, as did the blonde woman, Marianne. Finally, she smiled slightly. "I suppose that will do for now," she finally acknowledged. "I suggest that you go rest yourself General. You have a long night ahead of you."

"Whatever." Michael shoved his hands into his pockets, met her eyes, peering at her, [I]willing[/I] her to show him that he was right about her - that she was [I]not[/I] their friend.

But the eyes that stared back at him, dark and guileless, only served to make him wonder if [I]he[/I] was the one losing his mind.

He needed someone to talk to about the whole thing before he approached Isabel. Maria was off-limits because of Isabel and the plan, Isabel for the same reason. Jenny wouldn't do because she was not willing to talk to anyone and she was part of the problem as well. The Sheriff - well, it was too exhausting even thinking about trying to catch him up on the whole mess. It had been a mistake to keep Valenti out of things. Michael could see that now.

Which left Whitman. Alex, who had been carefully avoiding Michael for the past twenty-four hours.

There were fun times ahead for Michael Guerin. He sighed heavily as he turned his back on Jemma and went in search of someone he hoped was still his friend.