Dancing on the Sky

Part One - "Grid of Misery"

Chapter Seven - "Those Dreams Set In Stone"

Author: Mizzy

E-mail: PG-13

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Diane Duane, and various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The words of the Wizardry Oath are all Diane Duane's, and they don't work. (Damn.) Names of casualties were made up, and any resemblance to any living person is purely coincidental. I love my lovely, lovely beta who was able to retrieve this part when my own compyooter BUSTEDDDD. Smooches, Destiny, you're the best!

Summary: Grief can be a hard thing to come to terms with, sorrow can be a recalcitrant adversary, and hope is the hardest thing to find in the middle of a storm when all you can do is dance on the sky and hope for the best.

Dedicated: To all the victims of the war. Find your own peace at the Heart of Time.

Author's Notes: This is the end of part one, "Grid of Misery", in which I tie up a few loose ends, let loose a few more and generally create havoc. The next seven-chapter part will be set a few years on from this. :) Oh, and I'm such a coward when it comes to narrating long battle scenes. You have been forewarned.

Later, when that day would be set into wizardry history books for years to come, it would be described as a day of fire and ash and brimstone, of destruction, pain, flames and destiny, of shadow and mistrust and betrayal and questions, endless questions.

Everyone had a question in mind when Carl Romeo appeared, dishevelled and confused. Right at that moment, despite however much answers were desired, an answer could not be given.

"Carl!"

Dairine's cracked whisper seemed to be caught up on the wind, yanked high vociferously across the breeze, picked up and amplified unnaturally. Dairine knew almost instinctively that Gigo - brave, plucky, Gigo - had made good use of his inherent wizardry to sound the syllable out to the world.

All work immediately stopped, and the world went still. Too still. Carl opened his mouth to speak - an exclamation, a question, a stuttered oath of surprise - no one ever found out as he was going to say, as the sky fell down.

Everything seemed to happen at once. The air turned foul, a crude smell of lighter fluid and burnt charcoal, with a darkened color of burnt umber, and the clouds heaped up in inky-colored piles of threatening cotton candy. The earth trembled, in shock and fear, throwing the assembled wizards to the floor, gasping for breath.

Annie hauled herself up, dirt across one cheek. She threw her arm out, barked words in the speech, and Dairine struggled to catch them in the roaring sound of the wind. A crackling sound followed the roar of the air, and the air around them sparked, turned white. The defensive shield they'd been preparing for the last hour or so had sparked dramatically into life.

A huge dome of sparkling plasma surrounded them, and instinctively the amassed wizards crowded together, facing forwards. Dairine scrambled to her feet, tugging Carl away from the perimeters of the shield and turned to him furiously. Flinging up her hand, she muttered a few syllables of the flowing Speech. Carl's face twisted in more confusion and horror.

"Dairi--" he started.

Dairine turned to her aunt, red hair flung upwards in the blunt wind and eyes widening to reveal the mini storms within the stormy grey depths, reflecting the terror of the world outside the shield. "It's him. It's our Carl."

Annie brushed past Dairine, grabbing Carl by the arm, muttering a brief explanation in the Speech. Carl swore colorfully under his breath, but only for one moment, and he stiffened before extending one hand forwards, fingers splashed against the wind and looking unnaturally white.

A dispersal shield crackled into life, purple and heavy, static crackling against the surface, the wind whipping his hair into his eyes. "Damn it!" Carl turned furiously to Dairine. "What's been going on?"

"You disappeared! From all the books, all the fields of wizardry, everything. Nita, Kit and Ronan have been given a deadline to find you; the Calur'tee said Morganna has you. Tom's been mad with worry, and we've been called out here!" Dairine shrieked against the wind, her hair a halo of fire around her head.

"Disappeared?" Carl shook his head slowly, looking at the amassed wizards. "This is bad."

"You can say that again," Annie commented dryly, looking around edgily.

The words seemed to snap Carl into action, and he looked across at the wizards. "A heavy accrual of power, nearly thirty quads worth . . ." he muttered to himself. "It can mean only one thing."

Annie seemed to know what he meant. "A Wizard Apocalypse."

Even Dairine knew that was bad.

"Apocalypse," Carl agreed. He looked around, fidgeting. "I'll tell the troops." His hard gaze looked up, heavy brown eyes lost in doubt and fear, and Dairine swallowed. It took a lot to make a Senior that scared. Fear was a norm, but not that much . . .

Carl stalked forwards, nearer the center of the group, his amiable if goofy Brooklyn persona lost in the hard exterior of his Seniority. His responsibility shone out strong, seeming almost to raise his stature impossibly even though he didn't physically change. His voice slipped out, loud, and Dairine nudged Gigo good-naturedly. The little 'bot had taken it on himself to amplify the sound for all the wizards to hear.

"I haven't been missing for the last few days. My existence was masked for a few days with Macintyre's Curse, which can mean only one thing. This will be the second time Central Park has been personally attacked by the Starsnuffer." Carl forced himself to be immobile, though the wind threatened to move him and the roar of the storm threatened to swallow him whole. Stony glances were exchanged by the others as they listened to their Senior. "Let us hope that we can be as lucky this time as last time. It's not going to be easy, but I know we can do it. He has the capacity for change, now. Let's change him."

Agreement came from the huddled wizards, a mass of jumbled sounds and words, a rippling wave of support. The wizards linked hands, and turned to face the storm, strong together.

Kit scratched his arm absently as he looked around the small house. Something about it irked him, deep to the core of his being, and he couldn't figure out what. Glancing across at Ronan, he noticed the older boy looked extremely uncomfortable. Ronan had his arms folded, his unruly shock of hair pushed behind his ears in irritation. He didn't even have to look at Nita to know what she would be doing. He knew her well enough to know that that expression would be on her face, the one that she got when she was studying a hard math problem or something; left fingers twisted into her jacket as she bit her lip, and her brow furrowed, with her right arm across her stomach.

Turning to glance at her, he wasn't disappointed. Nita had that expression, and was chewing her lip as she looked around the house, then back at Morganna.

"Something isn't right here," she murmured faintly. A whistling sound echoed faintly from the direction of the narrow corridor twisting away from near the television, and Kit recognized the warm whistle—a kettle. Well, Rodriguez, she did only ask a couple of minutes ago if we wanted a 'cuppa.'

"Yeah, that's right. Just 'cause the woman's from the UK..." Ronan teased lightly. Nita turned furiously, eyes burning in abrupt anger until she realized he was joking. Her frown quickly changed to an apologetic grin.

"It's just- This all seems awfully familiar." Nita frowned. "It's probably just me."

"It's not just you," Kit shot back, troubled. "This place... Morganna..." Something niggled at the back of his mind, a hint of an idea forming in that disjointed ways ideas tend to do, like scraps of cloud floating across the sky on their way to form larger clouds, but being waylaid on their journey.

"I think she's just a harmless old woman, who likes the power. After all, how many people get the chance to rule an entire sector of space?" Ronan whistled under his breath softly. "Some power can be intoxicating." His eyes were alight with a distant remembering, but Kit noticed Nita's expression first, deep compassion. Patching together fragments of thoughts, memories and snatches of conversations, he thought he knew what it was about. Ronan had enjoyed the brief surge of power of being a Power for a few minutes, and now that he didn't have that any more he would get moments of regretting it. Nita had been close to him in Ireland, and would naturally be more sympathetic with his almost nameless longing for something he could never have again.

"Does she?" Kit challenged. "I mean, had you ever heard of her before today?"

"There's a lot of things you've never heard of. I mean, had you ever heard of wizardry before you got your manual?" Nita looked at him, a half-amused smirk on her face. Kit opened his mouth to talk. "And before you go on about how she's quite a big figure in the wizard world, wizardry is a big thing in our world but you didn't know about it before either. So shush."

Kit frowned, and moved over to the bookshelf in the small room, busying his hands with flicking idly through the ordered volumes. His hand lingered on one of the hard-backed books, "Ice Cold. Tom Swale." He let his finger drift down the spine, smooth against the plastic dustcover of the book, feeling overwhelming sadness rush over him like a wave. Kit's gut tightened in sympathy for what Tom must be feeling right now. Carl . . . he thought silently, drifting the word out like a prayer. I hope you're all right.

"Here we are, luvvies. It's a bit hot, but ne'er you mind, just blow on it an' it'll be right as rain in no time." Chuckling under her breath, Morganna placed a heavy tray on the low coffee table, and Kit glanced at it distractedly. He watched as Ronan frowned slightly, and the air seemed to hum gently for a brief second, so brief Kit wondered if he'd imagined it. Whatever the small spell had accomplished seemed to satisfy Ronan, as the

Irish boy nodded at Nita. Nita inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement, and bent down to gingerly pick up two mugs of the steaming hot tea, passing one mutely to Ronan.

Morganna had one herself, lodged in between her chubby hands, her cheeks red as she blew on the mug. "Christopher, isn't it? Don't you want one?"

Kit flushed, and Nita giggled over the edge of her tea. "Kit," he corrected awkwardly. "I'll wait for it to cool down a bit on its own."

"Suit yourself," Morganna said with a shrug, settling into one of the armchairs. "So, let's brainstorm. What else do we know about your Senior?"

Nita raised one eyebrow slowly. "He's just disappeared, from every listing, every written record he was ever in."

"Sounds like he was masked." Morganna chuckled. "He ain't disappeared, ducky. Someone's just playing havoc."

Nita set the mug down so hard the table bounced a little, and she winced. "You mean . . ." A sick feeling was creeping up her throat. "He could have been there, still there, at his work, and—"

Morganna shrugged. "Worth a try. Don't have any other leads, do you?"

"I said we should ask around at his workplace," Ronan said, with a fierceness that surprised Nita.

"I think I've got one more lead."

All three turned to see Kit still at the bookcase. A heavy book was lying on his hands, and he moved it slowly, facing the cover to them. It was Tom's fantasy novel, 'Ice Cold', and on the front was a picture of an ice cavern with a powerful witch sat on the throne.

"Ah. I used that as inspiration for my—" Morganna started.

"No, you didn't." Kit dropped the book down onto a side cabinet with a heavy thud. "Tom used it as inspiration for you. And this—" He waved his hand around, and then pointed at her. "Easy. Mrs. Doubtfire. Tom and Carl were watching it the other week. I remember because I went to see them about—about—" His eyes flickered guiltily to Nita before flicking away. "Never mind." Nita flushed uncomfortably and fidgeted, her grey eyes darkening as she processed what Kit was saying. "And your name. Morganna. Dairine shifted a copy of "La Morte D'Arthur" out of the way when we saw Tom last, and Morganna is a variant of Morgan Le Fey. It all makes sense now. You're just an illusion, designed to distract us while . . ." Bile rose to Kit's throat, and he choked it down quickly, feeling sick. "While our planet is attacked."

Morganna rose up slowly, chuckling, her small bulk shaking. She spread her hands . . . and disappeared.

Only, so did everything else.

Thankfully Nita was a lot better in a crunch than the two boys, and she instinctively ran through the familiar syllables in her mind of the shielding spell she used all too often, widening it to encompass Ronan and Kit. Kit dazedly fed in some of his own power to the spell, winding in his own subtle frequencies and signature of magic.

Gasping in the oxygen and being thankful the gravity on the planet was similar to that on Earth, Kit looked across at Nita and Ronan wordlessly.

Nita, as usual, wasn't lost for words. "Couldn't you have let slip your idea before stranding us on a technically empty planet with no oxygen?" She looked amused rather than mad for a second before worry replaced both expressions.

"Guess we'd better go," Ronan said, shrugging, somewhat at a loss.

Nita nodded, looking lost, and impulsively Kit squeezed her left hand in his own. She looked at him, startled, eyes widening, before she smiled and squeezed his hands back. Holding Nita's hand reminded him of the first spell they'd ever done together. The one that brought Fred to us...

In her stare, Kit could tell they were both thinking the same thing, without using wizardry, and that thought was as reassuring as it was frightening. Whatever it was, holding Nita's hand gave him the same feeling as it had the first time, that of being safe, of being part of something bigger than just him . . .

Ronan coughed delicately, looking embarrassed, and Nita looked at him sheepishly, but didn't let go of Kit's hand.

It was an uncomfortable reminder of the other-world battle that had taken place in Ireland, and this time they didn't even have the elemental Objects of Power that they'd had that time. In this battle, when people were seriously injured, healing wouldn't be as whole or as quick as it should be.

He was just as powerful, as terrifying in real life. Dairine's breath had quickened, and Annie's hand had tightened reflexively on her arm. It hurt, but Dairine didn't notice. A large army was spread out before them, as many as they had on their side, headed by a figure on a black horse. The horse had eight legs, and each was shod in a glimmering thick block metal. It was large, and terrible, and somehow breathtakingly beautiful at the same time. He was the same, awful in a way that crunched your insides, but on the outside flawlessly perfect. The only thing that marred his aesthetic beauty was the sneer on his face, turning those bright eyes into hard crystals of hatred.

Beside him, on a smaller horse, was Tom. Or what could have once been Tom. Red-eyed and crazed, this wasn't the Tom Swale they'd once known. This was the Tom Swale driven insane by false ideas planted in his mind by the Lone Power.

"We have a chance, it wasn't willing, he was duped..." Annie was muttering. "He can only keep him if it was willing, and it wasn't willing, oh powers it wasn't willing..."

Dairine clung onto her hope and held it in front of her like a beacon.

Then the fighting began.

Energy swirled in the air, clashing in a barrage of colours and sound. A hideous smell filled the air, like sulphur, burning and hot. It was too hot to fight, but fight on the wizards did. They had to.

Snarling beasts launched forwards first, shaggy and grey furred with the eyes of humans, greens and blues and browns, haunted and terrified. Carefully constructed energy diagrams flared up all over the park, knocking them back, knocking them down and away but not for long. The air was thick with blood and grunts and pain. Dairine flung up her arm, lashing out with an abrupt sizzle of magic, and joined with a band of wizards to knock out a creature that looked like a Manticore. Myths have sources in reality... Dairine thought dazedly, and risked a look upwards.

A band of wizards in their thirties were grouped together, as the Lone Power raged and brought down his wrath in a surge of hatred. One of them was holding up something tightly, a long stick of wood, glowing with symbols, and Dairine made a mental note to ask later. Lightning streaked out from the wood, clashing with the purple energy from the Lone Power. Around them, tree shifted, joining the battle. Someone had brought the nearest ones to life, and some statues too... Dairine remembered reading about Nita and Kit's battle with the Lone Power and the Naming of Lights, the Book of Night with Moon in their speech, and felt with awe the power that had coursed through them to bring all the stationary inhabitants of Central Park to life.

But Dairine must have kept her gaze upwards for too long. Something red crackled through the air, something black and red and with feathers. It collided with her face, and she cried out as blood obscured her vision. She stumbled to the ground, clutching her eyes with the pain, and heard Gigo whimpering her name through the confusion. A nudge by her feet told her Gigo was standing guard over her, and a startled kawk! told her the creature that had attacked her was gone thanks to her partner. Annie was there suddenly, holding her by the elbows and mumbling obscenities under her breath in Gaelic and German. Magic crackled through the air, tangible by its sound and smell, and Dairine stumbled forwards until she was on her knees, and her hands were on Gigo. Reaching into her wizardry, she let her power flood from her into her partner. Gigo tensed under her touch, and let the power flow into him. Then she fell backwards as Gigo recoiled, letting loose their combined power in a furious and controlled attack.

Screaming filled Dairine's ears, and kept behind Gigo as the tiny 'bot battled for all his worth. He wasn't the only one. Around the field, the wizards kept battling on, past their fallen friends and partners and struggling on through the tears and pain.

The battle continued, showing no signs of stopping any time soon.

The long distance jump flung them to their knees on the surface of the moon, not far from the Sea of Tranquility. Kit stumbled to his feet, feeling dizzy and wobbly. His eyes widened as he glanced down at the planet's normally tranquil surface, and couldn't say anything for a moment.

When the words came, he stumbled forwards to grab Nita's shoulder. "Neets."

"Wha-" Nita mumbled drowsily, leaning on Kit and letting him help her up. Her shoulders slumped and her mouth fell open. "No..." she whispered, suddenly lost and sounding smaller than she ever had. She turned in Kit's grasp, looking at him with an expression that reminded Kit vaguely of an animal caught in the glare of a car's headlights. "No- we have to- Kit..."

Kit shook his head firmly. "Another minute, Neets. We'll be no good if we go down there and we're too weak to stand up."

Ronan was struggling to his feet as they spoke, and his dark eyes lingered on the stormy landscape. The Earth had never looked so bad. The atmosphere, normally a tangle of white streaks, was laced with red lines. Like blood... Ohgodohgodohgod... Like blood...

"Kit's right," Ronan heard himself saying, too distracted to do anything. Inside his head, Michael raged, wishing for a power they no longer had. I know, Michael, Ronan thought furiously, soothing the beast inside of him. I wish we could stop it too.

Nita seemed close to tears. "Kit--" she pleaded, looking at him hollowly. Kit kept his ground firmly, staring at her, challengingly. Ronan found himself moved by Kit's strength. You can say 'no' to that face? With new respect and admiration for the small-but-tough Hispanic wizard, Ronan moved over to stand by Kit's right shoulder, silently flanking and supporting him by his stance.

Kit was troubled, deeply, but knew if they went down in their current state they wouldn't be doing anyone an iota of good. "We wait. Another minute."

"That's what you said a minute ago," Nita said, her voice edged with a laughter that Ronan knew wasn't from humor but had sources in a blind hysteria. Now he could plainly see what she was thinking, any fool could. Her mind lingered on her father and Dairine, who were both probably caught in that power struggle down below.

Never had a minute passed by so slowly. Seconds dragged into hours, and in that time Ronan cursed silently and furiously all the poxy scientists with their annoyingly correct theories of relativity.

Eventually Kit lifted his head. Ronan knew the expression, of worry and concern, and also knew that Kit was wondering briefly how come he had to be the leader all of a sudden. That responsibility was new to Kit, but he was dealing with it as professionally as Ronan had come to expect of him.

"Let's go," Kit said, the words sounding as if he'd had trouble forming them, let alone getting them out.

Never had those words been so waited for. Nita barely waited for the 'go', formulating her jump and leaping as soon as it left Kit's mouth, but he didn't berate her for her 'jumping the gun' as it were, for he'd set his jump to go at the same time.

It was like something out of a B-grade sci-fi flick, all funky lights and large creatures that looked almost as if they couldn't really move, and then surprised you with their grace and fluidity of their deadly movements.

Afterwards, Nita would describe the carnage and chaos as "a terrible light show, prettier than the aurora borealis that I've seen pictured a thousand times in the books at the library" but then would go on to add "but it was one of the most dreadful sights I've ever seen."

At the moment, though, blind panic was all that went through Nita's mind. The Starsnuffer, resplendent in the shadow of a thousand suns, was losing, as he always must, as he always should. Blinding light spattered against him from a glowing stick, held jointly by a group of seniors. The sound of death echoed around the park, chilling in mixed syllables of the Speech and some other unworldly voices that never sounded more familiar than in that moment. Entropy spelled entropy no matter how it was said.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Eight voices joined together, the ones holding the staff, a jumble of accents all running through some ancient syllables, some ancient spell. The Lone One, pulling away, his horse neighing and unhorsing him. He tumbled to the ground, reaching one hand out to a dishevelled wretch by his side, a mess of darkness and blood, before tumbling backwards into nothingness.

Just as suddenly, the forces of evil under his command just disappeared, as if they were never there, but the aftermath unfortunately didn't disappear as suddenly.

Beside her, Nita was faintly aware of Ronan dashing to someone's aid, and Kit retching from the stench of blood and burning. Absently thankful she had nothing left to throw up, Nita looked around her in a daze, for the first time in her life not knowing what to do. Before, losing her mom, faced with horrific choices where she held death in her own hands, she'd been confused, lost, but now... Now she didn't even have a clue where to start. This must be what it's like to be grown up... Not having someone to show you the way... Not being allowed to stumble on blindly, to have to make choices on your own...

Swallowing, Nita's thoughts abandoned her when she caught a flash of red hair in a heap somewhere near the middle of the clearing, and panic took over. Stumbling around wizards, the able ones helping the less able to their feet, the eight seniors who had wielded the staff to destroy the Lone Power again setting up what resembled a rather complicated spell that would hide the events from the everyday world, Nita ignored the buzzing in her ears, intent on only one thing, one person.

"Dairine!" Her sister's name leaving her mouth in a jagged whisper, Nita could only stare at the scene. Dairine was crouched, clothing torn, bloody and burned, one arm still flung over her face. Gigo was nuzzling her side sadly, his simple features twisted into a sad frown.

"Gigo," he said mournfully, nudging Dairine's foot. Nita understood that. The meaning was clear. 'Why won't you get up, Dairine? Why won't you move?'

"No, oh no, oh no, oh no..." Nita knew she was muttering wildly, but she dropped to her knees, pain winding her and leaving her breathless. She reached out blindly and pulled her little sister onto her lap, terror leaving her incapable of much else.

"Nnngg..."

Nita's heart leapt into her mouth, salty and bitter, and the buzzing in her ears changed into a loud ringing noise. "Dari?"

"Nita?" On Nita's lap, Dairine gingerly started to move, her small form shaking with the exertion. "Hurts..." she murmured, trying to sit up. Nita supported her as Dairine twisted to sit up properly. Dairine moved her arm away from her face, and twisted, her face blank of any expression. "Why's it so dark? Nita?"

Dairine knew Nita was a quiet person, not extremely outspoken unless she was baited, and Nita's sudden, fierce silence unnerved her and told her the truth all in one second.

"Oh, Dari..." Nita breathed, her voice tight, and she just pulled Dairine to her, her hand through Dairine's hair. "It'll be okay. Everything will be fine. Fine."

"Fine?" Dairine pulled back slightly, gripping tightly onto Nita's hand, feeling giddy, as if she was suddenly lighter than usual. "How can it be fine? It took my eyes. It took my sight."

Nita would have cried had she any more tears to cry. Dairine's voice tore her heart, and Nita didn't know how it could ever be fixed again.

The funeral was larger than usual for just a simple accident.

Kit kept his gaze on the vicar as the service rolled on in the grounds of Central Park. 'A bus crash, huh? That's the best they could come up with?'

'They couldn't exactly say they died being the bravest people on the planet, fighting the biggest evil that doesn't come from within us, could they?'

Kit felt a warm rush as Nita's voice entered his head, tired-sounding, but with an underlying fierceness that hadn't been there before. 'I can't even imagine the headlines CNN would come up with.'

'Me neither,' came the reply, tinged with open regret.

A flash of red and ash-brown by his right caught his attention, and he turned to smile faintly at Nita, Dairine and their father. Harry seemed older somehow, more hunched, and his grip on Dairine was ardent. Admiration was open in his sad gaze though, as he looked across at the grieving families. They'd lost their sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, friends and relations, and although she was injured badly, Dairine was still there. Annie was to his right, ready to catch him if he fell. For the moment, the Callahans were strong together, Kit somehow an extension to the family. Discretely he let his hand fall and intertwine with Nita's, the touch echoing the warmth in their thought contact.

"Tom's not here," Nita said softly, keeping her voice low.

"Are you surprised?" Kit asked, his voice just as hushed. "He's devastated. Being taken over by the Lone Power, a vessel for all that hatred..." He shuddered. "Both he and Carl respectively think it's their own personal fault."

"They and every other wizard here," Nita muttered.

Kit grunted in agreement. "They did good, though. The seniors, I mean. Merlin's staff. Didn't expect to see that ever taken out."

Nita inclined her head slightly, making a mental note to look it up when she got home, for the moment pretending she knew what he was going on about.

"Do you think this will ever stop?"

After a long silence, Nita answered Kit's question. "Death, no. Fighting the Lone Power... there's still a long way to go yet. But we have to keep on going. Mom taught me that." There was a quiet admiration in Nita's voice as she spoke, and Dairine was gripping Nita's arm tighter too. "We have to fight to keep going. In Life's name and for Life's sake."

"I assert that I will employ the Art which is Its gift in Life's service alone," Dairine murmured, her voice tentative.

"I will guard growth and ease pain," Kit murmured, tears starting to cloud his vision again. Names were being read out by the vicar, and it took a while before he could even properly listen.

"Thomas Eglee. May his soul and family be at peace."

"I- I will fight to preserve what grows and lives well in its own way..." Nita choked back a sob.

"Janet Bugler. May her soul and family be at peace."

"And I will change no object or creature unless its growth and life, or that of the system of which it is part, are threatened." That was Annie, her soft Irish lilt caressing the words.

"Advit Hahlee. May his soul and family be at peace."

"To these ends, in the practice of my Art," Dairine whispered brokenly.

"Ben Henderson. May his soul and family be at peace."

"I will ever put aside fear for courage," Nita continued faintly.

"Norah Brown. May her soul and family be at peace."

"And death for life," Kit managed, looking at Nita, his thoughts displayed in his eyes for the world to see.

"Dr. Jon Bloom. May his soul and family be at peace."

"When it is fit to do so," Nita said, her knees trembling.

"Chad Davis. May his soul and family be at peace."

"Looking always towards the Heart of Time."

"Jennifer Bradley. May her soul and family be at peace."

"Where all our sundered times are one."

"Christina Bradley. May her soul and family be at peace."

"And all our myriad worlds lie whole."

"And April Jefferson. May her soul and family be at peace."

"In That from Which they proceeded." Kit finished, with a shuddering breath, moving his gaze from Nita to the bench now being dedicated to those lost. The simple engraving was small, three words, but poignant. Even to the normal people, the words were beautiful, but for the wizards the words were bittersweet and painful and a sweet reminder of all that follows life.

"What's loved, lives," Dairine murmured joyfully, her voices light and heady on the breeze. A smile was on her face, despite the pain, as she echoed the words of the monument to their fallen comrades.

The crowd dispensed, as crowds tend to do, and grieving families moved on, to spread ashes or to intern bodies, and to finally be at peace. Most of them oblivious to the fact that their sons, their daughters, helped save the world.

Darkness fell that night, colder than it ever had before, but the words on the bench shone out in the darkness, with a faint warm light, as they would for a long time afterwards, a friend to lost travelers and lost souls.

What's loved, lives.

Here ends Part One of the "Dancing on the Sky" trilogy.