~AN~ Guess what? It's the end. *gets hit by a cyber tomato* Yeah, I know it's pretty mean to cut off like this, but don't worry---I'm working on the next one! As some of you know, I've decided that this is going to be a trilogy: The Lights In The Sky, The River Shall Flood, and the next tale I write will all be part of one trilogy of stories.

AC: And they needed to know this---why?

No reason. Just wanted to babble. *ahem* Anyway, enjoy. So that you know, 'redivius' is Latin for resurrection or Renaissance. Study the other chapter names and it might make sense.

Bass: Avis, nothing you do makes sense.

Disclaimer: I don't own half of these characters. You'll have to figure out for yourself which ones are mine. So ner.

Chapter Nine:

Redivius

The sadness we bring back from sleep

like an herb in the mouth…

sage?

rosemary?

like a fragrance we can neither lose nor

keep…

woodsmoke?

oak leaves?

like the closing

softly of a distant…

distant?…

door…

Oh

Like earth on our shoes from an unremembered journey…

What earth?

What journey?

Why did we return?

Waking, by Archibald Macleish

NiGHTS looked down, again startled as his chest gave a sharp flare of pain. He halted mid-flight and hovered, watching his chest, expecting for it to start glowing or something equally odd; nothing happened. One small jerk, and that had been all. Nothing more.

He shook his head worriedly and resumed his flight to Nightmare Castle. He'd have to check in the Infirmary and ask if anyone had been feeling odd. Maybe he was sick or something.

Wizeman gazed down at his two creations, very pleased. He still had Jackle to speak to, but he had no doubt the demi-maren would straighten out after he had a bit of time to relax and understand the reasons for his reforming. Reala was flawless---his design was perfected, his personality shaping up nicely as well. He'd be a fine general. Pity NiGHTS wasn't the same mold.

Wizeman frowned. He still wasn't sure what to do with NiGHTS. The nightmaren was a jester, not a fighter; he was extremely intelligent, true, and would make a good strategist, but that was only if he could stop balancing water buckets on door jambs first. He'd probably need quite a bit of reforming…

A small sigh attracted his attention, and his hands turned towards where Jackle sat again in his tiny prison. The demi-maren was amazingly composed, and he had exhaled a quiet breath as if he'd come to a decision and was now content. He was still unable to see.

'Interesting,' thought Wizeman, and beckoned with a languid finger. The cage floated to him, moving so smoothly it's occupant didn't notice. At a mental command it came to a stop at eye level, and he inspected the prisoner more closely.

Jackle sat still, hands folded quietly in his lap, legs crossed casually. His eyes were open, but empty of the fear that had filled them earlier; on closer examination, Wizeman saw that they were distant, as if he were listening to music from far away. After a moment he shook his head once, as if to clear it, and his eyes sharpened back into awareness.

By the expression on his face, Wizeman could tell he was crestfallen to find himself back in endless darkness. 'Which means,' he mused, hands moving to examine the captive from different views, 'that for a while he wasn't here mentally. A form of meditation, perhaps?'

Jackle blinked and rubbed the back of a hand over his eyes. 'He seems to have just come out of intense concentration…Delicate and unbalanced minds are capable of such. He is able to tune out the rest of the world at will, then. A valuable skill, in certain situations…'

Curiosity assuaged, he gestured with a hand and the carefully-wrought enclosure dissipated into silver mist. The demi-maren himself was left floating on air; because of the darkness still enclosing him in his mind, however, he felt no difference. Wizeman reached out, taking Jackle into his palm. That the demi-maren noticed.

He started. "Who?…"

Wizeman reached down, brushing his fingertip against the middle of the demi-maren's forehead with a whisper of a touch so soft it was hardly noticeable. It's effect was startling.

Instantly Jackle's vision cleared, and he started violently, leaning back on his hands to stare up at his master with a bewildered expression bordering on fear. Wizeman gazed back down at him impassionedly. At last he spoke. "How do you feel?"

The demi-maren faltered, still trying to cope with being so suddenly brought back to reality. Respect of his ruler was ultimately what forced him to reply. "C-confused, m-master."

A rare smile touched Wizeman's face. "An honest answer."

Jackle blinked and said nothing, mentally trying to organize his thoughts and at the same time stifle the violent urge to fly out of here as fast as he could. Somehow he managed to wrestle down the impulse and force himself to think clearly.

"Do you feel different?" asked Wizeman eventually.

Jackle had to think about this one. "D-different, master?"

'He needs to work on that nervous stutter…' "Yes, Jackle. Do you feel the same?"

"Sort of, master," he faltered. Truthfully he felt radically different---his mind had taken in so many different emotions within such a short period that he felt emotionally exhausted. Aside from that, however…

"Look at your hands."

He obeyed, and instantly his green eyes widened. Where before there had been sharp nails he now sported small, dagger-like claws.

He clenched his hands slowly, watching as the claws touched his skin and threatened to break through if he gripped too tightly; looking closer he could see the gashes where they'd broken through before. Little crescents of blood spotted his glove palm.

Wizeman's voice broke into his self-perusal. "Stand and see yourself."

He stood slowly, pulling back slightly as one of the hands moved up to float in front of him, it's eye reflecting like a mirror. Warily he peered in, fearing to find himself changed into something different, like a Minion. Or, Wizeman forbid, a Nightopian. When he actually faced his reflection, however, at first he didn't even see the difference; he was inspecting his body, fearing to have been changed into a creature of a different build. When he was satisfied he was still in a nightmaren form, he looked up to meet his own eyes.

They were all he could see of his face.

For a moment he couldn't even process what had happened. Held by a macabre fascination he leaned closer, inclining farther until he was nearly touching the eye's surface. It was only then he was able to figure out what had happened.

His body had always been invisible, but his head had been perfectly discernible. Looking at himself now, the only things able to be seen were his eyes; when his mouth opened slightly in shock, he saw that it too was still visible. But that was all.

He stumbled back a step, eyes locked on the reflection in front of him that was strangely different and warped, and yet somehow fitting. Finally he managed to speak. "M-my face…"

A giant eye settled next to him, staring unblinkingly into his visage. "Is now as the rest of your body. This, your claws, and your fangs are improvements I have been planning for some time."

The third item on the list prodded Jackle to pull up his lip in an experimental snarl. His canine teeth were now long and sharp, gleaming white in the ethereal light of the throne room. He closed his lips in a tight line and stared.

Wizeman's tone had not departed from it's constant faultless languor. "I believe this design to be more fitting of a High Seeker, and a leader of nightmare forces."

Jackle continued to stare, not answering, not wanting to open his mouth and see the wicked fangs, the eerie effect of the floating eyes and smile. He shuddered almost unnoticeably as a whisper of a new consciousness slipped into his mind. Very striking.

'You mean grotesque,' he replied bitterly. 'I look even more deformed. I'm a mistake.'

Even though he couldn't see them, he could have sworn the voices were smiling amusedly. On the contrary, you are more ideal. You have been perfected. Few others are even worthy of the master's attention, and yet for you he spent hours making you as flawless as possible. Now you are worthy of your position as a High Seeker.

He looked at his reflection quizzically. 'You think so?…'

We know so. Go ahead---smile. See how perfect it is.

Wizeman watched as the demi-maren scrutinized his mirror image, his face unreadable. For a moment his eyes took on the distant inward-looking he'd seen before; then it faded, and he stared at his reflection again. Experimentally, his expression half-wavering, half-curious, he smiled. His gaze flickered across the shining surface as the smile widened into a wild, ecstatic grin, his new fangs flashing in the dim light. Gradually the grin became real, and the merriment reached up to his eyes.

Now smiling not to see the effect but because of genuine feelings of glee, he turned to Wizeman, his grin more cocky than the ruler had ever seen. Something in his eyes flashed for a moment, and Wizeman almost thought he saw the light of another, more malicious consciousness in the second-level's eyes; then it was gone. But the cocky grin remained.

"I think," said Jackle cheerfully, "that it's absolutely perfect."