"Echo"

by She-Ronin

Part Two: Remembering

"I woke up in a dream today

To the cold of the static

And put my cold feet on the floor

Forgot all about yesterday

Remembering I'm pretending to be where I'm not anymore

A little taste of hypocrisy

And I'm left in the wake of the mistake…"

-- Linkin Park, "With You"

Morning dawned clear and cold on the capital of Mille Seseau. Too clear and cold, if Kongol had anything to say about it; he did, in the form of several muffled, untranslatable curses. Wrapping the blankets more tightly about himself, he shifted his weight against the blue-painted wall—why was everything in this inn blue? —and tried to ease the pain in his back. Needless to say, he'd been less than pleased when Haschel had stumbled back into their room in the middle of the night, half-drunk and with a giggling barmaid clinging to his arm. They'd woken him up with all of their… noise, but thankfully it had been while their clothing was still on. Seeing a seventy year-old man involved in the throes of… activity was not on the top of his to-do list.

This was the sad fate of the last Giganto—reduced to sleeping out in the hallway while a dirty elder mated with some wench in a room paid for with his money. Kongol grunted in annoyance and glanced out the window, at the bright sphere of the sun slowly rising on the horizon. If he didn't wake Haschel up, it was clear they wouldn't be making it to the palace that day. The martial artist slept for unbelievable stretches of time after drinking, unless someone hauled his carcass out of bed.

The Giganto hunched over in a vain attempt to keep warm, once more cursing Haschel and his late-night desires. If he were a crueler man, he'd storm into that hotel room, boot that tavern wench out and reclaim his nice, warm spot in front of the fireplace.

Ah, no, Kongol wasn't a cruel man, but he was going to derive quite a bit of satisfaction from shaking his hungover friend awake in a handful of hours. Soa knew Haschel deserved it.

He could easily let the man sleep in, but would it be a good thing, or a bad thing? He still couldn't decide. It wasn't as if he were nervous or anything so foolish. Liar. Things just became so damned complicated when that woman was involved. They'd been complicated seventeen years ago; circumstances had been shot to hell two years after that, and it hadn't been any easier when they met as Dragoons.

When he'd followed Dart to Deningrad twelve months before, he'd known exactly whom he would find in the castle. After fifteen seasons, he'd only remembered her as the petty, spiteful teenager he'd parted with under such poor circumstances.

It had been easier, then, not to speak of the past. He'd been too resentful to say anything, and Kongol hadn't trusted himself to say anything to her. Considering what he knew of her past, it would have been too easy to say something hurtful and make things even worse between them.

After time, there had come forgiveness, and friendship; things he couldn't have predicted. She wasn't the girl he'd remembered from so long ago. Miranda had become a woman in that time, battle-hardened and able to give as good as she got. However, at the same time, she hadn't changed all that much…

Still a bitch, he thought with a twinge of amusement. Still… Miranda.

***

"Don't run, girlie! We just want to have some fun is all!"

Please no, please no, pleasepleaseplease—

Her heart pounded furiously in her chest, like a drum, beating, beating, beating, and the sound of their wicked laughter echoed in her ears, hateful and merciless, and oh, she knew what was going to happen, they would catch her and she would scream and it would probably happen anyway but it couldn't be happening to her, it wouldn't happen to her…

"Someone!" she screamed shrilly, her voice sharp with terror, piercing through the icy-cold night. Her booted feet skidded dangerously across the cobblestones as she turned the street corner and tore through the foul-smelling alleyway. Soa, please, oh, merciful goddess Miranda, no-- "Someone help me!"

Someone!

"Please!"

Help—

"—me, would you? Miranda, wake up."

All in one moment, Miranda was sharply jolted from her nightmare and back into safe, solid reality. The blonde woman shuddered as she sat up, wincing as sore muscles protested at the motion.

"What?" she asked groggily, scrubbing wearily at her eyes with the back of one hand. There was a painful crick in her neck whenever she tried to move it. Lying propped against the Queen's bedside probably hadn't been the most comfortable way to sleep. Great. All night. She'd slept all night! She'd closed her eyes for a moment after Adrik had slithered off and now it was morning.

There had been so much to do--! She'd told Luanna she would discuss that council with her, and help Wink decide how much they could spend on disaster relief in Furni—

But now it was past dawn and it was too late to do any of those things now. "Why didn't someone wake me up sooner? I had things to do!"

Setie brushed past her hesitantly, gently smoothing the blankets over the sleeping Theresa. 'Because you hadn't slept in two days,' she wanted to say, but didn't. The girl chewed on her lip for a moment. She and Luanna had stopped by briefly when they had a moment to spare, only to find Lord Adrik had gone back to his rooms, and Miranda heavily asleep, sprawled against the bed.

'Don't wake her,' the Queen had whispered, 'my Sisters.'

"We tried to," the Fourth Sacred Sister lied quietly, straightening and giving her a very Setie Grin, "but you were snoring too loud to hear Luanna and me."

"Crybaby," Miranda snarled under her breath. Bracing her hands carefully on the side of the bed, she pushed herself to her feet, careful not to wake the sleeping Theresa. "Let's get out of here so we don't wake her up."

By now Setie was used to that particular taunt, and nearly let it slide.

Nearly.

She bit back a sharp retort—or rather, her response was stifled by the loud yawn that escaped her. Miranda arched one bright eyebrow at her as they filed from the room. The short girl sheepishly slapped one hand over her mouth, and said, "Late night."

Her night had been all the later because Miranda hadn't been awake to do the duties she'd taken upon herself. She couldn't really fault her for that—none of them could. One of the Four should stay with the Queen, and the First Sacred Sister was the most obvious choice. It was just that Miranda was stretching herself too thin trying to run the kingdom at the same time. As a result, everyone else had to pick up the slack she'd unintentionally left. "Should've let you sleep longer, you know, but someone had to wake you up because…"

The hands on her shoulders were kind as the woman knelt down and met Miranda's blue-gray gaze with a stare that was surprisingly sharp. "Poor lass," she muttered. "You're that beggar that lives out by the bakery, aren't you?"

Miranda bit her knuckle hard and shrank back from her, pressing her back against the dirty wall of the shed. As her teeth sank ever deeper into her own hand, the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. Dark, bitter as death, as the act that had been forced upon her. If I scream I won't ever stop. I won't, ever, ever, ever…

'You know you want it, sweet. Why else are you out here with the rest of the whores?' That was what they had said to her. It had been her fault… She must have done something terrible for such a thing to happen to her, right? Right?

"Amani," the stout woman barked, glaring over her shoulder at the golden-haired girl standing behind her, "get your coat off before the lass freezes her bum off, would you?"

The one called Amani narrowed her hazel eyes. It was apparent enough that she wasn't happy about having to give her only coat away to someone she didn't even know. Still, she shed the moth-eaten garment and tossed it at the rumpled beggar curled up on the ground.

Miranda just stared at the mass of cloth and ratty fur. Then, ever so slowly, one skinned hand reached out for the coat, trembling fingers tightly clutching one sleeve. 'Thank you,' she wanted to say, but didn't. If she took her hand from her lips, she would scream…

And scream…

And scream… andscreamandscreamand

"Didn't you hear me?"

Miranda jerked slightly as she was jolted back to reality, blinking at Setie. "Wasn't listening," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers and leaning back against the wall. Goddamned nightmares always do this to me. Stick.

"Don't you want to know why I woke you up?"

"Because there was work to do," came the matter-of-fact reply, "and because you let me sleep—"

Setie interrupted her with a blunt, "Haschel and Kongol are in the throne room, Sister Miranda."

Haschel… and… Kongol. "In the throne room," Miranda echoed blankly.

"They came to pay their respects to Her Majesty." the younger woman blinked back the tears that suddenly welled up in her eyes. Oh, now wasn't the time to start crying! A thin little sob escaped her. She knew it would annoy Miranda, and that her grief should wait until after Theresa was dead and gone, but she just didn't care. "Miranda, what are we going to do when she's—"

"Stop crying! You're a Sacred Sister of Mille Seseau, now act like one!"

Startled by the angry command, Setie flinched. Why do you have to be like this all the time? She bit her tongue to hold back sobs, making tiny hiccupping noises that caused Miranda's lip to curl. You know she's going to die!

"Are you going to lay there and feel sorry for yourself? 'Cause if you are, I'll be taking my daughter's coat back."

The reply she mumbled through her hand was muffled. "I'llscream."

The whore ran a hand through her short, gray-streaked curls with a heavy sigh, the hard edge in her eyes dulling with a distant sort of sympathy. "Better scream it out while the hurt's fresh. No one will care if you do—not out here, anyway."

So Miranda screamed, long and loud.

Maybe—

--if she kept screaming forever—

--it wouldn't have happened--!

Chills crept up Miranda's spine and she swallowed back the bile in her throat. Shouldn't yell that way. You promised yourself that you were going to change. She should apologize to Setie for treating her in such a way, but it was just so easy to shout at moments like these. The fact that she had started having those dreams again wasn't making it any easier to keep her temper. She never had nightmares anymore, unless something was bothering her, but when she did, the past-dreams were always as clear and terrible as if they'd happened only the day before. Moll and Amani should stay in the past, like the person I used to be.

The 'apology' was a quickly muttered, "I'm tired, and that's all. It's not your fault."

Setie's only reply was a rather loud, rather messy sounding sniffle that caused Miranda to grimace. I could've done without that.

One hand carefully smoothed at the wrinkles in her white shirt, fingers brushing over the laces of her wide leather belt to make certain it was still firmly bound about her waist. "How long have they been waiting?" Here she was, wearing her still-damp clothing, hair sticking up like straw, and her friends were downstairs! She wasn't the type to typically be concerned about her appearance, and the Divine Tree knew that the others had seen her looking worse than this. It just didn't suit her to be caught looking unprepared.

"N—not that long. Twenty minutes?"

Twenty! After twenty minutes, it was certain Adrik had already heard of their arrival and had gone to greet them. "Don't tell me any more, because I know what you're going to say and I don't want to hear it."

Her hard-soled boots thudded softly on the plush carpets as she half-stormed, half-staggered down the corridor, leaving the tearful Setie standing outside the Queen's bedroom.

She known it was only a matter of time until the Dragoons started to show up; actually, she was surprised that Haschel and… Kongol had been the first to arrive. The two usually left well enough alone, though the old man did tend to have a nosy streak. It wasn't a matter of whether or not she was glad to see them, but it was one more thing to deal with when everyone was overwhelmed enough.

Out of all the Dragoons to show up now, why did it have to be him, anyway? I hate unfinished business, she reflected moodily, slamming her fist into the faceplate of a suit of armor as she swept past it. It clanked and clattered in protest before collapsing to the ground with a loud crash.
With everything that had happened the year before—Zieg, the destruction of Deningrad, battling the God of Destruction—there just hadn't been an appropriate time to talk.

He hadn't said anything, that damned frustrating Giganto, the day he'd trailed into the throne room with his fellow Dragoons. The resentment had burned so brightly in his eyes that she'd thought for sure he would tell them everything—tell Queen Theresa what she had been, once. That dangerous, foreboding scowl had been present on his face for most of the journey across Mille Seseau and it had been enough that she had always felt on edge. Fifteen years must have been enough to cool his anger; otherwise he'd have told everyone the horrible things he knew about her, wouldn't he?

Fine, yes, she'd meant to talk to him about… that. So what if it was damned awkward, or that she had no idea what to say? It didn't matter how long ago it had been, she still owed him an apology for the way she'd acted! The problem was that she had absolutely no idea what to say to him.

You wuss, she thought in disgust, squeezing her eyes tightly shut for a moment. You utter, absolute wuss.

***

"I don't think that I'll ever get used to this 'ghost' routine, you know." Kanzas' lips turned down in a slight scowl as he crossed his arms over his chest, watching those in the throne room with a vague sort of disinterest. "Seem voyeuristic."

Belzac gave him an odd look before he shook his head. "We're not harming anyone," he said mildly.

"The dead," the other shot back, "have no place among the living." He pushed himself away from the wall he was leaning against and sauntered towards the bright, gleaming throne that seemed to dominate the room. The words of the living were like a dull, muffled buzz; he was only half aware of what was happening around him. As he ran one finger along the armrest of the throne, his frown deepened. "Queen Tara sensed us."

"Her name is Theresa."

The redhead gave his former leader a hazy, smug look. "Whatever. The point is that this isn't our place. Too many of these people sense we're here. Death-sense, the 'sight', stick whatever label you want to it."

"I've been to Rovyanka, once—just before the old lord was booted out. Must've been around seventeen years back—heard the Queen gave it to her nephew—"

"—It wasn't given so much as earned—"

"—Oh, quiet, Owen—"

Kanzas hopped up the steps leading up to the throne, then spun on his heel, falling back into the large chair with an irreverence that made Belzac grit his teeth. You'd think all the time he spent with those Wingly 'nobles' in life would have taught him some kind of respect.

"I like the old guy—the Spirit could've chosen worse, you know. Like the girl, too—she reminds me a bit of my Shirley."

Belzac didn't really see much of a resemblance the two. Shirley had been stubborn, true, and very strong-willed when she set her mind on something. But it had been her gentle heart that had drawn others to her. She'd been such a calming presence, in life, constant and steady as the moon. Now Miranda, she was like the sun—bright and fierce, almost too intense to bear at times. "A little," he echoed doubtfully.

"How dare you pull a stunt like this?"

"Hey there! Been a while…"

"It's good to see you're finally awake, Sister Miranda…"

Kanzas leaned forward in his 'chair' and propped his elbows up on his knees. He rested his chin in his hands, surveying everyone with a gaze that was suddenly more aware, and oddly sharp. Their words still seemed muted to him, but he could tell Miranda and the dark one—Adrik?—were arguing. The girl's fists were clenched at her sides and shaking, as if she were trying not to slap him. The ghost's glower became a gleeful smile. Good for her, he thought, Dragoons don't take shit like that from anyone.

There were five of them, he noticed, straggling around the large room and generally looking as uncomfortable as hell around each other. He thought that there might have been another girl with them earlier, but he couldn't seem to remember… That tall, bulky man in the center gave off the warm, golden glow of an Earth element; it was clear he had a thick strain of Giganto blood running through his veins. Belzac's successor must love that.

Kanzas snorted. Oh, yes, it was hard to hear these living beings, yet suddenly, it wasn't so difficult to sense and understand them…

"You may be her nephew by marriage, but you don't come to this room without leave—"

"Your leave, you mean. Huh! I see how it is."

The hatred between Miranda and Adrik was almost tangible to the ancient spirit. Adrik, yes, that was his name. He needed to remember that, for some reason.

Adrik's aura pulsed a deep, rich indigo color, swirling thick and dark as blood about him.

Darkness and Light ever destined to clash, as one tried to overpower the other—it had been the same with Shirley and Rose, who, despite a strong friendship, had quarreled often.

"I've been trying to figure out why you brought us to this place," he remarked pleasantly, "especially when there's nothing we can actually do here."

Belzac sheepishly muffled a cough behind his fist. It was possible that bringing Kanzas here had been a very, very bad idea, especially considering his history with the man's wife. "Look," the half-breed began, "before you get any odd notions in that thick skull of yours—"

Kanzas hopped to his feet. Skipping steps as he went, the redhead was a blur of motion as he strode across the floors and to the other end of the room. He ambled past the others, one by one, until he stood in front of the silent Giganto, Kongol.

Belzac grimaced as his 'friend' slowly walked around the warrior, looking him up and down with speculative eyes. Though Kanzas had the hardest time out of all the former Dragoons focusing on the 'reality' of the living, and remembering, his empathic senses were the sharpest. He often noticed things other spirits were unable to. Ironically enough, the ghost had a sixth sense to rival that of the Gigantos.

Kongol tensed unconsciously as Kanzas continued to circle around him, unseen. With a wicked little grin, the Thunder Dragoon reached out and flicked him smack in the middle of the forehead. The Giganto reeled back as if he'd been struck, the color draining from his tan face as he shuddered.

"Kanzas!"

The answering smile sent chills down Belzac's spine. Here it comes…

"Belzac, he's your descendant, isn't he?"

The half-breed pinched the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger, sighing. "Okay, listen—"

For a soul so concerned with keeping their presence hidden, Kanzas was having a disturbing amount of fun harassing the living. He flicked Kongol on the head again. "I'm not finished yet, Giganto, so I'd thank you to keep your mouth shut."

Sometimes I can't even begin to fathom the way your mind works. But I know you're going to jump to conclusions!

The First Sacred Sister's hair fluttered briefly as Kanzas smacked her upside the head this time. She didn't seem to notice. He leaned closer to the tall woman, shortening the distance between them so that he almost appeared to be whispering in her ear. "… And he loves her."

Damn that man and his theatrics! "This is—"

"Earth Dragoon in love with the Light Dragoon—"

"—not what you think, Kanzas—"

"—I have half a mind to find out if you can die a second time, you bastard!"

The two glared at each other for a long, silent moment, one stare dark and accusing, the other guarded and defensive. "Asshole," Kanzas stated succinctly.

"Regardless of what you're thinking," he shot back, pale eyes narrowing, "what happens in the present has nothing to do with the past."

"Fine, whatever." The other waved a dismissive hand. "I'm done with this whole mess."

Belzac felt the recognizable 'tug' on reality as Kanzas began to pass through the veil between worlds and nearly called out to the man. No, he realized suddenly, letting his outstretched arm fall back down to his side, let him calm down.

In spite of Kanzas' angry words, he paused briefly, an odd expression flickering across his bony face. Shit. "Something you should know, before I go," he mumbled, his voice sluggish and almost slurred. Damn you and your seer's blood, Ma. He knew better than to try and stop the oncoming prophecy; Hell, at least he knew what he was rambling about now that he was dead. Stupid gift hadn't done a thing for him in life. "Watch that one—" he jerked a thumb in Adrik's direction, "jackass."

In spite of Kanzas' anger, his frustration at the whole situation, that familiar daze began to overtake him; words formed on the tip of his tongue, and spilled forth from his lips without his own volition. "—because of him," he breathed slowly, swaying just slightly on his feet as he gazed at Adrik, "blood will fall upon the stones like rain, and when all is said and done, the Darkness will have damned itself thrice over."

That was that; a cryptic mutter, a half-assed prophecy, and he was gone without another word.

As if it were an omen, Miranda's hand cracked down on Adrik's cheek in the very instant Kanzas vanished, causing Belzac to swallow nervously. 'The Darkness will have damned itself'? Kanzas, why is it that will happen? Do you even know?

The Violet Dragoon had been the son of a diviner, and some of that power had been passed down to him; he'd been a piss-poor seer in life—maybe even the worst of the 'true' prophets on Endiness, but death had given a bit more clarity to his rare predictions.

Blood would fall like water…

How will you destroy yourself, Lord Adrik Tainevel? What will you do that is so terrible?

***

*bows and scrapes * I'm… so sorry… for this copout… chapter!

Heh, ahem. Anyway, if you're still with me, let me be honest. This isn't so much an entertaining fanfic as it is a prequel, or even a prologue to a ton of… not-as-dull fanfics where things actually happen. This is just sort of a stopping point along the way, I guess.

The italics, you guessed it, denote flashbacks/dreams/thoughts/hearing living people talk If You're Kanzas.

Chapter dedication goes to Fifi and Steel, who listened to me ramble and bitch about this chapter for, like ever, and, as always, to Swiftgold. Because this is her fault. The part of the young hooker, Amani, is played by her. Looooove you, Amanda-chaaan! *ducks and runs*

And yes, you heard right. Kongol is in love with Miranda. He's a Giganto—he's not dead. ^_^