Disclaimer: I STILL don't own Digimon. Someday I will watch the series, though. Someday.
AN: Here we go! I should warn you, finals start soon, and after that I'll be home and away from regular computer access, so don't expect much in the way of updates until late January. I may be able to get one or two more out before I go, though.
Anyway, reviews always appreciated. Things are starting to happen in this chapter, so tell me how I'm doing.
Oh, there are eyes that he can see,
And hands that make his hands rejoice,
But to my lover I must be,
Only a voice.
Oh, there are breasts that bear his head,
And lips whereon his lips can lie,
But I must be till I am dead,
Only a cry.
"A Cry"
Sarah Teasdale
A cry broke the darkness surrounding Kari, bathing her in a gentle golden light.
"Don't!"The voice was both youthful and mature… and she recognized it. She knew that voice.
But not even for that voice could she turn back from her chosen path. She was just too tired…
"No! Keep fighting! You can't give up… please…"The light grew brighter, its warmth becoming almost a physical presence around her. Her breathing began to ease slightly, although she could still feel weariness like lead flowing in her limbs.
"But I'm so tired… I can't do it anymore… I'm dieing." She whispered, but it echoed into the presence around her, and the sun tinted presence trembled slightly at her words.
"No… you're not… if you're dieing, than so am I… we need you…I need you…"She sighed, feeling the weight of her destiny like the exhaustion that held her so close to the darkness. She knew if she lived it would be a long time before she could sleep again in peace, although she wasn't sure what fears and dangers would disturb her future self. But she knew the dangers were coming… and she had already fought so much…
"I can't do it anymore… the darkness is too strong… it's hopeless…"
The golden light flared, and the voice rang out, suddenly authoritative rather than pleading.
"No! Don't say that… we can get through this together… I'm not letting you give up."
Kari struggled against the imperative in the voice… but the yellow radiance around her had awoken the Light that resided within her, and new strength began to flow through her weary body. She smiled softly, and the golden ambience around her flickered and brightened in response.
"That's better…"
Feeling her own Light growing stronger inside her, she realized that she did have the strength within herself to keep fighting, if only for a little while longer. She smiled again in relief.
"So what happens now?" She asked the presence…a 'him,' she decided suddenly. Definitely a boy…
The voice came back, suddenly soft and unsure… "I don't know…we wait, I guess…"
"For what?" Kari asked, although she already knew.
"For our time to come…"
"Sister Augustine, what are we going to do with him?"
The black clad women surrounded the small white bed like a protective wall of accumulated years given completely to faith and devotion. In the bed, a small boy slept, his freshly washed golden hair falling in loose strands over his eyes. The sisters had found terrible scars on his wrists and ankles, as though he had been shackled or chained for a long time. There were other scars, as well… and malnourishment… but the child still, despite his condition, seemed strong and relatively healthy.
Sister Augustine sighed. "I don't know, Sister Hildegard. We have a home for foundlings…"
The sister beside her snorted delicately, her brown eyes wry. "Yes, but we've never had a foundling in it before."
Sister Augustine matched the wry smile with one of her own. "Well, we have one now. And he's certainly better off here than wherever he was before. Look at him… where did he come from? … There's no one around here for miles."
"We will leave the mystery of his origin to the proper authorities for the moment." Said a sudden, level voice from behind the sisters, causing them all to turn instantly. The Mother Superior, Sister Cecilia, a tall, formidable woman in her mid-fifties stood behind them. The tattered green T-shirt they had taken from the boy was folded neatly in her smooth, strong hands.
She smiled calmly at her nuns, unfolding the shirt and holding its tag out for them to see. "Unless I'm much mistaken, some conscientious mother has written this boy's name on his shirt. You have lived abroad, Sister Augustine, can you read it?"
Taking the shirt with the instant obedience of any nun to her superior, Sister Augustine scrutinized the tag for a long moment, trying to draw back through the years long forgotten lessons in language. "It—it says 'takeru.' There's no last name… perhaps it was labeled to keep it separate form a sibling's clothes. Or perhaps it is the last name… I can't say for sure."
Sister Cecilia nodded, looking over the seven assembled Sisters, the entire population of her devoted world. Sister Augustine stood nearest, tall and silent, with dark eyes that flashed beneath her black veil. Behind her stood Sister Hildegard, a professor of Latin and the humanities, her sweet personality shining in her bright cinnamon eyes and in her dark face. The other sisters were clustered on the far side of the bed; two nurses, like herself, and three more teachers. They served the families of the rangers and native peoples, providing basic medical care and primary and secondary education. The mission of their order also charged them to house the poor and orphaned or abandoned, and this child fell into at least one, if not all of those categories.
The Superior took a deep breath, ordering her thoughts before she began to speak. "I have prayed on this, my sisters, for many long hours. I cannot explain the appearance of this boy so suddenly in our woods, and all of the authorities I contacted have no reports of missing children. It will be at least spring before a social service representative can be brought here from Juneau. The county has asked us to keep him until then, and to contact them if we have any problems. Meanwhile, they will put his description in the register of missing children in Alaska, and possibly the national registry as well. That is how the situation stands legally." She ended her soliloquy on this beat significantly, allowing the sisters to take in her words before she continued.
"We, however, are women of faith, and must consider the supernatural implications of the situation. As I said, I have prayed long and hard on this, and I know that nothing happens to us which God does not intend for us. Sister Augustine was obviously intended to find this boy, as it was she—the lone sister who is unafraid of wolves—who was outside to follow the call of the Lord. He is here for a reason, and we must care for him and put our trust in the spirit that led him here to us."
The Sisters nodded, without glances our whispers among themselves, their obedient eyes fixed on their Superior. "When he wakes, we will question him. Until then, it is far past curfew, Sisters, so I will ask you all—except Sister Hildegard—to complete your devotions and retire for the night. I will update you all in refectory tomorrow."
There was a small rustle of stiff linen habits and soft whispering as the sisters left the whitewashed infirmary room, returning to whatever prayers they had cut short when their youngest sister staggered into the silent convent carrying a near-dead child in her arms. Sister Augustine faced her Superior levelly, her eyes revealing none of the inner nervousness she felt before what she was sure would be a reprimand for being outside the walls of the sisterhood without permission... again.
Sister Cecilia sat softly on the edge of the boy's bed, perching lightly so as not to disturb the sleeping child. She spoke without looking at Sister Augustine. "I know you have been struggling, my child. Even in the decade since you were a novice you have been struggling, trying to spiritualize your grief for the child you lost… you know," and suddenly her voice was soft and reflective and not at all her usual tone of firm authority, "I have spent thirty years of my life meditating on the mysteries of faith for several hours at least very day, and the way providence works things out when we think ourselves lost never ceases to amaze me. I must confess I had been considering advising you to go out in the world for a while; to see if you had made the right decision, to be sure you were here for God and not for grief. I think, for you Sister, I will have a special rule. You will be excused from your duties in the school so you can take care of our foundling full time. God has obviously given this child a second chance at life… perhaps He has given you one, as well."
With that, the Superior rose and left the infirmary, leaving Sister Augustine gaping after her in amazement. As the heavy carved wooden door slid silently shut, the sister turned back to the bed, whose occupant was sleeping peacefully despite the glaring harshness of its white illumination. Dimming the lamps until just a faint golden light seemed to pervade the room, which cast few shadows and came from no particular source, she sat beside the bed, opening her book of hours and beginning the evening devotions she had missed during her adventures.
Almost without her realizing it, her free hand reached out and grasped the boy's pale hand, holding it in the comforting warmth of her faith.
Detective Hashiba growled slightly as he fought his computer, which was at the moment refusing to uplink to the International Registry of Abducted Children. His tie was hanging limp and undone around his neck and his coffee was slowly turning to glue in his red and green Christmas mug. While he waited for the page to load, his eyes wandering to the pictures of his children, grinning at him from Santa's lap. Then his dark eyes wandered to the photo he had taped to the side of his recalcitrant computer's monitor.
Takeru Ishida grinned happily from where he was cuddled protectively in his older brother's arms. In the photo, the resemblance between the two boys was striking. Six months after the fact, Hashiba was still tracking down every unidentified corpse… every lead. He had just been to the hospital two days before… the family was still as fucked up as ever. He'd seen another little kid going home though… Kamiya girl… nice family, he remembered the father had joined the manhunt for the Ishida kid. Takeru…
The computer blinked out, the screen flickering slightly.
Every detective has a pet case… a case they can't let go… a victim that reaches out from photos and tears and cries, 'find me!'
For Mark Hashiba, Takeru Ishida was that victim… was that face the kept him nights. No matter how many times he told himself the kid was dead, he kept picturing the kid coming back someday, like some cheesy made-for-TV movie. Hashiba rattled the mouse impatiently, trying to jumpstart his modem.
He glanced out the window, watching thick snowflakes falling in the orange glow of the streetlights. The office was deserted and silent, and Hashiba could hear faint Christmas music coming from the shops across the street. His eyes skipped back to the photo of the Ishida children, and Takeru's eyes seemed to be piercing his.
Looking back at his monitor, he saw that ten new files had been loaded into the registry. He clicked the link to view them, muttering to himself, "C'mon, Takeru, let me bring you home for Christmas…"
The computer paused briefly, and his hard drive made a bizarre whirring sound as the screen glowed a brief but brilliant gold. Hashiba sat back slightly from the light, trying to recall if this website had ever done that before. The glow died slowly, revealing the list of unidentified children recently found appeared on the screen.
Nine files.
Hmmm…what happened to the tenth? Someone must have claimed the kid already…Hashiba ran through the descriptions and photos quickly, as usual coming up empty handed… but strangely more at peace with his helplessness than he had been before. Shutting down his computer, the detective sighed explosively.
"Merry Christmas, Takeru, wherever you are…"
In the Digital World…Gatomon adjusted her clawed gloves, padding silently through the darkened corridors of the fortress atop Spiral Mountain. Thunder and lightening raged outside the thick black walls, illuminating the dark halls in eerie flashes. She froze, listening, before continuing on her way. The Dark Lords, Myotismon, Peidmon, were all furious.
There had been a fierce battle in one of the detention corridors recently, and Devimon had been destroyed. The crying voice that had been echoing through the corridors for the last half year were gone… and the time shield the Dark Masters had placed on the detention level was also gone.
Gatomon still did not understand why it had been so important that the prison run on real time rather than digital time… she could only assume that the crying had been that of a human. The crying voice was gone now, as was the blinding yellow light and the fierce but benevolent voice that had marked its liberation.
The last word of the battle had echoed not only across the fortress but also across the entire Digital World, which had shuddered to its foundations.
"…DESTINY!"
Gatomon had only caught that last word; the rest of the cry was drowned out by the death keen of Devimon. The cat-like Digimon weighed the word in her mind, pondering it at odd hours and before she slept. Destiny…
But what did it all mean?
Gatomon entered the destroyed cell carefully, slipping like a white star through the darkness… only one wall remained standing, the rest having crumbled in the battle and the resulting fury of the remaining Dark Lords.
The sole wall was scorched in a circular pattern, with strange runes surrounding the circle as if the attack that made the mark had been ringed with letters of fire and light. Rain poured down into the abandoned cell, chilling the white digimon. She turned to leave, satisfied that she had seen all there was, when a tiny sound caught in her sensitive ears. Turing sharply, she approached the wall, ignoring the pounding rain and thunder.
There, deep in the shadow cast by the crumbling ebony stones, was a digimon. Gatomon unsheathed her claws, crouching defensively as she approached. Her sapphire eyes narrowed as she struggled to identify the creature… then she started, sheathing her claws.
A Patamon?!?Lightening crashed almost directly overhead, and Gatomon caught a flash of gold in a nearby puddle. It looked like a necklace, but when she picked it up, she recognized it for what it was.
A crest and a tag…
A crest, a tag, and a comatose Patamon…
The word sounded in Gatomon's mind again, as she gazed at the strange scene before her.
Destiny…
Thunder sounded overhead again, and Gatomon knew she had to make a decision. The Patamon certainly couldn't stay here, but how could she get rid of it? When she herself was powerless to escape… she needed someone to take him away… someone she could trust… she had to get rid of the crest, too. The shimmering golden talisman simply could not be allowed to remain in a fortress of darkness.
Who could she trust with this…?
And then it came to her:
Wizardmon, of course! He owed her his life, and was determined to pay the debt. She could trust him, he was… not a friend, per say, she had no friends. She needed no friends. But if she were to choose a friend, Wizardmon would certainly be her first choice.
Picking up the crest, Gatomon gazed at it, marveling at the fiery light it emitted… it felt familiar, but vaguely foreign. She was sure she had seen it before, but it was not hers.
She was not destined, Myotismon told her so often, and no child would ever come for her. This crest belonged to the Patamon, and the Chosen Child who would someday come for him. Wizardmon would know where to take them until that time came.
Gripping the crest in her clawed glove, she allowed herself to bask, cat like, in its sun tinted warmth. She smiled softly, filled with a sense of hope, as living seemed less like a punishment than it ever had before.
And for just a moment as she stood in the amber glow, Gatomon, for the first time in years, was glad to be alive.
I wear a cloak of laughter
Lest anyone should see
My dress of sorrow underneath
And stop to pity me.
I wear a cloak of laughter,
Lest anyone should guess
That what is hid beneath it
Is less than happiness…
"Cloak of Laughter"
Abigail Cresson
Five years later:
Eleven-year-old Yamato Ishida sighed in deep annoyance as he plopped himself down in the highly coveted back seat of the camp bus. Rummaging quickly in his bag, he pulled out his headphones and slid them over his ears, pushing his long blond bangs back behind his ears as he did so. Leaning back in his seat, he glared coolly out the window as his father waved obliviously, grinning in a pleased way as though his son was one of the happily shrieking children who were only too pleased to escape their parents for the summer.
A few feet from his father, the picture prefect Kamiya family was bidding their oldest child good-bye. Shifting his goggles repeatedly, Tai was obviously excited about his trip to camp. His parents both hugged him good-bye, his mother giving him an extra, tearful squeeze. Tai then turned to his younger sister, a small, pale child who was still prone to frequent illness although she had never again landed in the hospital since her 'miracle' recovery five years before. Tai embraced his younger sibling for a long moment, obviously reluctant to let her go.
Matt looked away, pain darkening his blue eyes.
A few moments later, Matt jumped as someone spoke right into his ear.
"Is this seat taken?"
Matt looked up, fully prepared to give this new seatmate the same glare that had so successfully scared the last two kids off. The glare died on his face as he looked up into the confident, fearless eyes of Taichi Kamiya. Matt narrowed his eyes and turned back to the window without a word. He didn't need this right now…
Tai sat down decisively, muttering as he did so, "I'll take that as a 'no' and a 'please make yourself comfortable.'"
Tai settled himself for the ride, promising himself he'd respect his seatmate's obvious desire to be left alone. However, like many of his resolutions, this did not last very long at all.
"So… camp, huh? Should be really cool, right?"
The blond beside him did not reply, or even react in the slightest way.
"Sooooo… what kind of music are you listening to?"
Nothing, and Tai's brown eyes narrowed in annoyance. The boy decided to try a more personal track; perhaps the Ishida kid was just shy. He never said much in school, although he seemed to remember his parents talking about him a lot just a few years ago. Tai didn't remember what had happened, though.
"So… do you have any brothers or sisters?"
Tai got a reaction, although it certainly wasn't what he expected. Yamato yanked off his earphones and stood jerkily, shoving roughly past Tai as he vacated the seat.
As he pushed past Taichi as quickly as he could, he snarled quietly, "Not all of us can be as lucky as you, Kamiya."
Glaring at Tai for a final moment, he stomped his way towards the front of the bus, slamming his things down next to a terrified looking nine-year-old. Replacing his headphones, Matt slunk down in his seat and proceeded to glower at the world from beneath the curtain of his bangs.
Tai jumped as he was slapped upside the head by an unseen hand. Turning to face his attacker, he was startled to see Sora Takenouchi sitting across the aisle, an exasperated expression marring her normally serene face.
"Really, Tai, you have no tact at all, do you?"
Tai rubbed his head pathetically, whimpering, "Geez, what did I do? Everyone seems to hate me today!"
Sora simply continued to glare at him, but leaned close to whisper, "His little brother disappeared, remember? Apparently they were really, really close, and Yamato never got over it."
Tucking a strand of her auburn back up into her helmet that she never went without, Sora leaned back over to her side of the bus. "I heard my mom say his family fell apart after that. They had a funeral for the kid and everything, but Yamato refused to go. It was really sad."
Tai looked at the blond he had unwittingly insulted, feeling remorse wash over him. If something ever happened to Kari, he'd probably be in a perpetual bad mood, too.
"Gosh, I forgot about that… but I didn't mean anything by it."
Sora just shrugged, pulling out a magazine and beginning to leaf through it. "Don't apologize to me. If you really feel bad, tell him that."
Sister Hildegard sighed in thinly veiled annoyance as her reluctant young scholars of Latin dozed off in the breezy summer classroom. Warm sunlight and the scent of fresh pine mountains poured in the open windows, reminding her that she promised to let the children go early today. Such hot days were rare even in summer in Alaska, and the heat was making even her most diligent students, like sweet little Takeru, tired and loathe to learn.
Poor little Takeru… after five long years his fragmented memories hadn't reassembled themselves, and they'd been unable to find a home for him. He wasn't even sure if Takeru was his name… they called him that for lack of any other name, though. He was such a nice boy, too… everyone who knew him said that phrase almost automatically, even the normally austere Sister Cecilia.
"Poor little Takeru… He's such a nice boy…"
Despite his perfectly sunny disposition, however, Takeru had several faults, which ensured that he would probably never be adopted. He was prone to violent nightmares he couldn't recall upon waking, probably due to the abuse that had left faint scars on his wrists and back. His first language was Japanese, and although he had picked up English quickly, he still studied Japanese with Sister Augustine and often slipped back into his native tongue when nervous or upset. He often spoke in his sleep, and when he did, it was usually in Japanese. He was almost pathologically afraid of the dark, and often fell into depression, which he valiantly tried to hide during the long winter months when the sun didn't shine on their little corner of the world.
He was also prone to run off at odd times, although they always found him in the same place, on the end of the dock, looking out over the Pacific Ocean as though straining to see something. Takeru also had a habit of playing with the wolves that sometimes wandered near the convent, insisting that they would never hurt him. They never had, but Sister Hildegard was sure her heart would stop every time she saw him running with those great beasts.
Then there were other things, things the Sisters whispered about among themselves. The strange golden light, the voice he spoke in his sleep… the dreams the sisters reported, of angels… the strange light in his eyes when he found one of them in a spiritual crisis, on their knees in the chapel. How did he know when they began to doubt, when they felt their prayers were going unanswered?
How did he know what to say?
No, the Sisters never spoke of those things, but you could hear it in the way they spoke of him, that they all knew the truth. They all believed.
Ringing her little hand bell, Sister Hildegard shook herself from her recollections and dismissed her class. All eight students jerked awake, most flushing guiltily under her stern gaze before dashing out the door and into the bright summer day. Takeru lingered behind, gathering his things slowly as though in a daze. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, the sister tilted his small face so she could look in his eyes.
"Is something the matter, Takeru?"
His great sapphire eyes gazed up at her, but she could tell he wasn't seeing her, but something else, something lost in his mind's eye.
"I had a bad dream… I …I missed the bus…"