Come Sail Away
By: Vilya
A/N: Inspired by the song with the same title, by Styx. And this has the song in it. So if you have access to the song, play it while you read. The only parts I've left out…well, I've changed a couple lines. Of the song, I mean. I have tried countless times to fix the lyrics, and it has become impossible. I did everything I could think of. So instead I just left a lot of space between the lyrics and the paragraphs. I really hope that this means something to someone. Besides me, I mean. I went over this looking for errors and such…countless times. Hope you all like it!
Disclaim: The song, band, Adepts, Djinn etc. are not mine. The things that are in here that are mine are subtle and quick to anger…no wait…well, not easily seen. Thank you.
***** I'm sailing away…Picard opened his eyes and blinked at the sudden brightness. The sun was coming in through the window and falling right across his face. He didn't mind, however; he thought it was a wonderful way to wake up, to a sunny morning with endless possibilities.
He walked out of the house, grabbing an apple from a fruit dish along the way, and surveyed his home. Lemuria. It was so beautiful, now that Alchemy had been released and Weyard itself had returned to its former glory. Lemuria had been unsealed, the fog was lifted, the barriers of the Sea of Time lowered, and trade and general inquisitiveness had become almost paramount.
The clear spring bubbled in the center of the great city. Around it were happy Lemurians…and happy and curious Angarans, Gondowans, Izumo, Apojiians, Hesperians…people from every continent in Weyard and some small islands, it seemed. The city thrived. King Hydros smiled nearly always, and his people once again loved him and saw their folly in following Conservato.
Picard lived there now, with his uncle, in his old house. He still visited Vale occasionally, when invited, as he was to the winter celebration most years, and as he had been to the marriage of two of his dearest friends.
Here, however, he was often quite alone. He didn't relish the thought of the years practically standing still for him as they passed his friends by, and of still looking as he did now when Isaac and the rest were, for lack of a better phrase, 'old and grey.'
He'd left a note on his uncle's table, saying that he was leaving for a long time and might eventually return someday. He'd taken all his old adventuring gear, and under his arm he held the Black Orb that would power his winged ship.
Whistling a melancholy tune, for his feelings about leaving his home were bittersweet at best, he set off at a good pace for the crowded harbor. Upon his arrival he boarded his ship, set the orb in its pedestal far below the deck and walked slowly to the wheel, taking it in both hands and willing the Psynergetically-powered ship to move forward.
He went out slowly, knowing that he might very well be looking at his city for the last time. He waved and said a silent farewell to the home that had never entirely been a home.
Set an open course for the shining sea…The wind blew through Picard's long blue hair, which he usually tied back behind his headband but had left unbound that day. The sun glinted off the barely-stirring sea, giving the Lemurian mariner a sense of utter calm. The sea breeze followed the curve of the ship, even the shining Anemos Wings. Picard was not in possession of the Hover Jade, however, so the wings were basically useless to him. This fact didn't bother him in the least.
The sea was to him what a raging volcano was to a Mars Adept, or a thunderstorm to a Jupiter Adept. It offered comfort, a sense of security, and a feeling of unsurpassed power. It had been there all his life, from his earliest childhood to now.
He had perhaps one or two long-ago memories of swimming in the sparkling shallows near to Lemuria. Little silver fish darted back and forth in those waters, and Picard would reach out, not nearly fast enough, and try to catch them. He never got any, but he remembered…just barely, he remembered two tall people—his parents, when there had been two of them, and later, his mother and uncle—always smiling and laughing and saying that it was alright, he'd catch those fish someday.
He never had caught one that he remembered. But then he'd learned to sail a ship, albeit one without actual sails, and though he couldn't pass the barriers that surrounded the island, it had been like giving him wings.
'Cause I've got to be free…His first time on a boat, and it had been a boat, such a small dinghy of a thing…Picard laughed at the memory. He'd tipped it over, landed in the water with all his warm winter clothes on and the clothes had smelled of old salt for days.
But his first time on a real ship had terrified him. He hadn't been all that much older than at the time of the boat incident, and this was much larger. His uncle had laughingly assured him that it was impossible to capsize this ship all by himself, and he'd become less terrified, but only slightly.
Then he'd been offered a turn at the wheel. It had felt so smooth and polished…in his mind, he'd been born to stand there, turning the wheel, the breeze running through his hair. He hadn't gotten more than five minutes steering, that first time, but the sea had imprinted itself on his soul.
Now he sailed away from his little island, headed for…who knew where? He'd thought of going to Vale, to see everyone again, maybe spend a month or two there, then head out for, perhaps, Lalivero, where Sheba had decided to remain, or any of the other countless placed he had been.
Traveling Weyard offered freedom. But it was a constrained freedom. The ocean was far from boundless—Gaia Falls marked its edges, and its end, quite clearly. More than once, Picard had wondered how the waters of Weyard could endlessly fall over the edge, and if there wasn't something else out there, past the impenetrable fog that surrounded the very edge of Weyard. However, he also wasn't stupid enough to try looking.
The thought of stupid eventually and inevitably brought his mind around to Garet, and thus to the rest of the Adepts. Most of them still lived in Vale, or had moved there—he himself had gone back to Lemuria at the request of King Hydros, and Sheba had returned to Lalivero.
Isaac, Garet, Ivan, Felix, Jenna and Mia lived in Vale now. It had been Jenna and Garet's wedding he'd gone to. In the last letter he'd received, they'd had a baby girl named Megan. Somehow, that seemed very fitting for a child of two Mars Adepts.
Free to face the life that's ahead of me…Thoughts of his own future were too mind-boggling for Picard to contemplate. After all…he was older than most people he knew outside of Lemuria. He might have looked to be only Sheba's age (which he thought was absurd—at that time she'd been fourteen!) but looks were, as he knew well, very misleading.
After all, hadn't he been imprisoned because of looks? And then released because of them? And hadn't Karst and Agatio looked evil, but in fact had been only acting for the benefit of Prox?
Picard shook his head. That was his past. His mind should be on the future, he decided. But what future was there? Lemuria offered him nothing but the prospect of watching his friends' lives end from afar; Vale offered watching them up close, as well as his own life becoming moderately shorter than it would have been in Lemuria.
He supposed he could go to Lalivero. But that was hardly any sort of compromise. As far as he knew, Sheba wasn't even there anymore. She'd only gone back to set things straight with Faran and the rest of her family; after that, there was no telling what she'd do. Picard hadn't heard from her since they'd all split up again, and that had been years ago.
Now there was just the sea in front of him. Well, that and the far-off coast of Indra. But what could the sea offer that was any better than living in Vale or Lemuria? Everyone, everywhere knew him—he had no anonymity anymore. He couldn't go somewhere for a while, just for fun.
And then there were the Djinn. If he got too stationary, they'd start causing trouble, and he knew it. The Lemurians had gotten used to it, and almost viewed his nine Djinn as wonderful comic relief. Most of the people who came to Lemuria from the various mainlands just avoided them. To take them onto those mainlands invited havoc.
And frankly, after that last experience with Havoc, Picard would rather not see her ever again.
He couldn't imagine finding someone he wanted to start a family with, either. Everyone, absolutely everyone on Weyard viewed him as some sort of hero. But that was Isaac, and Felix. And, in the very end, Mia and Sheba, too, had been thus. But him…he might have done some heroic things, but 'hero' wasn't his title to hold.
On board I'm a captain, so climb aboard…All he'd done was sail the ship. Or, as Garet had once explained to a couple of confused Proxans, "He drives the boat."
Picard laughed. Isaac, who'd had to handle sailing duties before his group had joined Felix's, had given Garet a pretty lengthy set of words about how one didn't 'drive' a boat and it wasn't a 'boat' either, it was a 'ship'. Garet was very reluctant to talk about boats after that.
He remembered meeting them all, in Kibombo. Well, he'd first met them at the Madra prison, but he didn't really remember that. However, in Kibombo, he'd been looking for his stolen Black Orb. It was the only way to power his ship. And Felix, Jenna, Sheba and the 'scholar' Kraden had offered to help him find it.
Granted, at times they'd been a bit over-enthusiastic, and Jenna hadn't really needed to go back one more time and yell at the Madran people…not that he'd minded. She just hadn't needed to.
As the captain (admiral, mariner, whatever) of his ship, he'd always had a definite something to do. It was his job to make sure they got where they were going. And if for some reason he couldn't—there had definitely been times—it had fallen to one of the others, but they'd often remarked about how they never got anywhere as fast.
He'd liked having something definite, something that couldn't be taken away by a Psynergy Seal or the switching of Djinn. Something the others could depend on him to do. Being captain had gotten him into trouble once in a while…but it also granted him a bit of respect among the others.
After all, he reflected, he possibly had the most boring and dull past and life out of any of them. Isaac had been the hero from the beginning, and Garet the second-in-command. Ivan had lived in Kalay as and oddity after being left there by his family. Mia had been the guardian of the Mercury Lighthouse and Imil's most skilled healer. Felix and Jenna had been kidnapped by and taken along with Saturos, Menardi and Alex. And Sheba had fallen from the sky as an infant into the town closest to Venus Lighthouse, and been kidnapped twice.
Now, not all of these things were necessarily good. But what had he done for such recognition? Been raised in Lemuria? Gotten hit by a tidal wave and then taken prisoner? Had his Black Orb stolen twice?
Being captain had given him something to definitely fall back on—a place to anchor himself in the violent storm of the quest to restore Weyard. Of course, they hadn't started out to restore Weyard. They'd just started out to light the lighthouses.
We'll fight for tomorrow on every shore…Then they'd returned to Lemuria. No one but Picard had been greeted with open arms, and, now he thought about it, the arms greeting Picard hadn't really been open ones either. Most people had, in fact, blamed him and King Hydros for being…well, for not being conservative.
Conservato. He had perhaps been Picard's greatest enemy. And now he was dead. It had, apparently, been his orders long ago that had sealed Lemuria. There was a long, large, elaborate conspiracy surrounding the whole thing. In fact, Picard possessed a book that detailed the subject. But he hadn't the heart to read it.
King Hydros and Lunpa had explained how Weyard was shrinking. How the lighthouses being unlit was drawing on the strength of Weyard itself, and it was crumbling. How the lighthouses needed to be lit in order for them all to survive.
Even Lemuria had felt its effects. And the absence of the elemental power was also the reason for the decline of Adepts. It was why Mia and Alex were the only remaining true descendants of the Mercury Clan, why Vale had to keep its power so secret, and why Ivan and Hama were the only ones left of the line of Anemos.
So they'd continued their quest with renewed purpose. To fail was to ultimately doom Weyard and all its people. It and they would cease to exist. And they'd explained it to Isaac and his group when they'd met in Contigo—there was no other choice, at that point. To never light Mars Lighthouse would not only throw the Elements completely off-balance, but it would, on its own time, destroy their world.
Alchemy had to be unleashed. That's all there was to it.
And I'll try, oh yes, I'll try, to carry on…He had tried, and valiantly. Nothing had terrified Picard more than seeing that void, the blackness full of crackling, pure destructive energy, surrounding the northernmost tip of Prox. It was as though the world truly ended right there.
It was nothing like Gaia Falls, which was surrounded by an enormous fog at all times, though beyond that you could see blue sky during the day or the vast expanse of stars at night. And at sunrise and sunset, depending on where you were, you could see a vibrant rainbow reflected in the fog.
Granted, the water in Prox was all frozen. But so had the water on Tundaria been, and there had been no broken ground or sudden areas of just pure nothingness. Only clear, cold air and a deep fog marked the edge.
Prox, the northernmost town in all of Weyard, was so close to this 'end' that it was itself under the dense cloud layer. Picard had gazed long into the emptiness then—it had symbolized the death of all he knew and all those he held dear. And then the ice under him had cracked away and he'd had a sudden flash of himself, spiraling down into the nothingness.
Felix and Garet had caught him, though, and pulled him back out. But for a moment, he'd been immersed in just total nothing—several bolts of the destructive dark energy had run through him, leaving him colder than even the ice, it seemed. For several long moments he couldn't feel a thing, and for hours he was cold.
He couldn't imagine if the world had ended up like that. If all of Weyard had been swallowed up by that total lack of…existence. By that cold, dark, unrelenting nothing.
I look to the sea…Prox had been cold even without the falling-into-nothing experience. Far too cold, even for the Mercury Adepts. Even for Mia, who was used to it, had lived in a cold climate all her life.
Perhaps, once, Prox had had summer- and winter-like seasons just as Imil did. But the cloud over the town presented them with constant blizzard conditions. The whole of Mars Lighthouse had been frozen through. Garet had, if Picard recalled correctly, taken that as quite an insult. Then Mia had given him a good smack upside the head.
As his ship had approached Prox, the river had frozen over. That had been one of the worst feelings Picard had ever had. It was like an abrupt end to the sea that held his heart in its sparkling depths.
A wind sprang up, startling Picard from his reminiscing. Shocked, he realized it was well past noon and near to evening and he hadn't had a thing to eat since early that morning. He was, now he thought of it, ravenous. Leaving his Djinn still doing whatever it was they were doing—it struck him that they'd been as meditative as he had all day, which was odd—he stopped the ship and headed into the deck-level room to prepare dinner.
Now there was something that took some getting used to, Picard mused with a laugh as he sat down to eat. Eating while on board a ship. You rocked back and forth a lot, if it was windy, and still a bit even if it was a calm day. And somehow things always had that slight taste of salty sea breeze, which he didn't mind but most of the other Adepts had hated.
It had that flavor now. It was a flavor you just didn't get anywhere else, not even in port towns or island villages. The flavor of the sea—a delicacy to sailors and repulsive to most others. One just had to be attuned to it, Picard supposed. Or used to it.
He finished his meal, quite satisfied, and decided he could make a bit more progress—sometime he'd decided to head for Vale after all, at least for a little while, to catch up with everyone—and then stop when the sun set. It really didn't matter where he was—after so long, there were barely any dangerous creatures around. Just the occasional ones in the dense jungles or perhaps deepest parts of the Eastern Sea—and that was farther east than he was right now.
Reflections in the waves spark my memory…The sun was headed for the horizon, and the sky was tinted palest pink and orange. Those colors caught on the small waves, flashing like signal lights and creating a dazzling effect. Picard looked down at the gently moving water, and instantly the colors brought images to his mind.
The flash—he'd seen it from his ship—as the Venus Lighthouse lit itself. Well, was lit by Saturos and Menardi, at any rate. When Felix and the rest had arrived and he'd learned about how the Proxans had joined together to form a great dragon, he could hardly believe that Mars Adepts could draw so much from pure Venus power.
The ensuing tidal wave wasn't much of a memory. Just a lot of water all at once and knowing he was in for it, especially if he was thrown from the ship. And then he'd woken up somewhere dark and had the good sense to cast Ply and then go back to sleep before anyone noticed him. The sun had risen and he'd found out it was a prison cell.
But before that, even, there were memories. Of…anything, really. He remembered a birthday, back when he was very young, perhaps six or seven. It had been dark, and there was something else happening that day, though he didn't know what—there were a lot of lights along all the paths and by everyone's houses. He knew it was the only year it had ever been like that. But the light of those candles—they were orange, and Mercury light was always blue or faint silvery-white—had seemed so comforting, and so special, almost like the whole island had lit them for him alone. After all this time, he still had no idea what the candles had been for.
Then there was the wonderful Winter Solstice he'd spent in Vale with the rest of the Adepts. Psynergy lights in every color imaginable—Ivan had decided to experiment with combining Psynergy to make different colors, and thankfully only an old barn had been wrecked before he got it right—had bet set upon every surface imaginable. They gave the soft blanket of snow a soothing, ethereal look. And when more snow had fallen, the colors had brought more majesty to the weather than Picard had ever known.
The best by far had to be the look on Isaac's face when, as the sun rose on the top of Mars Lighthouse, victory was finally attained. And things could go back to the way they should have been.
Some happy, some sad…Of course, the way they should have been was composed of many varied things. For example, Felix had never been entirely sure that Jenna should have been in love with Garet. Or vice-versa. And Sheba knew that no one should have been able to freeze two dragons of flame into two dragons of flame ice sculptures. Not even a meddling eyerock.
Picard laughed. He couldn't help himself. How many times over the next few years had Felix laid millions of curses upon the Wise One all in one breath? For, in truth, if the sealing of Alchemy and the doom of Weyard was anyone's fault, it was that of the 'eyerock'.
But the Adepts were more likely to blame Kraden.
Picard laughed again at the thought of when he'd first met Kraden and called him 'master sage.' Jenna had spent the next five minutes making jokes about the hierarchy of the components in a spice rack, Felix had wished fervently that his sister had never become a decent cook, and Kraden had taken an immense ego trip. Well, that last one had lasted for more than five minutes—right up until they'd had to solve the final puzzle in Gabomba Statue and he couldn't quite figure it out.
Sheba had it in twenty seconds.
Sheba. Picard had always felt bad for her—even Ivan had discovered, by the end of his quest, where he'd come from. But all Sheba knew, still, was that one day she'd fallen from the sky, as just a little baby, and into Lalivero. To have fallen from the sky had labeled her a 'child of the gods' in Lalivero. She'd had a brother, or at least, the person who'd have been her brother if Faran had indeed been her father.
Sometimes Picard wondered what had become of them all, after nearly ten years. The people who'd been so important to their quest and yet never given any credit. Like Sunshine, the smith from Yallam. He'd forged the very sword—the Mythril Blade—that Picard carried now. Or perhaps the people of Contigo who had built the Wings of Anemos and attached them to his ship, or the people of Loho, generously giving the Adepts their cannon.
And then there had been Lemuria. All of them had heard the tales. Kraden had been practically dancing as they'd cruised into the underground dock. And then, Picard watched their faces. The dismay they showed, Jenna and Kraden in particular, when they saw that Lemuria was more of a ruin than a proud city. And the actual ruins, Ancient Lemuria…Picard had never been there himself. It had had him almost in tears; he'd tried using his Parch Psynergy, but it had made a noise like the dousing of a candle and fizzled out, as though signifying that there was, in fact, no hope.
I think of all my friends, and the dreams we had…He also remembered that, as they'd left Lemuria and after he'd been relentlessly quizzed about his age, Jenna had suggested a trip to Vale. After that had been met with mixed enthusiasm (positive on Picard's part, but Felix wasn't so sure, and he was leader), Jenna had made them promise that, after the world had been saved, they'd all go on a trip together.
Picard could remember several trips…just that none of them had been exactly vacation-like. Once, they'd had to save the Eastern Sea from a band of pirates…and they'd journeyed all across Weyard all over again in the chaos created by those meddlesome little…Picard refused to walk that line of thought.
And then there had been Ivan. His first and foremost goal was to grow five inches. Picard hadn't seen him in a long while, but last time he had, Ivan was no closer to achieving that goal. He was still pretty short. But his second goal was and had always been to prove that he was useful. He'd often pointed out, in the years after the unsealing of Alchemy, the sort of disadvantage he was at—one of the youngest, shortest and most-overlooked Adepts.
And then Garet would jump in with an argument about how at least Ivan had two uses for his element. And then Jenna would add that so did Garet, only he'd chosen to ignore that fact. And then Sheba would mention that one time…and Garet would shudder-twitch and walk away in a bad mood, Ivan laughing the whole time.
And of course, Mia. Picard had no choice but to admire her. He'd seen what kinds of situations Garet, Isaac and Ivan could get into, and he silently applauded her obvious talent at getting them back out. Of course, that could also be because her moods shifted about as easily as Jenna slid across ice. And at about that speed, too.
But Mia had never really been open about why she was there. She'd been the guardian of the Mercury Lighthouse for about seventeen years—what had prompted her to leave? Eventually, Picard had discovered that she thought she'd failed, both in her duties as healer and as a daughter of the Mercury Clan, and felt she could redeem herself by trying to stop what was viewed by Isaac and his group as the prelude to the destruction of the world.
In Lemuria, Picard remembered, there had been few children. He remembered his mother talking about how she'd grown up with a whole group of kids her own age, and how most of them had learned to look past her difference. Two of them had been the guards Picard had run into upon his first return, with the Adepts and Kraden in tow, he recalled.
Picard's greatest friend, though, had indeed been his uncle. He knew no one else who believed so much in adventure and the wonders of everyday things that went unnoticed otherwise. Picard had once told his uncle that his one dream was to stop the whirlpools in the Sea of Time. His uncle had chuckled and told him to get right to it, but not to rush—he'd have all the time in the world.
We lived happily forever, so the story goes But somehow we missed out on the pot of gold…The sun's lowest edge was touching the horizon now. Picard sighed and stretched. He was a few miles offshore of Champa, and he could make it there in an hour or so, but he felt like sleeping on the true ocean that night. Something about it compelled him to stay there; it made him feel safe, as though held in the strongest arms in the entire world.
As he walked down the stairs to the room where he slept on the ship, it occurred to him that he could move the bed back up now, if he had a mind to. He'd had to move it down to make room for when all the Adepts crowded together in the deck-level room, and just to generally find privacy. Not that nine Djinn allowed for privacy, but it was as close as he'd ever gotten.
He lay there for a while, thinking, for the first time that whole day, about the present. However, he ignored his present—he knew more about that than he'd have cared to know.
Isaac. Their leader (after he and Felix had argued about it for a week and a half) and the current wielder of the Sol Blade. Ten years ago, he'd been in love with Mia. Picard knew he still was, and that Mia knew it, too—much as he rarely left Lemuria, he wrote and received letters often. Last he'd heard—months ago—they'd been making plans for a wedding. He'd have to stop by Vale soon, he knew, to find out specifics.
Jenna and Garet, wed and with one child, and another on the way. Sheba had once told him that she'd had a vision of Garet and Jenna some fifteen or twenty years after their quest, in a house full of redheaded children. Perhaps six of them. Picard had no problem believing this theory—Sheba was rarely, if ever, wrong, and it just seemed like something Garet and Jenna would want—a house full to bursting with little chaos-makers.
Ivan lived in Vale but took numerous trips to both Kalay and Vault. His family, of its sorts, lived in Kalay, and Hama, Ivan's sister, had moved to Vault two years after the quest. The last Picard had heard, she'd gone back to Contigo for a few months to settle something, and hadn't returned. But Ivan's last letter had been more than a year ago.
And Sheba, in Lalivero, or perhaps on a journey of her own somewhere. Who knew, with her? She'd grown very quiet soon after the end of the quest, and had kept mostly to herself. It seemed she only ever revealed things to Ivan, and did so by thought, so that none of the others even had a chance of overhearing.
None of them had been the same since the final lighthouse had been lit and life had returned to its semblance of normalcy. In their hearts, all of them would long for the adventure again for the rest of their lives. They would wish with near sincerity that another catastrophe would befall Weyard, if only for the chance to go out on the road and defeat it, or end it, or do whatever it was they had to do to return life to itself yet again.
But we'll try best that we can,
To carry on…Somewhere inside, Isaac would always be longing for the time he'd spent as leader of a group of saviors, and would wish in the darkest corners of his mind that all good things didn't really have to end. But he could settle down in time, could content himself with the family he might soon have.
Garet would always wish he hadn't been so clumsy and slow on the uptake in his youth, and would lament every moment not spent living his life to its fullest. But he'd work for that goal now, putting the most into every day.
Ivan would always wish to be taller, perhaps more useful as he saw himself, and might not ever stop wondering how it might have been if he'd known all along about Hama, and his family. But he wouldn't let it stop him from going forward, from striving always to improve.
Mia would sometimes feel that she'd failed anyway, or perhaps that she wasn't living up to the standards she'd set for herself. She'd take responsibility for the setting-into-motion of the deaths of four Proxan warriors just out to help their people. Even if the first two had gone mad with power. But she was who she was, and just that alone lent her strength, courage and willpower beyond belief.
Felix would always be affected by spending three years of his life as a hostage of Saturos and Menardi. Doubtless he still had nightmares, even after all this time. He might always be indifferent in his almost aggressive way. And he, too, carried that leader spirit, the hope that every day would present him with a new problem to solve. He was more of a free spirit, though, and might someday leave to search for it. He would become, in his mind, the hero of the everyday—one who could solve the little problems that somehow always managed to outrank the big ones.
Jenna might never quite lose that lust for the fight, for the creation of chaos and destruction that, while inherent in all Mars Adepts, had become more than prominent in her. And, less disabling, she might always reflexively mutter 'hold on' whenever she was trying to do something she wasn't too sure she could do. But she, also, was who she was, and her power and, for lack of better term, inner fire would carry her through any hard times she might ever meet.
Sheba could spend the rest of her life wandering, trying to find herself. She'd given up officially on the public search for her past, but deep inside her, Picard knew she looked still. But he also knew that she would persevere, would find her way, or if she did not, would at least learn everything she needed to in the process.
And then there was him. He couldn't begin to describe himself. But whatever the consequences of stopping the end of the world by nearly beginning it, he knew he'd pick up the pieces like everyone else, might have already done so, and continue forward.
With these thoughts in mind, Picard drifted off to sleep. And in that deepest of sleeps, he dreamed.
A gathering of angels appeared above my head,
They sang to me their song of hope and this is what they said…In his dream, he was back on the deck of the ship. Though he wasn't hovering, the Anemos Wings thrummed with contained power, and gave off a faint violet aura. Above him, the endless sky was full of countless bright stars. It seemed like there were so many more than he'd ever remembered. Aside from his ship and the stars above, all was dark—he could barely make out the slow waves rippling in the sea.
Along the rail, just as they had stood that day, were his nine Djinn. But they, too, glowed with a fierce light, almost too much to look at. Soon they were nothing but tiny balls of concentrated power, glowing in a bright bluish-white. The balls of light flew high into the sky, swirling around one another in a complicated dance, leaving trails of their light in the sky.
Soon, the lights descended again, but now they were about half Picard's height and pure white. Slowly, they transformed again from spheres of power into creatures made almost entirely of light, with golden wings and golden halos around their heads.
Together, the beings—angels, Picard's dream-self knew—raised their voices in a melody that was the embodiment of pure music. The sound lifted and carried, spreading a wave of light across the ocean, illuminating the dark sea for the mysterious and powerful thing it truly was.
Picard went to the rail and looked down at the waves, awash in the purest possible form of light. He saw his face in them, virtually unmarked by any passage of time, and he realized somewhere in his subconscious that what he was seeing was the purest form of himself.
Another angel, this one nearly as tall as Picard and with features much easier to discern, landed on the deck of the ship. Her golden wings folded gracefully behind her, and her halo shone above her golden hair. She stepped forward and her long white gown rustled like a bird's wings. She reached out one hand and took Picard's in it—she felt real, more real than anything in the waking world had ever felt.
Picard looked into her eyes, and saw in their depths the wisdom of so many worlds and such countless years that he was nearly pulled in by their gaze. She blinked, but the effect did not lessen. Above him, the chant of the smaller angels escalated and took on a pattern.
Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me...
Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me…Slowly at first, but then faster, the ship began to move forward in the water. Around him, in the darkness pushed back by light, Picard saw things that his imagination could never have come up with.
A man with golden hair and eyes, and a woman with silvery hair and coal-black eyes sat together around a fire in a grassy field. Through the field ran a river; the wind blew through the trees, and blew the woman's long hair from her shoulders. Above them in the cloudless sky a bright sun and a pale moon shone together.
A small hand reached into a well of light and withdrew a small blue stone, and the light extinguished. The stone was put into a silver bag and tied to the belt of the boy who had taken it. He took it with him to his new home when he married years later, and met the three others who had similarly gathered stones. Together they started a village at the foot of a large volcanic mountain.
Lightning flashed and thunder roared as gale-force winds whipped about large drops of rain. A small girl holding a lantern protected by glass stood in the face of this storm, holding out her light against the torrential downpour. As he watched, a man in a dark, rain-soaked cloak approached the house, lifted the girl high and hugged her tight. They went inside the house to greet a mother and baby.
A boy and a girl, the boy much older, walked along a beach covered in small pebbles and fine white sand. The boy put a protective arm around the girl, and she hugged him, dissolving in tears. Picard knew, somehow, that those tears stemmed from both grief and happiness.
And then, more familiar scenes. Isaac, Garet, Ivan and Mia making their stands at first Mercury and then Venus Lighthouse. Himself, Felix, Jenna and Sheba setting out for the first time on his ship, headed for far-off Izumo. The eight of them all together at the pinnacle of Mars Lighthouse, ready to end the decline of Weyard once and for all.
I knew she was an angel, but to my surprise,
The ship sailed out beyond the world, and headed for the skies…There was a jolt, and suddenly they were over Gaia Falls. Picard looked down, up, and to either side—there were stars all around him. It was as though he was suddenly the world.
Then came the pictures of the present day. Garet, Jenna and their young daughter seated on a couch in front of a roaring fire. Megan was asleep in her father's arms, and Garet and Jenna's eyes were locked in a stare that said there was no one else but them.
Isaac and Mia sat at a table, drinking mugs of something warm and quietly talking. The looks they gave each other were much the same—the flames of passion and attraction burned behind two sets of azure eyes.
Ivan was alone, standing atop a windy hill, mesmerized by the breezes of the otherwise calm night. He was muttering quietly to himself, and occasionally he would laugh.
Sheba was in a forest, where a soft breeze rustled in the trees. She smiled as well as the winds brought a familiar voice to her ears.
Felix walked along a path that was barely marked, followed by several others, all armed. Before the image faded, Picard caught the satisfied look on the Venus Adept's serious features.
The future came next—by now Weyard's seas were in sight again, only they were where the horizon would have been, had there been one—Picard had not remembered the ship turning.
Two children, identical right down to their smoky brown eyes and wild red hair, were chasing after two others, one a tall girl with flaxen hair and clear, sky-blue eyes, the other a small, quick boy with darker blue eyes and hair to match the water.
In another part of the same place, a small baby lay nestled in a crib. His hair was bronze-colored, and his eyes were closed—Picard could not tell who this child belonged to as well as he could with the others.
In the shadows of a small room, a man sat humming a song. On the floor beside him sat a small girl, perhaps three or four years old, with sapphire hair in short pigtails and large, sparkling golden eyes. Picard smiled. He couldn't see the man, and knew that there was no way of knowing if it might've been him.
The song of the angels reached its zenith and slowly faded away. He was in the waters of Weyard again, just offshore of Champa, and the night was as it should have been. The smaller angels faded to lights and then became his Djinn again, perched stone-still on the ship's rail.
But the girl-angel, now holding both of his hands, held him with her gaze again, and spoke to his very soul with a voice that was nothing more than another part of the song.
His own song answered. He promised to remember, and to learn, and to always above all be true to what he knew, and what he believed. He promised to look out for the future of those he'd seen.
The angel stood on the toes of her bare feet, turned her head and kissed his cheek softly. Then her golden wings unfolded and she lifted off, her voice becoming strong and fading gently as she glided into the heavens.
Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me… Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me…Picard awoke, recalling only a sense of fulfillment and renewed purpose, and a gentle touch on his cheek. The fading melody of a strange yet familiar song echoed in his mind. He rose and dressed quickly, anxious suddenly to be on his way to Vale.
He went out onto the deck and found that, instead of facing the rising sun, as he should have been, it was to the right of him. He frowned, puzzled. His frown only deepened when he saw the Djinn on the ship's rail and a single golden feather laying on the deck.
He lifted it, rubbed it against his cheek where he could still feel the remnants of the angel's kiss. For now he remembered, that wonderful dream in which he'd been shown the beginning of too many worlds to count.
He opened his eyes and put one hand on the wheel, the other still holding the shining feather. He knew, now, that there was something he had yet to do.
Perhaps someday he'd go to Vale, visit his friends again, recount stories and hear of things he'd missed.
Maybe he'd return to Lemuria again, eventually, once he knew where his path would lead. Thinking of the last vision the angel in his dream had given him, he smiled.
For today, Picard thought, he'd just sail.
~*~