Chapter Two: Weaving the Tale
The Sky Terminal was actually a small, perfectly round island about a half- mile above the mainland of the digital world. Not many Trailmon went up that way, but the pair managed to catch one that was just leaving as they came running up to it.
The Trailmon was at a loss for words at having not one, but two heroines, boarding him, of all 'mon, and was at a lost for words. When he finally recovered, which didn't take long, he asked them anxiously about every ten minutes or so if they were all right and if they needed anything. Despite this slight irritation, it was strangely endearing and when they reached the terminal, they both thanked the flustered Trailmon profusely.
The small island was pristinely quiet, aside from the light winds that never stopped blowing. They rustled the grasses and the leaves of the delicate trees so it seemed as if all around there were whispers. In the moons' light, Izumi examined a statue of what look like code doubling back on itself above two infinity loops of code joined at their centers. "I've never one of these before, Ranamon. What does it mean?"
"It's the symbol of the Sacred Code," Ranamon informed. "The data that makes us all up and connects us with each other and the world. It is also the herald of the gods and the mark of a sacred place. This island is sacred because of the information it holds. All the other libraries all around the world are not as big, and all the books they have are copies of the ones here, which are the original manuscripts. We're almost there." Abruptly the trees and tall grasses leveled out. A carefully tended garden lay before them, of fruit trees and flowers grown in lightly ornate designs. A winding stone path led the way ahead between stone arches and over a bridge. Benches were scattered about the place, as if randomly, but as Izumi looked it seemed that the benches were arranged in a loose spiral pattern. Beyond all this rose the Temple of Winds.
It had no edged that either of them could see, smooth and rounded rather like a seashell into a spiral, like the bench arrangement. The doors, ajar to let in the night air, were also smooth and unedged, as were the windows, circular panes of stained glass, beautifully intricate. It was as if the whole island was made out of circles, which was not displeasing at all.
"When this was rebuilt to its old condition as it was before the War, I remember Löwemon saying: 'Knowledge should be a circle. It never stops flowing around, leaving us and coming back from others in a cycle as old as time,'" Ranamon commented lightly.
"You're very wise," Izumi complimented.
Ranamon laughed. "Me, wise? I don't think so; I just quote wise people."
As they drew up to the Temple, whose huge double doors were open, Izumi spied a small shape by them, head buried in a book.
"Bokomon!" Izumi cried happily.
The scholarly digimon looked up in annoyance. "Yes what is it?" A moment of stunned silence passed. " I-Izumi?!"
Ranamon watched with badly disguised amusement as Izumi swept up the usually at-least-partly-dignified Bokomon and hugged him lightly. The digimon blushed crimson as she set him back down and didn't speak for some seconds.
"I never thought you would be able to cross between our worlds again if you weren't called. " Bokomon said at last. "I thought we'd never see any of you children again." He bowed politely to Ranamon before adding. "I think I can safely guess who you're here to see. Follow me."
The trio passed into the Temple's main room, where the main bulk of the digital world's knowledge was stored on mammoth curved shelves of polished wood, following the room's curve around and eventually, upwards into indistinctness. The few spaces of wall that was not hidden by shelf were the windows seen from outside, stained glass artwork depicting famous digimon, natural scenes, or the Sacred Code insignia. A thick, toe-wriggle- inviting carpet was underfoot, gently crushed under the impact of many feet, and the scent of something like incense was in the air. It was quiet, but not oppressively so, like what sometimes happens in human libraries. Several dozen digimon could be seen here on the main floor; most were absorbed in books; others talked softly among themselves, penned notes, or their own additions to the library.
"It's lovely," breathed the human, craning her neck and trying to see upwards past the large, bright chandeliers above.
"It's modeled after the original Temple of Winds," Bokomon informed, tucking his book under his arm, "though no one knows where it used to stand, or even who came up with the plans in the first place."
Ranamon let Izumi take in the room while she herself cast her eyes about the many tables, chairs and cushions scattered through the room. When she finally found what she was looking for, she called Izumi over to follow her to a small island of cushions where a lone, human type digimon sat, next to a large book and a few scattered pieces of parchment. Her lavender hair drifted over her face, brushing the shoulders of a simple wrap-around dress of the same shade. The visor that usually covered her face was gone, to show off eyes of a delicate sky-blue and half-closed in thought. At Ranamon's approach, she looked up quickly with an oddly birdlike movement, and beamed.
"Rana, you're early! I've gotten to upload a few more pages while I was here and-" Suddenly she paused, shocked into silence when she saw who stood behind Ranamon.
"I brought someone who wants to see you," smiled Ranamon with a playful understatement, and moved aside. The Wind Spirit stood as the human who had shared a body and half a soul with her came forward.
It was like the first time the two had "met" in Soyokaze Village- uncertain at first, and a little frightening, but something that Izumi knew was right, somewhere in the bottom of her being. She held out her hands to Fairymon, who took them, squeezing tightly, and it was if Izumi had never left.
"Zumi-chan," murmured the Warrior of Wind. "Zumi-chan."
They embraced then, and Ranamon wondered what it must be like to share the enigma that was human data with one's own digimon data, tied so inextricably together that flits of emotion had still moved between them from time to time, even separated by the weight of an entire world. When the pair finally released one another, she shared how she had met Izumi at the spring and recalled events up to their arrival. Fairymon regarded her human partner with interest when she was done.
"The past?" she mused, glancing at the papers around her resting spot. "It's funny you should mention that. Between everything that's been happening, Ranamon and I have been working on that very thing; recalling the past. For a long while, our ancient memories have been dormant, Ranamon's because of Cherubimon's influence, and my own because my essence was "dim", so that I could only be found by the right human," -here a brief smile at Izumi. " The other Warriors were in much the same boat. All we could recall were bits and snatches of conversation, movements, snatches of thought. When the data was released from Lucemon's Satan Mode, it seemed that our memories came flooding back, slowly at first, then more and more. So the both of us began to write them down, all we could remember, and gathered what we could from those that remain who could recall those old days; the other Warriors, the Celestials, and a few others. And that is the result." She gestured at the thick book that had been lying by her.
"No one should make the mistakes of that past," Ranamon said solemnly. "Nothing like what happened then should happen again. We can't say that it won't. We can't even say what will happen tomorrow. But at least we know we did our part to warn." She picked up the papers, and Fairymon picked up the book, holding it open to the last page. "Chronicle, add information" Ranamon intoned. A light glided over the papers and page-shaped collections of data swirled into the book, blank at first, then words appeared like an infestation of ants, crawling over the new sheets to their appointed places. When the light died, the loose papers were gone.
"Wow," Izumi said, taking the book and flipping back to its beginning. "How much is left?"
"Not much," Fairymon, Bokomon and Ranamon said together. Fairymon continued: "Enough to tell, and fill in at the end, from memory."
The two Warriors smiled at each other, a smile the same on both their faces; knowing and sad, the look of those who have seen too much in their long lives. The burden of knowledge could be eased, but only by sharing the burden with others. The four sat together in a circle, the book in the middle of them all.
"Fairymon, you start. It was your vision." Ranamon said.
The winged 'mon nodded decisively, her eyes clouding over as she dug into the wellspring of her memory. "When we first lived, it was the Golden Age of Lucemon, now called the Black Age, a little more than a thousand years ago now. Of course, no one knew that then. How could we? It was a happy time while it lasted, while we weren't the Wind and Sea Warriors, but just two friends, trying to make the best of the new world we had been given."
______________________________________ End of Chapter Two! Yeah, I know, not much here. I'm just prepping for the REAL story-in-a-story. Thankies to the reviewers! Much appreciation!
Review replies:
Noble Skuld: Always happy to please a reader!
Akino Ame: *squees * Thank you very much! Actually, I'm not much of a newbie to the writing game, though this is my first stab at fanfiction. I though it would be good to take things from the digimon's POV for once.the kids are only accidental visitors to the world, after all. Hope you stay tuned.
Jazzerman: Dun worry, I shall definitely continue.
AlannaBanana: Sorry, 'Lanna-chan. This fic is digimon centered, and so far, Izumi is the only human visitor to the world- and she's here for a story, lol. Still, thanks for your review and I hope ypu stall tuned nonetheless.
Ninjahanna: Will do! ^.~
The Sky Terminal was actually a small, perfectly round island about a half- mile above the mainland of the digital world. Not many Trailmon went up that way, but the pair managed to catch one that was just leaving as they came running up to it.
The Trailmon was at a loss for words at having not one, but two heroines, boarding him, of all 'mon, and was at a lost for words. When he finally recovered, which didn't take long, he asked them anxiously about every ten minutes or so if they were all right and if they needed anything. Despite this slight irritation, it was strangely endearing and when they reached the terminal, they both thanked the flustered Trailmon profusely.
The small island was pristinely quiet, aside from the light winds that never stopped blowing. They rustled the grasses and the leaves of the delicate trees so it seemed as if all around there were whispers. In the moons' light, Izumi examined a statue of what look like code doubling back on itself above two infinity loops of code joined at their centers. "I've never one of these before, Ranamon. What does it mean?"
"It's the symbol of the Sacred Code," Ranamon informed. "The data that makes us all up and connects us with each other and the world. It is also the herald of the gods and the mark of a sacred place. This island is sacred because of the information it holds. All the other libraries all around the world are not as big, and all the books they have are copies of the ones here, which are the original manuscripts. We're almost there." Abruptly the trees and tall grasses leveled out. A carefully tended garden lay before them, of fruit trees and flowers grown in lightly ornate designs. A winding stone path led the way ahead between stone arches and over a bridge. Benches were scattered about the place, as if randomly, but as Izumi looked it seemed that the benches were arranged in a loose spiral pattern. Beyond all this rose the Temple of Winds.
It had no edged that either of them could see, smooth and rounded rather like a seashell into a spiral, like the bench arrangement. The doors, ajar to let in the night air, were also smooth and unedged, as were the windows, circular panes of stained glass, beautifully intricate. It was as if the whole island was made out of circles, which was not displeasing at all.
"When this was rebuilt to its old condition as it was before the War, I remember Löwemon saying: 'Knowledge should be a circle. It never stops flowing around, leaving us and coming back from others in a cycle as old as time,'" Ranamon commented lightly.
"You're very wise," Izumi complimented.
Ranamon laughed. "Me, wise? I don't think so; I just quote wise people."
As they drew up to the Temple, whose huge double doors were open, Izumi spied a small shape by them, head buried in a book.
"Bokomon!" Izumi cried happily.
The scholarly digimon looked up in annoyance. "Yes what is it?" A moment of stunned silence passed. " I-Izumi?!"
Ranamon watched with badly disguised amusement as Izumi swept up the usually at-least-partly-dignified Bokomon and hugged him lightly. The digimon blushed crimson as she set him back down and didn't speak for some seconds.
"I never thought you would be able to cross between our worlds again if you weren't called. " Bokomon said at last. "I thought we'd never see any of you children again." He bowed politely to Ranamon before adding. "I think I can safely guess who you're here to see. Follow me."
The trio passed into the Temple's main room, where the main bulk of the digital world's knowledge was stored on mammoth curved shelves of polished wood, following the room's curve around and eventually, upwards into indistinctness. The few spaces of wall that was not hidden by shelf were the windows seen from outside, stained glass artwork depicting famous digimon, natural scenes, or the Sacred Code insignia. A thick, toe-wriggle- inviting carpet was underfoot, gently crushed under the impact of many feet, and the scent of something like incense was in the air. It was quiet, but not oppressively so, like what sometimes happens in human libraries. Several dozen digimon could be seen here on the main floor; most were absorbed in books; others talked softly among themselves, penned notes, or their own additions to the library.
"It's lovely," breathed the human, craning her neck and trying to see upwards past the large, bright chandeliers above.
"It's modeled after the original Temple of Winds," Bokomon informed, tucking his book under his arm, "though no one knows where it used to stand, or even who came up with the plans in the first place."
Ranamon let Izumi take in the room while she herself cast her eyes about the many tables, chairs and cushions scattered through the room. When she finally found what she was looking for, she called Izumi over to follow her to a small island of cushions where a lone, human type digimon sat, next to a large book and a few scattered pieces of parchment. Her lavender hair drifted over her face, brushing the shoulders of a simple wrap-around dress of the same shade. The visor that usually covered her face was gone, to show off eyes of a delicate sky-blue and half-closed in thought. At Ranamon's approach, she looked up quickly with an oddly birdlike movement, and beamed.
"Rana, you're early! I've gotten to upload a few more pages while I was here and-" Suddenly she paused, shocked into silence when she saw who stood behind Ranamon.
"I brought someone who wants to see you," smiled Ranamon with a playful understatement, and moved aside. The Wind Spirit stood as the human who had shared a body and half a soul with her came forward.
It was like the first time the two had "met" in Soyokaze Village- uncertain at first, and a little frightening, but something that Izumi knew was right, somewhere in the bottom of her being. She held out her hands to Fairymon, who took them, squeezing tightly, and it was if Izumi had never left.
"Zumi-chan," murmured the Warrior of Wind. "Zumi-chan."
They embraced then, and Ranamon wondered what it must be like to share the enigma that was human data with one's own digimon data, tied so inextricably together that flits of emotion had still moved between them from time to time, even separated by the weight of an entire world. When the pair finally released one another, she shared how she had met Izumi at the spring and recalled events up to their arrival. Fairymon regarded her human partner with interest when she was done.
"The past?" she mused, glancing at the papers around her resting spot. "It's funny you should mention that. Between everything that's been happening, Ranamon and I have been working on that very thing; recalling the past. For a long while, our ancient memories have been dormant, Ranamon's because of Cherubimon's influence, and my own because my essence was "dim", so that I could only be found by the right human," -here a brief smile at Izumi. " The other Warriors were in much the same boat. All we could recall were bits and snatches of conversation, movements, snatches of thought. When the data was released from Lucemon's Satan Mode, it seemed that our memories came flooding back, slowly at first, then more and more. So the both of us began to write them down, all we could remember, and gathered what we could from those that remain who could recall those old days; the other Warriors, the Celestials, and a few others. And that is the result." She gestured at the thick book that had been lying by her.
"No one should make the mistakes of that past," Ranamon said solemnly. "Nothing like what happened then should happen again. We can't say that it won't. We can't even say what will happen tomorrow. But at least we know we did our part to warn." She picked up the papers, and Fairymon picked up the book, holding it open to the last page. "Chronicle, add information" Ranamon intoned. A light glided over the papers and page-shaped collections of data swirled into the book, blank at first, then words appeared like an infestation of ants, crawling over the new sheets to their appointed places. When the light died, the loose papers were gone.
"Wow," Izumi said, taking the book and flipping back to its beginning. "How much is left?"
"Not much," Fairymon, Bokomon and Ranamon said together. Fairymon continued: "Enough to tell, and fill in at the end, from memory."
The two Warriors smiled at each other, a smile the same on both their faces; knowing and sad, the look of those who have seen too much in their long lives. The burden of knowledge could be eased, but only by sharing the burden with others. The four sat together in a circle, the book in the middle of them all.
"Fairymon, you start. It was your vision." Ranamon said.
The winged 'mon nodded decisively, her eyes clouding over as she dug into the wellspring of her memory. "When we first lived, it was the Golden Age of Lucemon, now called the Black Age, a little more than a thousand years ago now. Of course, no one knew that then. How could we? It was a happy time while it lasted, while we weren't the Wind and Sea Warriors, but just two friends, trying to make the best of the new world we had been given."
______________________________________ End of Chapter Two! Yeah, I know, not much here. I'm just prepping for the REAL story-in-a-story. Thankies to the reviewers! Much appreciation!
Review replies:
Noble Skuld: Always happy to please a reader!
Akino Ame: *squees * Thank you very much! Actually, I'm not much of a newbie to the writing game, though this is my first stab at fanfiction. I though it would be good to take things from the digimon's POV for once.the kids are only accidental visitors to the world, after all. Hope you stay tuned.
Jazzerman: Dun worry, I shall definitely continue.
AlannaBanana: Sorry, 'Lanna-chan. This fic is digimon centered, and so far, Izumi is the only human visitor to the world- and she's here for a story, lol. Still, thanks for your review and I hope ypu stall tuned nonetheless.
Ninjahanna: Will do! ^.~