Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Young Wizards series by Diane Duane, who seems to condone such behavior. No undue claim nor material profit is expected or intended. Spoilers through A Wizard Abroad.

Mourning Glory
by Alan Sauer
and Persephone Kore

When humans, or indeed most physical species, perceived Timeheart, it generally at least began in terms of the things they were familiar with. For the Powers such things were more fluid; emotions and meanings and whispers were as solid to Them as energy and potential, which were if anything perhaps more so than matter.

The Lone Power knew this, and knew that it was probably a little strange to choose the semblance of a human body leaning against a low wall, staring over it into the reality where a small army of wizards had brought one of his shadows to bay.

They didn't think of it quite like that, or not quite yet. He'd thought of telling them, but the rest had objected, and if he wasn't sure why he still wasn't ready to argue the point. Yet. So the wizards didn't realize that by forcing Moytura again they had already begun winning. The goal had been Timeheart, whose defenses he now leaned against and helped to fortify from within, although at the time the madness of breaking the separations between reality and reality, time and time, life and death -- ironic as that might be -- had also been satisfying.

He closed his eyes and put his hands on the wall. Satisfaction was in short supply when he was set against most of the rest of the Powers and all the worlds, no matter how intimately he'd woven his creations into it. If the rest couldn't extract what he'd done, they made things that thrived on or despite his inventions; he'd made it so the world must end, and they'd declared it worthwhile nonetheless. He'd wheedled his own universe and gnashed his teeth over the knowledge that it was a gift, a sop, and reveled in it anyway -- and poured as much of himself into it as ever any Power had into a creation, and still not been content.

The Morrigan flirted with both sides as the wizards walked; she would glory in the battle and play the carrion-crow, but spread her wings for peace after.

For everything twisted there was some other (maddening, then) twist that kept popping up: entropy became time to move through, transience became a door to cycles, destruction became purification... death became sacrifice and triumph and ended here. There had been a certain grudging admiration, in the more cordial episodes, to watching this. It would probably have been even more exasperating at the time, he thought, if he'd been able to realize that some of those ideas were his own.

He watched the local shadow sent out the Fomori, watched as they struck and wizards showed they too could kill.

The battle was joined.

And he was not alone.

"I think your shadow's laboring under the delusion he has an ally on the inside." The Winged Defender perched beside him, or possibly on his arm; she seemed to be having an avian moment. Watching thoughtfully as the forces gathered, she added meditatively, "I'm not sure anybody's going to come out with the 'Fairest and Fallen' line this time."

"I don't even know what I was thinking. Other than 'Hey, maybe I can be my own nuclear weapon.'"

"Apparently you could. Brace yourself; I assume you noticed when they got the spear back, considering Dairine timeslid the metal . . . ."

"That was rather hard to miss, yes. Even if I hadn't been keeping an eye on her anyway. I wonder if it'll give me a headache?"

She paused to consider this, a little longer than seemed necessary. "I have absolutely no idea. Except that it hurt . . . everyone who was there, at least a little bit, last time. Excuse me, I'm keeping half a mind or so on Ronan."

"Yes, I thought that was about all he rated."

"Hey!" She swatted at him lightly. "I'm also in him, in another manifestation, so watch it."

"I'm allowed to tease. Speaking of which, clear your schedule, I'm working on an extended mock regarding Nita."

"Not everybody who goes wandering through a guy's mind on the second kiss looking for a macaw, is it?" she said brightly.

"One would think she'd have other things on her mind, for one thing. Out of practice, are you?"

She snickered good-naturedly, despite Balor's activities that they could feel through their feet, or the equivalent. "Not at the time, as it happens. Nita's just very nosy." This somehow managed to sound like a compliment.

"Nosy, and apparently difficult to distract . . . . Oops."

The Winged Defender made a face. "That's embarrassing. I knew the bit about returning to the hand would be useful, though."

"Yes, it's quite a clever spear." He grinned. "Back to more amusing topics, though, I wasn't aware Nita was that much of a favorite of yours. And what about Kit, you little opportunist?"

She looked mischievous. "What about him? As Nita has been pleading to her parents with some agitation, they have not been 'doing anything' of that sort."

"And yet her parents still saw fit to send her out of the country. And he still managed to pay a few visits. Or were you trying to spur the boy on with a bit of the old competitive spirit?"

"Ronan was trying to get a kiss from a pretty girl, and succeeded rather well . . . up to a point. Kit's still her partner, that's not likely to change -- and if it can't work between her and Ronan, well, her parents have at least been convinced that sort of strategy doesn't work, haven't they?"

"True. I still say you're a meddler, mind you."

"Of course I am. That's what I do."

"But the Winged Busybody doesn't look nearly as impressive on the letterhead?"

She preened his hair -- definitely a bird at the moment. "You spent too much time playing office just before you got here."

"Well, it was a complicated experiment. I really ought to do something about that universe one of these days."

"I think it's improving on its own at the moment -- slightly, anyhow. Since . . . actually that could make things interesting. Since Nita and Kit twisted the kernel out of space."

"I wouldn't actually need the book, but . . . yes, I'm very curious what's happened. The whole place shivered when they set that spell."

His sister grinned at him. "I can say you won't have nearly as much trouble getting energy for it." A wink. "At least if you don't start whining again."

He snickered. "I'm imagining the look on Akthanath's face if I showed up and ordered him to take a vacation. With pay."

"Be prepared to provide medical attention," she suggested drily. "Oh. It's time -- LET GO OF THE SPEAR, BOY!"

"What is he waiting for?"

"He's not sure he'll be human anymore afterward." Her wings ruffled. "I'm not that pushy, and even if I were . . . ."

"Well, I can't really blame him for not wanting to turn into you . . . but seriously, he really ought to --" He broke off and pressed the heel of his hand into his eye, wincing. "That answers that question."

His sister winced herself and flickered, and then an arm and shining wing wrapped around him. "Decide it's worth it anyway," she finished the interrupted sentence even as Balor's continued scream echoed in the edges of Timeheart and in their teeth. "All right there?"

"Yes. Just something of a shock. They did a very good job rebuilding that spear."

"They had to. It'd burn to nothing in minutes else." The scream died away; the Winged Defender relaxed slightly as the assault on Timeheart fizzled as well, though she didn't let go of her twin as the Morrigan rose and the world of the battle started to be drawn home. She tilted her head and frowned. "There were words in that, weren't there? But I couldn't make them out."

"I could. Heard or remembered, it hardly matters. He wanted to be let back in." He smiled wryly. "And forgot or ignored that in a sense he already was. Maximum occupancy reached." A long sigh. "It wouldn't have worked anyway. There's only one way in, and it isn't conquest."

"It's welcome. -- Which I suppose he asked for, after a fashion, but he couldn't take it that way . . . ." She echoed the sigh and let a feather loose to flutter away. "Your shadows still share an essence, though, and I think they'll be changing too -- not that most of them will like it at first." She smiled wryly. "And then there's the rest, I suppose -- the Morrigan's in an indubitably favorable face now . . . ."

"I do hope she won't be too surprised to find me here."

"She'll laugh. And then start lobbying to be sent back to Ireland."

"I'm surprised there was someone else who chose to leave. Different situation, of course, but still."

"I'm sure you recall being a little . . . hmm . . . obsessive about that little island? You weren't the only one by a long shot."

"Very strange little place."

"And oddly compelling. You notice I'm still there too after a fashion, for that matter. Quite a few of us are, and quite a few children . . . . I wasn't actually working on it at the start; I'm not quite sure what got put into it, but it's very tenacious," she said fondly.

"So . . . you're telling me this was a general phenomenon?"

"There are quite a few places that seem to be . . . difficult to admit are finished and let go of. That's one. I spent long enough in Greece, myself . . . ."

"Athena and Prometheus, I did think that was rather overkill."

"Both functions seemed to be needed. Though they got the Prometheus story a bit muddled. An eagle? Eating Me?"

He coughed shamefacedly. "That was me, actually. I wasn't above the occasional bit of malicious gossip."

"I thought it might be. At least it seems to have been rather inspiring." She chuckled and cocked her head to peer sharply at him with one eye. "Overkill, was it? What about all the work you did on that little side-dimension of yours?"

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep that place running on that little energy? I had to put that much work into it. Entirely different thing."

The Defender folded her wings back primly and crossed her arms, mouth twitching. "All things considered, I think the energy allowance was more than reasonable."

"Not when you consider I had to use most of it evolving the machines into actual organisms. That was tricky."

"That was, ah, creative," his sister conceded diplomatically, "but why precisely did you have to?"

"Because actual living things didn't like me. And I had to do something with the place, otherwise what was the point?"

"What was the point of fueling trees with no sunlight?"

"Well, I was angry at them. That wasn't a project, it was revenge. The machines were . . ." He eyed her sourly. "Exactly the same thing as the Morrigan with Ireland, wasn't it."

"Quite similar, at least. You got very elaborate. More of a distraction than most anticipated, really . . . ."

"Well. It was mine. I used to get so frustrated when it wouldn't work right, and even the machines, I made them and they wouldn't --" He paused, and looked away. "They wouldn't love me, so I bound them into silence, made them obey me. I thought that was just as good."

The Champion sighed, and he felt feathers again. "Or tried to? You'd forgotten how to love them, though I think even so perhaps you came as close as you could."

"Everything I made came out twisted. I just wanted to make something again. And I couldn't stand that you could do it better than me."

"It came of trying to deny your Source." She waved at the view of the aftermath of Moytura; it went blank.

No. It went dark. It looked out of place in Timeheart, but then, it was out . . . .

"It's still where you left it, of course. The physics are something of a wreck . . . ."

"I did the best I could." He tilted his head, looking. "But not the best I can. That's something to think about."

"It is." He could hear her smiling. "What was that about the entropy rating, again?"

"Well, it's very high. That was part of the point."

"And you were complaining to me about this because . . . ."

"Because I needed more energy. Gloater."

"You needed to use it more efficiently. Of course, if you did I'm sure putting more energy in would be viewed as a much better investment."

"I don't need to crawl up hat in hand any more, thank you." He grinned. "You'll have to get your fun somewhere else."

"Don't be silly." She squeezed his shoulder. "Watching you . . . brighten the place up . . . will be immense fun."

"Actually --" He paused. "Don't? Watch, I mean. I'll invite you over later, just . . . I don't want an audience for that."

She looked at him curiously for a moment. "Still a bit possessive? But I suppose you've reason. Between you and them, then."

"It's not that. I just -- it was a mistake. It's not . . . something to have fun with, fixing it. Yet, anyway."

"I've generally thought putting things right is fun, though no less a serious matter for that. But it's true that healing means sharing the wounds. I won't interrupt. But I would stand with you if you wanted, and I will rejoice over the results. How's that?"

"I can live with that." He turned to face her. "You know it's nothing to do with you? I've done too many things I'm ashamed of to want them celebrated, and that place is . . . almost the biggest."

"I know. I've spent too much time helping to make them worth celebrating again." The Defender spread macaw's wings as she reached up to kiss his forehead. "Don't think we didn't consider what we were doing, leaving it in your hands. Go well, brother. They're waiting for you."

*****

It was dim, and dreary, and grey. Manhattan in shadow, a place of empty streets and dingy buildings, lightless and joyless.

Cars roamed the streets, alive but bound to silence, tearing each other apart in mute self-hatred.

The trees, deprived of light, huddled together over the memory of better days.

The city was empty indeed. Once, there had been a driving will behind it; oppressive, yes, but at least a reminder that something more existed. Now, it simply continued.

Someone walked down Fifty-second Street, and stopped in front of what had once been a tall, obsidian-windowed office building, and was now spiderwebbed with cracks. He regarded it for a moment and sighed, then deliberately turned away.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, and somehow the whisper carried the length and breadth of the silent city.

"I'm sorry," he said again, and turned back onto the street.

Behind him, the sun rose.

*****