Author's Notes: This is a long Author's Notes section today, so feel free to scroll down to the actual story if you don't feel like reading them all.
Thanks for reviewing! That's the whole reason I keep writing, after all. I'll do my best to answer your questions, cat. Firstly, Jeremy will be able to remember how to speak Pokemon after he gets changed back (it took him a long time to learn it, so he's not going to go forgetting it real fast)...assuming he survives that long. Muahaha. Second, what happened to Jermey's Pokemon and the rest that came to the island with their trainers remains a mystery...for now. None of the cursed trainers can be caught in Pokeballs. More on that in Chapter 16. They cannot evolve for similar reasons. Each Pokemon experiences the inside of a Pokeball differently; usually, it is whatever reminds them most of home. The Ninetales selects what each trainer will change into when cursed, which is why the trainers are all fairly weak, unevolved Pokemon, though she does try to select based on each trainer's personality (which is why Seth is a Spearow). Finally, Jess is the only female trainer on the island and also the only Togepi, so no. Thank you for your review!
I noticed today that this story has no chapter three. Funky, eh?
Finally, I had intended to do this fanfic using only R/B/G/S Pokemon, but then realized that I made Satoran a Nincada. Oops.
Enough of that. On to chapter 13!
Chapter 13: The Dream Eater
It was early morning in the forest, the Pokemon within just beginning to waken and stir, slowly emerging from their nests or burrows to blink in the dazzling sunlight. One Pokemon, however, was already up and about, trundling resolutely the underbrush.
Satoran's six segmented legs carried him through a prickly Wepear bush, motoring over the forest floor's carpet of dead leaves and branches. His multifaceted eyes winked and gleamed, reflecting a thousand different images into a single picture. He had arisen early to seek out one of the forest's most reclusive figures, the Hypno Delrairon. Though where he spent most of his day was a mystery, he was known to always appear at a certain spot every morning to pick some of his favorite berries, Tamatos, from the only bush on the island.
Satoran came to the stream rushing through the stirring forest, muttering softly to itself as it wound lazily towards the ocean. Satoran's mandibles twitched nervously as he surveyed the only way across, a series of slick rocks that jutted up from the water. A ground-type Pokemon such as himself would certainly not enjoy an early morning swim, and the stream ran very quickly.
Satoran backed away from the bank, then dashed forward again, throwing the power of his hind legs in to a leap of faith that carried him out over the water. For a heartbeat he seemed to hang in the air, contemplating the water that rushed beneath him, and then he hit the rock with an impact that jarred any philosophical thoughts that he might be pondering out of his head. The small claws on his legs slid over the rock, then caught and held, bringing him to a halt before he pitched into the water. He scrambled up to the highest point of the partially submerged rock and readied himself for another leap.
Four rocks later and he was on solid ground once more, the stream behind him angrily whispering to itself its disappointment at his success. He had to hurry, knowing that if he delayed Delrairon might move on and Satoran would have to wait another day to speak to him. He skittered once more into the dense underbrush, fighting through bushes and over fallen logs until he came within sight of the berry grove.
To his relief, Delrairon was there, bent over the Tamato bush. At a distance, it was possible to mistake Delrairon for a short, bald old human. Upon closer inspection, however, it became glaringly obvious that this was not the case. The Hypno's thick skin was a bright yellow color, his ears large and slightly pointed. He had an unkempt ruff of white fur around his neck, what little there was of it. Satoran skittered up to the old Pokemon, who turned around at the sound of his approach.
"Greetings, Delrairon," Satoran greeted the Hypno respectfully.
Delrairon inspected Satoran through his small, squinted eyes that made him seem to be always only half-awake. The pendant that he perpetually held clasped in his right hand swayed gently back and forth, back and forth. "And good morning to you as well, small one. What is it that you want of me?" he asked Satoran in his gravely voice.
Satoran forced himself to ignore the hypnotic pendant and replied, "I beg a moment of your time to ask you a question, wise one."
"I am not wise," retorted Delrairon, "merely an observer of the unobserved. But very well. What is your question?"
"I want to know about the meadow here in the woods where the Mistress has no power," Satoran replied.
Delrairon's bulbous nose twitched and his eyes narrowed to mere slits. "Why do you want to know about that?" he grunted.
"My friends and I believe that the meadow may possess some power that allows it to remain free of the Misstress' influence. If that is the case, then we feel that we may be able to use it to free the rest of the island from the curse."
"Then you are chasing a moonbeam, little one," Delrairon replied. "There is only one that may remove the curse from the island, and that is the Mistress herself."
Satoran's small heart sank. "So the meadow is not important."
"Important only in that it holds the key to lifting the curse from the island," Delrairon answered absentmindedly, his left hand fishing around in the Tamato bush.
Satoran sighed. He should have expected that out of the Hypno. "Tell me why it is important, then," he implored.
Delrairon pulled a Tomato berry out of the bush and bit into it with relish, the red juice dribbling down onto his white mane. "It is the home of Sasoliar, the place where she alone has power," he replied at length.
"Sasoliar? Who's that?" Satoran asked eagerly.
"Eh?" Delrairon blinked. "What's Sasoliar got to do with all of this? I thought we were talking about the Mistress."
"Yes, Delrairon, that was what we were talking about," Satoran replied exasperatedly. It appeared that Trevor had been right and he wouldn't get anything out of the recalcitrant Hypno.
"Well, then, if you want to know about defeating her," Delrairon replied, "I'd suggest that you try to keep that meadow from disappearing. If it should wither away, then we'd all perish, and the Mistress to boot."
"Really? Why is that?" Satoran pressed, sensing that Delrairon was growing bored with the conversation and wouldn't talk for much longer.
"You've seen the flower that grows in the meadow, yes?" Delrairon asked. "The one that grows only there?"
Satoran nodded. Occasionally, a Pokemon would manage to sneak into the meadow for a pleasant stroll before being forcibly removed by one of the Guardians. Such adventurers usually brought some of the flowers back with them, and Satoran had seen them many times. Once Allekendro had even managed to dig up an entire plant and smuggle it back into the forest. He planted it in the sunlight and tended it carefully, but to his dismay, it withered and died.
"What does it remind you of?" Delrairon asked Satoran.
"Uhhh..." Satoran thought hard. "Fire, I guess."
Delrairon nodded with satisfaction. "Then you know all that you need to know," he announced with conviction. With that, he turned away and began to push through the undergrowth, irritably shoving bushes out of his way.
Satoran seriously considered dashing after Delrairon and demanding more clear answers, but he decided against it. He didn't want to be on the receiving end of one of Delrairon's psychic attacks, and he doubted the effort would really be worth it anyway. He instead wheeled around and began on his way back to his area of forest.
All the way back, he fumed and wondered why it was that everyone thought that Delrairon was so wise. "It's because he eats Pokemon's dreams," he muttered to himself. "Pokemon think that he learns so much from them. Bah! Dreams are dreams. What can you learn from them?"
Flames all around her, their grasping hands reaching out to her from every side. Their burning touch could not harm her, imbuing her instead with a strange energy, but still she ran from them desperately, tearing around the empty room.
The flames engulfed beautiful paintings, opulent rugs, and antique furniture as they sought to sate their eternal hunger. Though the fire could not harm her, it was indirectly killing her, filling the enclosed room with choking smoke. The heavy door was closed and locked. She could not open it. The windows were closed, set high up in the walls, beyond her reach.
Her panicked flight sent her careening into a huge display case filled with precious stones. It teetered uncertainly, one of its legs already partially consumed by fire, then gave in and toppled sideways, the glass pane on its front smashing and its contents spilling out across the floor. Still she ran, around and around the room. She passed by the felled cabinet again, glass shards cutting into her delicate footpads. As she frantically dashed by, she accidentally kicked one of the strange rocks that had skittered out onto the floor. When her foot touched it began to burn, as though the rock had held some sort of fire within it that resisted her innate ability to absorb it. She stopped her mad dash and howled in pain and despair, shaking the burning paw as though she might flick away the pain as one might flick away drops of water.
Instead, the burning sensation spread, flowing up until it engulfed her entire body. She shuddered and shut her eyes...
...and snapped them open to find them staring at a darkened room, musty and damp. Sunlight streamed in through a shattered window, leaving a dappled pattern on the floor.
Sasoliar rose, stretching and shaking herself, the dream shaken away along with dust from the mansion's rotting floorboards. She put the events of the previous night out of her mind, confident that Grottlis would soon apprehend Jeremy and return him to her. She set out to go about her morning rounds, stepping out of the mansion and into the reassuring light of the sun.
Her normal path took her past the strange meadow. Sasoliar stopped and stared at it irritably, much as one might stare at an old store sign that was missing a few of its letters. It was a nuisance, a blemish that she intended to be rid of someday, when she had determined how. She walked over to it now, feeling the odd tingle that passed over her whenever she left her domain.
Once within the boundaries of the meadow, she stopped and looked behind her uncertainly. She walked back into the forest. Again, the tingling sensation. Back to the meadow.
She sat down on her haunches, staring in surprise back at the forest. Shaking her head, she gave a small chuckle. There could be no doubt.
The meadow was smaller than it had been the day before.