Disclaimer: Recently, I was sitting there wondering how the heck I was going to explain AC's non-canon name, and I came up with---nothing. However, several days after I came across the story Sonic CD, written by NetRaptor. In it she had a character named AP, which stood for Annoying Parrot. I e-mailed her concerning the naming issue, and she was marvelously kind. Therefore, this disclaimer: The name AC was my invention; however, Annoying Parrot, or AP, was NetRaptor's creation. She most kindly allowed me to use the name Annoying Crow for AC because it fit so darn well, so dibs on the name idea goes to her. She's a very very nice person, by the way, so go check out her site, people! It's www.netraptor.org . Go read her fan fiction, people! Go! Go! *makes shooing motion with her hands* She very very good writer, and very very nice person! Go read, go read! NO, WAIT! COME BACK AND READ MY STUFF FIRST!! HEY, YOU! YEAH YOU! GET BACK HERE!! Ugh...forget about him. You nice people who stayed around, read muh story. And review. THEN go to NetRaptor's site, and read HER stuff, and give HER a review. It will make us both very very happy if you do...*pitiful puppy face*

Bass: *gag*

Insomnia: *holds up a sign*

Sign: Avis Does Not Own These Characters.

AC: Ner ner.

*backhands him*

Chapter 7:

The River Floods

We bring the past down with us as you bring your

Sodden branches,

Froth on your yellow eddies and a few

Blind flowers floating like a dead bird's wing:

All that defiling refuse of old wrong,

Of long injustice, of the mastered man,

Of man (far worse! far worse!) made master---

Hatred, the dry bitter thong

That binds these two together at the last;

Fear that feeds the hatred with its stale imposture;

Spoiled, corrupted tramplings of the grapes of wrath...

We bring the past down with us, the shame gathers

And the dream is lost.

At The Lincoln Memorial, by Archibald Macleish

NiGHTS dodged behind a tree, panting. Had they seen him?…

Warily, he peered out from behind the trunk, feeling relief as the patroller continued on without noticing him. Safe.

Silently he slipped from his hiding place and took to the branches, following the patrol by leaping from tree to tree. It was an awkward way to travel, but one that kept him out of sight and forced him to stretch his mind and body to their limits.

He was playing a game of his, a secret sport he'd indulged in many times. Whenever a particularly sharp-looking group of patrollers went out on a round, he'd surreptitiously follow; he made a game out of trying to stay hidden, trailing the patrol without revealing his presence. He hadn't yet been discovered.

It had always been just a game, a form of entertainment; often he'd abandoned a patrol in the middle of a round, flying off to take a nap or play chase with some of the younger nightmaren. He never saw it as holding any importance.

Now, however, war was on the horizon, and he was worried. If NiGHTS was worried, then you knew things were serious. He never allowed anything less than a full-scale tragedy to trouble him.

Which, he was beginning to believe, could be a very possible occurrence.

Really, he mused, digging his fingers into the bark of a swaying branch to balance himself, things were getting desperate. Clawz and Jackle were constantly at each other's throats, and Jackle was becoming unbalanced; no one else might know, but NiGHTS' room was right next to Jackle's. Many nights he'd heard the demi-maren go out on his balcony and talk. Talk to anything. That was the disturbing part; Jackle didn't seem to care if he was talking to an animate object or not. He talked to the stars, he talked to that crow that hung around his window, he talked to the reflection in his mirror, he talked to the castle itself. And what was really unsettling was the way he acted as if they'd answered him; he held conversations with the wallstones that lasted for hours, and although only one voice was discernable the discussion was definitely a two-person dialogue.

Through these late-night chats NiGHTS, who's balcony was not visible from Jackle's but was within hearing distance, had learned much about the demi-maren. He'd found out about his lack of confidence, and his anger at being treated like something different; he'd also heard, sometimes, his fear of loosing grip. He'd begun to feel a sort of pity for Jackle.

But Jackle wasn't the only one. He'd been troubled the longest, perhaps, but the other High Seekers were beginning to encounter problems of their own. Puffy was shying away from the thought of war altogether, and was becoming more and more fretful and confused; Gillwing was bewildered by the underlying current of negative emotions networking through his "friends", the other High Seekers, when they were in the middle of what Wizeman held to be a glorious campaign; Clawz was becoming even more self-conscious and vain, spending all his time and energy devoted to proving himself worthy of Wizeman's attention, meanwhile harboring a feeling of resentment and malice towards Jackle, which was pretty much mutual; Gulpo…well, Gulpo wasn't saying anything. But then this was normal behavior.

The most distressing change had occurred in Reala. NiGHTS' brother had become the epitome of devotedness, exerting all his energy towards one goal: taking over the Waking World. He saw their mission as a campaign that would make their reign absolute, the final bid for power, the fight in which all would prove their respective worth. All of his sensibility seemed to have faded, deemed unimportant in the face of feverish dedication. The time he didn't spend training, he was busy plotting out battle strategies and fighting techniques. NiGHTS hardly saw him anymore.

All in all, he decided, the changes happening were not favorable. Everyone he knew well was slowly transforming into different creatures he wasn't sure he even wanted to be around. And no one had time for fun anymore…he didn't dare play a prank, for fear of tripping up somebody's schedule and angering his brother. What was life for if you couldn't have fun?

He frowned as he leapt from his last perch to an oak, clutching at the branch he'd landed on to keep from falling; below him, the patrol glided over the broad unnamed stream running through the Forest. Why, he himself, the joker extraordinaire, was troubled enough to bother with actually training. He'd been watching the younger nightmaren learn how to wield a sword, and it had struck him that he had no clue how to even hold a sword right. Once that realization had hit him, he'd begun to seriously question whether he was ready for a war. He was one of the fittest maren around, but he wasn't that good with weaponry…

Thus had his personal training program began. He spent a good deal of time now practicing; fighting moves were on his program, yes, but he focused more on stealth and flight. Reala, had he seen his brother training, would have either muttered or groaned, but NiGHTS wasn't interested in offensive tactics. He knew enough moves to protect himself, and he wanted to learn how to survive in a hostile environment. Thusly he'd begun teaching himself survival skills, such as covering his tracks or finding water in a dry area; he'd gotten Luna to teach him the basics of swordsmanship as well. And, while he wasn't Zorro, he was picking it up quickly.

He also worked on tracking; and that was why he was now following a patrol, trying his best to remain unseen.

He ducked down behind a branch as one of the last nightmaren looked back, counting to ten before he looked out again. The patroller, apparently, had decided nothing was there, and was moving on again. NiGHTS followed silently after. That one maren was sharp; that was the third time he'd looked back. NiGHTS couldn't tell if he was getting suspicious, but he determined he'd better be more careful, just in case.

Not that it mattered; they were nearing Nightmare Castle again, the patrol having finished it's round without incident. The nightmaren below him left the cover of the trees, exiting Mystic Forest, and he watched them go from the shelter of the higher branches.

For a moment his solemn face peered out from the boughs, striped with the tree-shadows filtering down from the top of the forest; then, without a sound, he turned and disappeared deeper into the wood.

'Dark.

'Too dark. Why can't I see? It's so dark…silent. I don't like silence. It's too quiet…where's Reala? He was here. Where am I? WHO am I? Don't be stupid, you know who you are…I think…I'm…

'Who am I? I'm Jackle, I know that. But what am I here for? Why am I here? Where's here, anyhow? What's happening? I can't think straight…why can't I think straight? What's wrong with me? Why can't I see? I don't have any reason to be here…'

You don't have any reason to be anywhere.

'What?'

You're a helpless little nobody, you know that?

'Who are you?!'

You know me.

'No I don't.'

Yes, you do. I'm you.

'No you aren't!'

You talk to me all the time.

'No I---wait, you mean talking to myself? That's me I'm talking to!'

Right. And therefore, I'm you.

'I've never met you before!'

Like I said, you talk to me all the time. I'm always there, listening.

'I don't know you! I've never seen you!'

I was always there. All you had to do was look in the mirror.

'Go away.'

No.

'Go away!'

I can't.

'Why not?'

If I leave, then you won't have yourself anymore. And if you don't have a soul, then you're nothing. Of course, you already are.

'YOU'RE NOT ME!'

I am.

'Go away!'

Why aren't you accepting this?

'I don't want you in my head!'

If I go away, you'll have worse beings here.

'What are you talking about?'

You know.

'No I don't!'

You do.

'Will you just tell me what's going on?'

I have.

'Go away!'

You do like that saying, don't you?

'Why are you taunting me? I don't know where I am---I don't need you!'

Yes you do. Without me, they'll come.

'Who's they?'

You know.

'WILL YOU ANSWER ME STRAIGHT FOR ONCE?!'

I am.

'Go away, won't you?'

Is that really what you want?

'YES!'

Very well. I'm going.

'Thank goodness.'

You can have him.

'Him? Him who?'

I've tried talking to him, but he won't listen. I'm leaving; you can take my space once I'm gone.

'What do you mean? Are you talking to me?'

No. Here he is. Goodbye.

'Wait, what do you mean?

'Hello? Where are you? Where'd you go? I guess he's gone…good. But I still don't know where I am…'

Another voice broke through his thoughts. This one was lower than the last, carrying multiple inflections in each syllable, it's tone a sibilating hiss. He thought he could hear more than one voice in it.

We know.

A scream ripped through the darkness.

Scream.

Light. Too much light. Too much blinding whiteness, reflecting off the galaxies and stars above and around, reflecting back with even harsher brightness. Too much light.

Suspended between two of his master's hands, held by a force he could not see, Reala screamed.

He felt energy streaking through him, crackling along his skin in darts of colorless lightning. Pools of energy gathered in his hands, squeezing through his fingers, splitting the skin at their tips with a horrible tearing sound. He felt energy flow through his face, pressing against his lips like a harsh kiss. Above him, his master concentrated. More power surged through him.

Light. Too much light. Too much blinding whiteness, reflecting off the galaxies and stars above and around, reflecting back with even harsher brightness. Too much light.

Scream.

Jackle clasped his hands over his ears, trying desperately to block out the terrible screams. Shuddering, he buried his head in his mantle, wrapping the cloth around his head; nothing silenced the ghastly sounds. He began to cry.

Another scream tore through the air, and he jerked his head up wildly, tears still streaming down. Endless darkness pooled about him. Blackness, everywhere black---everything black and screaming. He needed to get out. He needed to get out!

Weeping, he flew at the dark, slamming against the thick black; the darkness seemed to coagulate against him, repulsing him without a sound. Repeatedly he crashed against it, slamming himself bodily into the wall of shadow. Finally he collapsed, sobbing, unable to continue from exhaustion. Whimpering, he curled up into a shivering heap and tried to block out the screams once more.

No matter how deep he buried his head in his cloak, he could not hide from the screams. They were finding him, searching through the dark until they came upon him and wrapped about his face, he could feel them…Desperately he tried to claw them away, trying to relieve himself of the thick screams trapping him; his hands encountered air. There was nothing there. Nothing there at all. No one but him, and he was no one. He didn't even have the voices anymore…there was only screams, terror, and blackness.

Deep in Wizeman's throne room, a demi-maren wept.