AN: Sorry this took so long to get up…anyway. If you think RagDoll sounds a bit theological later on, well, I'm not going to apologize for it, because she's like that. I will apologize for any mistakes in grammar or spelling, as usual…

*waves to Nix and Fang* I know you at least will read this, guys---so enjoy!

Disclaimer: "And there was a land called Middle-Height, and it was terrorized by roving bands of sporks…"---AC

Around, around the sun we go:

The moon goes round the earth.

We do not die of death:

We die of vertigo.

Mother Goose's Garland, by Archibald Macleish

Chapter Ten:

A Fraying Garland

All was quiet as the demi-maren entered his room, the first touches of dawn tingeing everything with faint pastel. The vivid patterns on his ceiling were toned down and quieted by the touch of morning, and sharp edges were softened by dim, dusky shadows. The air was calm and peaceful.

AC cawed angrily and swooped to attack.

"What's with you?" cried Jackle, as the crow shot up from his first screaming flurry and began a series of short dives at his face. "What the Ideya's wrong?"

AC landed on the bedpost and hopped about to face him, still cawing angrily. Jackle planted his hands on his hips. "What? Did I say something wrong? Are you hungry? Is someone else here? What?"

AC hopped up and down in a raging frenzy. Jackle tried again. "Were you worried about me?"

The crow nodded so hard that for a moment Jackle was afraid he might fall off the bedpost. "Oh, if that's all…"

AC gave a caw which sounded suspiciously like WHAT?! and swooped onto the demi-maren's shoulder, where he proceeded to give him a loud piece of his mind. Jackle tried to get around the crow's bobbing head and scratch his neck. "Whoa, whoa, calm down there! I just meant that I was afraid something was wrong with you…"

AC gradually grew quieter, reluctantly giving up to the scratching. Jackle began the expected apology. "Reala found out that I could read different languages, and so he brought me to Wizeman, who told me to go and read myself blind in the back room…which was great, of course. Anyway, I found some notes by Emirgast---remember him? Of course you do---and he said that the Red Ideya can make the Dream World act screwy sometimes…he also said that if the Ideya get snuffed out, then the Dream World'll get seriously unbalanced. My guess is that's what's happening right now."

AC listened silently, deigning to turn his head so Jackle could scratch below his ear. "So, do you forgive me? It wasn't my fault…"

The childish whimper that punctuated the end of this sentence was enough to make AC rub his head against Jackle's cheek. All crimes were forgiven.

Jackle smiled in contentment. "Well, now that we've got that settled, I think I need to rest. It's been a long night…" He yawned and helped AC onto the bedpost again before dropping on the bed, not even bothering to remove his cloak as he burrowed under the covers. "Wake me up at the turn of the millennium," he called out from under them, voice muffled.

AC contentedly began preening himself, smoothing out the feathers that had become ruffled from a night of pacing and worry. On the bed beneath him, a moving bundle under the covers eventually stopped rolling about trying to get comfortable, and slowly began rising and falling in steady, even breath. All was well.

Outside the window, the sun rose.

"Mornin', Vespers."

The girl whirled, clutching a leather-bound book to her chest. Tessa stopped, her constant little smile never faltering. "My, we're uptight this morning, aren't we?"

"I didn't know it was you," gasped Vespers. Her blue eyes were wide.

Tessa smiled, then looked at her more closely. "You're feeling all right, aren't you?"
"Oh sure Miss Tessa I'm feeling just fine."

"Calm down, don't spit things out so fast. What's wrong?"

"Nothing Miss Tessa I'm perfectly---"

"You're still speaking fast," Tessa reminded her.

"I'm sorry," said Vespers, making a conscious effort to slow down her words. "I'm fine."

"You're quite uptight. What's that?"

"This? Oh nothing at all it's just an old---"

"Vespers."

"Sorry."

"Why of nightmares are you so worked up over that book?"
"I…" She looked down at the book cradled in her arms, and gave up. "Um…can we talk about this in your room?"
"All right." She jerked her head towards the corridor as she re-entered her room, a gesture directed to her brother. "I'm having a chat with Vespers, Terrance. Get yourself down to breakfast."

"Awww…" whined Terrance, although he was already heading for the door. "Why can't I stay? It's my room too, you know."

"She needs to speak to me alone," Tessa whispered in his ear as she pushed him out. He nodded and tipped Vespers a wink before going down the hall. Tessa sighed as she closed the door, and then sat on her bed, patting the space next to her. "Come, tell me about it."

Vespers did. She explained all about last night; how she had been doing some late research, and had entered the forbidden ground after seeing the leaders do so; how she had felt another presence in the air; about finding the book and feeling as if something did---and did not---want her to find it.

"So now I've got this book, and I'm afraid to let it go," she finished, looking up as she did to see if Tessa believed her. Apparently, the archery teacher did.

"What's in the book?" was her only comment.

"I don't know," admitted Vespers. Tessa eyed her. "Well I haven't had the chance to check it out!"

"So let's check it out."

The girl opened the book with trembling fingers, and together they began to read.

Wizeman was thinking.

Surrounded by darkness and silence, floating in a spaceless void, he could focus entirely and without interruption on his inner thoughts. It was a good thing he had the isolation; he needed to be able to concentrate.

Things were falling apart more rapidly than he would ever have predicted they could. According to Jackle, the Dream World would be unstable for as long as another century---which meant one hundred years of warping energy. His powers could lose their strength if things were unbalanced enough.

The nightmaren were rebellious and questioning. They no longer believed in their leaders; the failure of the Mission and NiGHTS' subsequent punishment had shaken their faith to its roots. He had the makings of a full-fledged rebellion on his hands. There were an endless amount of maren under him who could turn into another NiGHTS.

The High Seekers were failing in their appointed areas. Reala was uncertain of himself, Jackle was becoming childish, Puffy disliked fighting, Gulpo was limited to water, Clawz was unable to stand in his authority on his own, and Gillwing was incredibly stupid. None of them were leaders.

In other words, everything was going to pot.

Oh, but it wouldn't any longer. He wouldn't let it. He had a plan, a great and glorious plan; a plan that would fix everything. He'd get back all of the power and respect he'd lost, and his rulership would be unquestioned, if over a smaller amount of territory. It was perfect.

He caressed the glowing orb of energy gently, his fingers playing over its surface like the hands of a pianist touching the keys before playing. It was a wonderful piece of work, his orb. That was how he referred to it: His Orb. It was the work of ages, gathered, polished, molded, melded; and oh, but it was worth it. Now, in his time of need, his orb would not fail him.

'The barrier first,' he mused, hands cupping the orb. 'The most important. Afterwards, I will work on the High Seekers…'

His orb glowed in reply, and he stroked it lovingly. Perfect.

Strix found his sister out in the courtyard, shooting arrows. A target was set up by the wall, and she was standing at the opposite end of the clearing, bow held steady, sighting down the narrow shaft with dark eyes. He came up behind her and waited.

After a moment, when the aim was to her satisfaction, she let the arrow go. It flew straight, and the target was pierced in the exact middle. As she had intended.

She spoke as she drew another arrow from the quiver bound to her back. "How are you?"

"Fine." He watched as she sighted again, lining up her shot with even, deadly caution; her mood was dark. Were she feeling different, her shots would have been quick and light. "How are you?"

"Fine." The arrow slipped through the air with harsh quickness and punctured the target only a centimeter away from its mate.

"Why are you practicing?" He already knew the answer. For Varia, practicing her archery was a way of calming herself down.

"Don't get to do it anymore." Another arrow was notched to the bow.

He tilted his head slightly to one side. "Is it necessary?"

The hidden meaning in the sentence did not go undetected by his sister; she knew him too well not to sense it. She was no longer in the archery division. "Yes."

This came as a surprise, but Strix's tone did not change. "Why?"

Finally she paused, arrow not yet released. Her eyes changed. "We're taking over the world, Strix," she murmured. "I need to know these things."

"These things?" This time he was very startled.

Her pose slouched for a moment as she fought with indecisiveness. "Well…"

Her shoulders straightened, and she stood tall, posture suddenly changing as if something had come to mind. "I need to be prepared."

"That's true." He watched her re-align her shot. For a moment he did not speak. "You've changed, Varia."

She paused once more, again her arrow still notched. Her eyes drifted to the ground. "Reala thinks I need to know."

Today was simply the day for surprises. Strix lifted his head slightly, looking at her with a sideways glance that spoke of incredulity. "I see."

"Have you ever seen his leadership?" Her tone was soft.

He lifted one eyebrow, but she went on before he could speak. "He believes in this, Strix---he believes in us. He believes in me."

She stopped, blinking; then shook her head and straightened again. He spoke softly. "What do you mean, Varia?"

"Nothing." She shot the arrow.

Reala was not in the Dining Hall for breakfast. His absence went largely unnoticed; half of the High Seekers were missing from the table already, with Jackle asleep, NiGHTS gone, and Gulpo unable to seat himself at the table. One more did not matter.

While the population of Nightmare Castle, for the most part, was gathering in the Dining Hall to eat, the Seeker General was wandering the gardens. They were not particularly large or impressive, but rather several wandering paths that wended about a large fountain and several statues; stone benches were scattered about. Why such a peaceful place was here when the original purpose of the castle was defense wasn't really quite certain; it was usually accepted that whoever had designed the gorgeous grounds around Soft Museum had also been given a brief stint of work here.

Normally there were several maren about, taking advantage of the Dream World's ability to produce gorgeous blooms on any day of the year, but during mealtimes the garden was deserted. Reala was currently taking advantage of that; he wandered aimlessly along the small paths, his mind running over many things. He was so focused on his thoughts that he didn't notice he was not alone in the garden until he was nearly standing next to her.

RagDoll. She was seated on one of the benches, facing away from him; he knew her by her long purple hair that was a different and somehow more strange hue than any other maren's. She did not seem to notice him.

He approached her silently, intending to walk right by; as he passed the bench, however, her low voice addressed him. "What is bothering you, Seeker General?"

"Nothing that concerns you," replied Reala, a bit irritated that she would notice his feelings without even seeing him.

"Your worries concern us all."

Which was certainly true; he was pondering the Dream World as a whole. He eyed her suspiciously with the odd look someone will give a fortune-teller; half of cynicism, half of belief. "What do you mean by that?"

"You are our leader, Lord Reala. Your decisions affect us as a group."

"Ah." He sat down on the bench, figuring that speaking to her was just as conductive towards any sort of productivity as walking about aimlessly.

"What is bothering you, Seeker General?" She repeated her first question, its low intonation and wording exactly the same. He closed his eyes briefly.

"Things are changing. I am pondering how much change will be needed on my own part."

"Well answered, Lord Reala."

"Who are you to judge whether my words are truthful or not?" he challenged suddenly, facing her.

"I did not judge whether they were truthful."

"No, but you---never mind." He sighed and looked out across the gardens again, and his voice unconsciously dropped. "I'm worried about our future."

"Many are."

"I'm a leader. They expect the leader to be smart, brave, intelligent; they want him to know everything and do everything perfectly, and not make a single decision that will bring about a bad result in the future---but what if the choices you make aren't easy ones? What if someone's going to get hurt no matter what you choose? Then they blame you for what goes wrong and refuse to give you credit for what goes right!"

"They also respect you."

"But who wants---" He cut himself off, feeling as if he were suddenly criticizing himself. "A leader's position isn't as nice as most people think."

"No one ever promised it would be easy."

"They expect me to have everything under control!" He waved his hand about them, to indicate the rest of the nightmaren population. "But how am I supposed to have control if things are falling into chaos?"

"Are they, Lord Reala?"

He closed his eyes again, knowing that he had to admit it sooner or later. "…yes, RagDoll. They are. If we're not careful, chaos will reign."

"Not chaos, Lord Reala. Chaos never reigns. There is always a design."

"You're sure of that?" His words held a challenge. "If Wizeman does not control what happens to us, and the world continues to fall apart as it's doing, then who's in control then?"

"I did not say anyone was in control."

"You said there was a design."

"And there is." She bent her head slightly, but her deep violet eyes were still fixed firmly upon him. "There are other wills at work in this universe besides Wizeman. Do not forget that you know very little about the world, when you come down to what truly decides the course of history."

"And what---or who---are you talking about?"
"I do not know."

"You don't know and yet you say he exists."

"They, Lord Reala."

"There's more than one of them?"

"There are many wills that would seek to change the world for their own benefit, Lord Reala. Some of them do make a change that will alter history's course; some do not. It is the way of things."

"So you're saying that our fate is in the hands of a whole lot of strangers who have their own ends," muttered Reala. "That's comforting."

"Just because they can affect some small part, make some small change, does not mean that they can control the whole. Never forget that they are all shadowed in their turn by their creator."

"Their creator?"

"Of course. There must be one to make others. It stands to the universe's reason."

"So who made the creator?"

"No one did. The creator has always been."

"You said someone had to make the creatures."

"I did."

"So someone had to make the creator."

"No."

"How'd it come to be, then?"

"The creator always was."

"Your logic goes in a circle, RagDoll."

"Of course. The creator himself is a circle. The logic follows his guidance; he created it."

He held up four fingers to organize his points of argument. "Okay, so you say that someone had to create the creatures."

"That is true."

"You say that the person who created them is the creator."

"That is also true."

"You say that the creator was always there."

"Yes."

"You say that your logic returns to itself and still stands firm."

"Yes."

"I don't see where the circle connects."

"The creatures could only be created out of nothing, Lord Reala. Only an all-powerful persona who was not bound by the limits of time and space could create something out of nothing. Thusly, the creator must always be, as he has always been."

"Who says the creatures haven't always been here?"

"History and experience. Nightmaren do not last forever."

"They would if they didn't die."

"But we can only be created out of humans' energy. Without humans, we would never have become alive. We were not here until they were there."

"…and the humans live and die quickly."

"Yes. They can not simply spawn out of air. You know this."

"Of course. But then---where did the creator come from?"

"He is not human, Lord Reala. He is all-powerful, the creator. He always was."

"But…"

"The circle holds true."

"It also makes no sense whatsoever," retorted Reala.

RagDoll smiled. "Nothing ever does," she said.