Garren: … she's doing it again.
Dart: What? Would someone get that book away from her? She'll never get anything done at this rate!
Garren: We tried.
Dart: …and?
Garren: She bit Zion. I'm not sure, but I think she might be rabid.
Dart: Oh, for the love of…
This Chapter has been brought to you by lots and lots of Creed and J-rock Because everything's easier with J-rock. Hope everyone's ready for some extreme POV changing, because the second half is crazy in that respect. Nar-dee-har.
In other news, I managed to get this chapter posted in time. Amazement? Yes.
The wind thundered in his ears, tearing at his hair and clothing with its thousand icy claws as it whipped past, freezing his exposed skin and chilling him to the bone. His body was a mass of cuts and bruises, inflicted during his short, ugly brawl with the Golden Dragoon. The sharp pain of the wounds created a burning counterpoint to the numbing cold, flaring angrily whenever he shifted his weight or tried to turn his head. It was immediate and distant at the same time, as though he were feeling it all through a mind-numbing anesthetic. Lazily, he turned that particular fact over in his mind, though that too, came as though through a thick fog. The sun had long since set, and the landscape below had changed from what he remembered seeing last before he had closed his eyes. The Evergreen Forest, inky dark without the moonlight to illuminate it, stretched for miles in every direction, bordered on its northern edge by the southernmost spur of the Mortal Mountain range. It was impossible to accurately judge how far they had come or for how long they had been traveling, so he assumed that he must have passed out shortly after they had started. The end result of a concussion inflicted when the dragoon had driven him into the mud by the lake, no doubt. He hesitated, his wandering thoughts grinding to a halt as he considered this.
Concussion. Yes. That's what was going on. Satisfied that he had a good grasp of his current indisposition, he let that particular vein of thought be and returned to his bemused examination of the particulars of his situation.
He was being carried roughly under the arm of the monstrous dragoon who had seized him from the mud on the lakeshore, his bruised body wrenched around so that he was squeezed up against the creature's side with his head lolling against the pitted breastplate. The word 'monstrous' was fully justified; if he hadn't seen the man beneath it before the transformation, he might not have even recognized him as human. The armor itself only vaguely resembled the others that he had seen in the battle by the dam, and not even that of the Golden Dragoon, easily the largest of those he had seen, came anywhere close to matching it in terms of size. It was unnatural, in more ways than one: in all the history of Endiness, the existence of only seven dragoon spirits had ever been recorded. This… thing… didn't fit. But if there really had been eight dragoons all along, why had this one been absent during the assault on Flanvel…
Still limp in the Dragoon's grip, he groaned, the sound lost in the rush of the wind. The Moon Child had promised to heal him in exchange for a few services, but some of the memories still remained. The dreams had fragmented too much of his own memories, she had said, to be able to rid him of the dreams all at once. He would have to continue to return to her, until she found a way to repair his shattered mind for good. Until then the fix was only temporary, and the foreign memories would still be able to slip through at times. It was a far sight better than drowning in them as he had before, but until the dreams were eradicated completely, he felt as though he was draining slowly through a sieve, losing more of himself with each passing day.
The haze from the concussion was beginning to fade, chased away by the cold night air beating his face. As the pain from his wounds began to intensify, Slone fidgeted, trying to find a way to ease the pressure on his bruises. Above him, the dragoon glanced down at him once, then went back to pointedly ignoring him, altering the course of their flight slightly further northwest toward a distant range of mountains that had just begun to appear on the horizon. He could see an end to the forest now, where the trees gave way to a vast, hilly plain that ran nearly to the capitol. Deningrad would be in sight soon, he realized.
The Dragoon seemed to sense the same thing, because their level flight suddenly became a shallow dive, angling steadily lower toward the distant hump on the dark horizon where the rolling grassland gave way to the scantly forested mountains that surrounded the Capitol of Mille Seasu. The air itself seemed to shimmer in a tremulous aura about them as their pace increased; so close to the end of their flight, the Dragoon's impatience had reached its boiling point. Leveling out of the dive, they blasted over the undulating hills and hollows of the field, stirring up the deadened grass to swirl in a confused whirlwind in their wake.
"Regretting yet?" The dragoon said suddenly, not bothering to look down at him. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead and his jaws tight, staring so intently into the night that it seemed his eyes must burn through the darkness, cutting away the intrusive miles to see the city hidden beyond the endless hills of grass.
Slone looked up at him once, then let his head fall with a snort.
"You will soon." If the Dragoon had noticed his indifference, it was obvious he could care less. "When we reach Deningrad, I suggest you stay out of my way. Neither Ayrel nor I have ever been particularly fond of one another to begin with, and she's gone to great lengths to piss me off royally this time. We aren't very patient, and it's a lot faster to go through you than around you. I'd rather you live long enough for my friends to have the chance to deal with you before I do anything permanent."
Slone smiled grimly at the cold confidence in his tone. The Dragoon spoke as though the outcome were already decided, but dragoon or no, no one could lightly climb into the ring with a goddess and expect to come out alive.
Overhead the clouds pressed close together, dark and impenetrable as they choked out the moonlight with their immeasurable bulk. Their heavy stomachs, pregnant with moisture and chill, bulged toward the earth, straining to contain themselves even as the winds shifted; keening through the frigid mountain passes to the west to blow across the land's heart. Below, the earth was a landscape of black and greys, blurred and indistinct without the moonlight to lend it depth. Between earth and cloud raced the dragoon and his captive, following the wind northward as it ran before them, sweeping relentlessly toward the breaking storm that loomed on the dark horizon.
Solana's POV:
"You're lying." Zion's said flatly. His voice echoed off of the vaulted walls of the chamber, loosing itself in the darkness over our heads.
Ayrel smiled faintly, though her smooth, girlish face tightened slightly around the eyes. The moon child was still a young woman, hardly older than a girl, but there was a certain suggestion of steel behind her silver eyes that spoke of a will far stronger than that of a woman twice her age. "I think I'm starting to sense a pattern to your protests, Zion. You've used that particular phrase four times in the past fifteen minutes. If you keep repeating yourself, I might start to think you've turned simple."
Zion glared at her, but clamped his mouth shut.
After leaving the battleground by the dam the Moon Child and her mother had taken us in short stages to Deningrad, where they had ushered us into this chamber in the upper levels of the Temple. There they had healed us, one at a time, before drawing away to confer with one another, leaving our questions in the majority unanswered. As promised, there had been several 'guests' awaiting our arrival. A tall, iron haired woman with an aquiline nose, and a plump, bird-eyed mother with her little girl had been brought out before us- under guard, of course. Zion and Mariko, to whom I guessed they were related, had reacted vehemently until the soldiers had drawn their blades in ominous simultation. Now the hostages had been removed, and the pair stayed just inside the circle of the lamplight at the opposite end of the chamber; Mariko sat with Amaya, hood drawn up about her face, while Zion stood nearby, looking uncharacteristically surly. Though he made no move that might endanger the hostages just outside the door, there was an air of belligerence about him, and he kept up a running banter with Ayrel whenever she made an effort to speak.
Ayrel, who walked back and forth among us as she spoke, paused briefly in front of him. "As for your friend… Ry, you called him? How long exactly have you known him now? Two, maybe three months?" She peered up into his eyes, meeting his clouded look with her own expression of composed superiority. "And you think that's enough time to learn everything there is to know about a man?"
Zion remained silent.
Ayrel laughed in a chilling sort of way and turned, looking around the chamber to face each one of us in turn. "What about the rest of you? Do you know your friend well enough to say that he wouldn't try to kill me? Even to the lot of you, it must be painfully obvious that he hates my guts."
"Hating someone and wanting to kill them are two different things," I said stiffly. There was something disconcerting about the way the child spoke. She was enjoying herself, in a perverse sort of way, and her tone swung back and forth between cultured maturity and adolescent snide. It was obvious that she'd been waiting to have this particular argument with someone for quite some time.
She cocked her head slightly, looking directly at me. "Do you think? Hate is a heavy word, Solana. There's a lot of implications tacked on to the end of it, and sometimes the line between hatred and the desire to kill becomes a bit fuzzy. Not that it really matters. He's tried to kill me a half dozen times or so before, so I'd think that his intentions are rather clear." Without looking, she threw one hand back over her shoulder to point at Zion, who had just started to open his mouth. "And don't you even think about calling me a liar again, Zion Damnen."
Once again Zion snapped his mouth shut, and he shifted his weight uncomfortably, eyes flashing daggers. Ayrel's habit of addressing us all by our first names had put us all off balance, more out of the familiar way in which she used them than the fact that she had known them at all.
She resumed her pacing. "If you really feel like pressing the matter, I can show you the records. He's tried to kill me on three or four separate occasions in broad daylight before a number of witnesses." When silence greeted her remark, Ayrel's face flickered briefly with the ghost of a smile. "I don't remember him being too particular about who he cut. You'd be amazed at what one man can do alone with a sword in a dense crowd."
"You're glossing over the particulars, Holy Moon Child." Amaya said quietly. "I've seen those records. It wasn't just one man involved in those assaults. There were two."
Ayrel looked over at her sharply, and then shrugged. "I should have known that you would have looked into it, Captain Soltrane. Incidentally, you do realize that Commander Mychael is here in the city? I understand that he wants to deal with your desertion personally."
She inclined her head slightly. "I would think less of him if he didn't," she replied, her voice filled with a soft edge. Ayrel might try to intimidate her, but for the moment, at least, the prospect of her punishment held no terrors for her. Understanding the message, I straightened my spine. If Ayrel wanted to try to cow us into submission, she had better be prepared for a long haul.
The Child seemed to sense this. Her pacing stopped once again, and she rocked back on to her heels, hooking her thumbs into her belt. "There were two men." She acceded. "You're right. I haven't seen the one for quite some time now; with any luck, he's come to his senses and decided to leave me alone. Maybe he's still out there; who knows. He was never much more than a tool for your friend anyhow. At any rate, he's not important. Your friend… Ry. He's always been at the center of this." She glanced back over her shoulder at Lady Asalla, who sat at the far end of the room in deep concentration. "Mother?"
"Nothing yet, Ayrel. Even he can't cover that much ground this fast."
"I thought so." She paced among us again, her steps light and catlike as she ran a hand back through her hair, adjusting the clip that held it back in a loose tail from her face. Though she was quite obviously female, the wingly girl dressed herself much like a boy. The clip in her hair was the sole concession to her gender, and a fairly trivial one at that. Were it not for the knowledge that she was in many respects the most powerful person in Endiness, she could have been mistaken for a stable hand or tomboy.
"Who is he then?"
I looked over at my husband, surprised. Cai's tone had been suspicious, but his eyes as he watched the Child were speculative. His position when it came to Ry had always been a little ill defined; he had held a wary respect for his ability to slip us in and out of tight situations, but he disliked the man as well as distrusted him. If any of us were to be swayed by what this girl would tell us about Ry, I realized, it would be him.
"Who? Ry?" Ayrel hesitated by a lamp, running one finger around the rim of the glass flue. "That's a complicated question. Really, it's as much what as it is who."
"What do you mean?" Zion asked suspiciously.
She sighed. "You really are thick, aren't you?" She said in a disapproving tone of voice. "What have we been arguing about for the past quarter hour? Your friend, as you call him, has been trying without success to kill me for the past sixteen years. I'm not the first, and if he has it his way, I certainly won't be the last. He's a vicious killer with a very specific set of targets, and he's been working his way through them as they come with great success for a very long time now. Think, Zion, if you're able to do so. Who on earth could possibly want to kill the Moon Child?"
The room went still as slowly, the implications of her words sunk in. Then Cai spoke quietly, voicing the obvious.
"The Black Monster?"
"Yes."
There was a drawn-out pause, a sort of mass intake of breath as everyone waited to see his reaction. In a particular way, his response would determine what would happen next. When he became set against something, trying to sway Cai could be like trying to talk to a rock, and he really disliked Ry. If he took this chance to stand up against him, things could become difficult. I bit my lip, praying he wouldn't listen.
If Cai had been aware of the worry he was causing, he gave no indication of it. His face was impassive in the warm bath of the lamplight, and his clear green gaze never faltered as he debated, mentally weighing one against the other. He didn't like Ry, but he had no reason to flock to the Moon Child either. Even so…
"That's bull."
My shoulders slackened with relief. I gave my husband a grateful look, but it went unnoticed. His attention was still focused on the Moon Child.
Ayrel folded her arms under her breasts. "You think so?"
He met her eyes evenly. "Ry's an ass," he said bluntly. "And I'd be lying if I said that I liked him. But calling him the Black Monster would be going too far. He might be a bit off in the head, but he's definitely still human." He scratched the back of his neck. "Though I can see where he'd probably scare small children."
Zion barked a laugh, and Amaya afforded a strained smile. "Be nice, dear." I murmured, feeling my stomach turn leaden as the Moon Child's eyes flattened. He glanced at me sideways, giving me a tiny, tight smile.
"Still human?" Ayrel's mouth twisted, and for a moment she didn't seem nearly so pretty as she had before. "And I suppose that's supposed to count for something. From what I've seen, you humans can be a pretty monstrous at times yourselves. But I'm getting distracted. The Black Monster is just a name. People have been trying to flesh it out for centuries with stories and wild descriptions, but the core of it has always stayed the same. The real horror of the Black Monster has always been the atrocities he committed, and when it comes to cold, calculated murder…" She turned slowly, sweeping the room with accusing eyes. "There're few beings that can best a human."
"But the Black Monster has been around for almost twelve thousand years," I interjected. "Even supposing Ry was the Black Monster, it would be impossible for him to have lived for so long."
"Impossible?" She raised an eyebrow. "Flying and touching magic is supposed to be impossible for humans too, and yet just look at the lot of you. This room is filled to bursting with theoretic impossibilities. And all you needed," she said, reaching into her pocket, "was this."
I bit my cheek, trying not to stare at the unresponsive spirit gleaming dully in her hand. She had taken the dragoon stones off of us immediately we had arrived, just, she had said, as a precaution, but even so, I felt vulnerable without mine. My own skill with weapons was still little better than mediocre at best, and until now, I'd relied on my spirit to see me through our battles. I had no illusions as to how little use it would be against the Moon Child, but still, I would have felt safer had she allowed us to keep them.
At the base of the nearest lamp, Kaelin spoke up for the first time since Aska and Peolin had been taken away. "But the spirits can't extend life. And even if they could, Ry doesn't have a spirit anymore. His rejected him years ago."
All eyes snapped on to her. This was something she'd failed to mention before.
"Mm, yes. But there're other things in this world than the dragoon spirits, you know." Ayrel paused, considering. "Tell me, have any of you ever heard of Dart Feld?"
"Of course." Kaelin gave her and odd look. "Who hasn't? But what does he have to do with this?"
Ayrel ignored her. "Solana, you're fairly well read. Would you mind telling us what you know about Feld?"
"I'm sorry… Moon Child," I said. "But I agree with Kaelin. I don't see what this has to do with Ry."
She smiled frostily. "Humor me."
I swallowed, recognizing the threat in that smile. "Dart Feld," I said carefully, not taking my eyes from Ayrel's face, "was the leader of the dragoons who fought during the Cygnet Crisis over eight hundred years ago. The whole affair was very well documented, as were the lives of most of the dragoons in the years that followed. He settled in Seles immediately afterward, and then disappeared some years later after the death of his wife. He was obsessed with the Black Monster in his youth, so the general belief is that after losing his wife he returned to his hunt."
"Very good," Ayrel murmured. "I don't suppose you could tell everyone what it was that happened just after his disappearance?"
I strained my memory, trying to remember. It had been some time since I had last picked up a book on the topic, and my recollections were a bit sketchy a best.
"The Black Monster made a reappearance." I said haltingly, waiting for the facts to come back to me. "Twenty seven years after it had already made its most recent assault on the Moon Child. It was the only recorded instance of the pattern ever breaking in over eleven thousand years. It's never happened again since." I bit my lip. "Where are you going with this?"
Ayrel ignored me. "Dart disappears," she said, "and the Black Monster reappears. Strange sort of coincidence, isn't it?"
"Excuse me," Zion interrupted acidly, "but what's your point? He's dead, and Ry's not. Sort of hard to match up, isn't it?"
The Child gave him a scathing look. "Solana, would you care to tell me the exact date of Feld's death? The lives of the dragoons were all very well documented, so I'm sure you must have run across it at some point or another."
I started to open my mouth, then stopped, realizing the point that she was trying to make. The death of Dart Feld had never actually been recorded. It was a small mystery that had been puzzling history scholars for centuries now.
She smiled thinly. "Interesting. He was the most revered hero of his time, and yet no one bothered to take a note concerning the details of his death. Someone slipped up somewhere, I think."
Kaelin fidgeted uncomfortably. "All right… Ayrel. But even if we were to pretend that Ry and Dart Feld really are the same person, there's still an eight hundred year gap between them. No one could possibly live that long."
"Not naturally, no." Ayrel spun the dragoon spirit in her fingers idly. "But as I said, there are ways. In the time of the winglies, before the Dragon Campaign, there existed a magical art with the capability to freeze personal time. Life could be preserved in a single, endless moment, but at a great cost to the user." With a flourish, she pocketed the stone. "The knowledge of the art was largely lost after the fall of the winglies. Only two examples of it still survive. One is an entire city, hidden in the sands of the western deserts. The other… is a woman's choker."
A chill ran down my spine.
"Of course, what possible reason could Feld have for wanting something like that?" She continued. "Without a purpose to sustain them, the wearer of that choker would eventually corrode from the inside out. Men make much of it, but eternal life without a point is a heavy burden for the soul to bear. Feld would never have touched something like that." She paused. "At least, not on his own initiative."
No one was interrupting her now. Her words were absurd, and had she spoken about any other person, none of us would have even bothered to listen. But somehow her story could be connected with Ry, and the mystery with which he had surrounded himself had hung over us every step of the journey through Tiberoa and over the seas to Mille Seasu. He had deliberately left too much hanging, too much unsaid. And now, with nothing solid to throw in the face of her arguments, we were being drawn in, wondering how she could possibly think these two men could be connected.
"Around the same time that the dragoons were pursuing the man responsible for the theft of the cygnets, the king of all dragons, the Divine Dragon, broke free from his mountain prison where the ancient winglies had sealed him during the reign of the dictator Melbu Frahma. The Divine Dragon is by nature a creature of mindless hate and destruction, and he took out his fury on the city of Deningrad, which had in the dim past been a wingly stronghold. As you can imagine, this rather distressed the townspeople, so the dragoons were forced to take steps. They found a way to limit the dragon's power and were able to slay him, but as fate would have it, someone managed to procure the monster's spirit, thus creating the spirit of the Divine Dragoon. Eventually this came back into the hands of the dragoons, and Dart, who had since been abandoned by the red-eye spirit, was recognized as its bearer.
"After their journeys had ended, the dragoons returned to their homelands, and for the most part, the spirits were left to gather the proverbial dust." Ayrel inclined her head slightly in my direction. "Solana here has already enlightened us as to the major points of Dart's life up to this point, so I won't bother going into detail about that. But several years after his wife's death, he made a rather startling discovery concerning the nature of his dragoon spirit. Each of the spirits have a certain, low-level awareness in order to forge a bond with their bearer, but the spirit of the Divine Dragon is completely conscious, and has a powerful mind and will of its own. The dragon is malicious, and even in death, bitterly resents all life and the living."
Ayrel was pacing quickly now, weaving in and out around us as she spoke. "The world's need for Feld had ended with the Cygnet Crisis, and with the death of his wife, all purpose had gone from his life. For the first time, he was lost and without direction. The dragon knew this, and made him an offer. He would give him back his purpose and lend him his power- in exchange for his heart, his body, and his mortality. In his desperation, Feld accepted. And so, when the spirit of the Moon Child, disturbed from its natural course by the events of the Crisis, returned to the earth in the body of an infant, Feld and his dragon were there to greet it- sword in hand."
"Wait a minute," Kaelin cut in sharply. "That doesn't match up. Why in hell would Dart turn around and become the Black Monster, after he spent his whole life hunting it? The Monster destroyed his hometown. Purpose or none, I can't see him changing his views so suddenly." She narrowed her eyes. "There's something else to this, isn't there? And how could he even become the Black Monster in the first place? That thing's been kicking around since the Dragon Campaign, and there was never any evidence to suggest that he, or anyone, ever managed to kill it."
"That's true," I added. "The destruction of the Black Monster would have granted anyone instant fame and a seat in any of the noble houses. Its death wouldn't have gone over quietly."
Ayrel looked from one of us to the other in consternation as one by one, the others began to add their sentiments. She had the look of someone who very suddenly had had their plans go awry.
"Look," she said, trying to regain some control over the situation, "I don't know what happened to the original monster; for all I know it could have been another dragoon, but-"
"How are you going to create the Utopia?" Kaelin asked suddenly.
Ayrel glanced at Kaelin, caught off guard. "What?"
"Are you going to create our Utopia of this world," she said quietly, "or are you going to have to destroy us to make way for a new one of your own?" Her eyes were intent, and there was a particular probing quality to her question.
"Ayrel!"
"Utopia?" Ayrel stared. "I think you've been reading too many of the old stories. I… don't know anything about creating a… Utopia."
"Ayrel!" Asalla grabbed her daughter's shoulder. "He's reached the city outskirts. It's time." There was a slightly wild look to her eyes, and she shot Kaelin a frightened, almost angry look.
Ayrel blinked, then shook her head. "Took him long enough. All right. Mother, would you take them up to the upper hall? The entire southern wall is mostly glass, so they should be able to watch quite safely from up there. Send Father down here too while you're at it. I have something I want to talk to him about."
"You're going to use it?" She asked, almost anxiously.
Her daughter shook her head. "Not just yet. If we bring it out too soon, it might scare him off. Besides, I think it might be fun to let him think that in spite of everything he's managed to get the upper hand- at least for a little bit." She glanced around the room, and then shrugged. "I'm sorry that we didn't get to finish our talk, everybody, but if you didn't believe me in the first place, it would be pointless to sit and argue with you all night. At any rate, you're about to see for yourselves that what I told you is true. Who knows; maybe I'll let him live long enough for him to confess the truth to your faces."
"As if." Zion glared at her back as she left the room. "Cocky, isn't she?"
Asalla, eyes on her daughter, acted as though she hadn't heard. Worry was evident on her face; she, at least, didn't seem to share Ayrel's absolute confidence in her abilities. But as the door swung shut she composed herself once more, straightening her dress and pushing her long hair back over her shoulder. "We don't have much time, I'm afraid. If you'll follow me, I will show you where you can watch safely. Things are liable to become noisy, so it would be better if we stay well out of the way." She hesitated, then gave Zion a pointed look. "You might as well give up on the idea of slipping off while my back is turned, Mr. Damnen. I won't let you, and in any case, your friend and her little girl are still enjoying the hospitality of the Dread Knights. My husband may not care what happens to them, but I'm not about to let them die because you decide to play the hero."
Zion blanched slightly. "Don't worry about it."
"I should hope not." Asalla turned away, re-arranging the shawl looped loosely around her elbows. "Well then, hurry along. We haven't much time."
Dart's POV:
The rain started to fall just as we reached the fringes of Deningrad; a chill, unpleasant drizzle that pattered on the steep rooftops of the houses as we descended slowly through the bank of resinous wood smoke that hung over the sleeping city like a blanket. I circled the area once, then, when I was certain that no one was around, set down carefully in the dark mouth of a broad alleyway.
My armor vanished with a hiss as my feet hit the ground, and I let Trebara slid limply from my grip. He slumped to the cobblestones, lying dazedly on his side while I looked around, re-orienting myself. Cradled in a low valley between two mountains, Deningrad's builders had been forced to make the most of the limited space as the city had built up. As a result, the outer fringes of the city were a confused maze of cramped streets and looming, narrow buildings meant to house several families at once. Here and there were slightly broader, straighter avenues that led to the more spacious city center, but for the most part the infrastructure was a tangled knot of back streets and alleyways.
I stepped out into the street, turning slowly. The chimney smoke had masked the city as I had flown in, and while I had a vague idea of where I should be, anything beyond that was sketchy at best.
(Ark?)
((She's in the temple)) He said flatly. ((I could feel her almost as soon as you reached the outskirts))
(She's not trying to hide herself?)
((Obviously. I don't like this, Dart. This whole thing screams 'trap'. She couldn't have made it more obvious if she'd painted a sign and rubbed it in our faces))
(I know) I narrowed my eyes, squinting into the gloom. The blackened streets glistened with moisture, reflecting the ruddy firelight from a pair of hissing torches set in iron brackets outside of a dim tavern opposite me. Beyond that the street was dark, the only other lights coming from high in the upper windows of the towering houses pressing in around us, too high for their glow to reach the streets.
((Can you track the spirits?))
With some effort, I sent out the thought. In a moment the trails came back, three warm threads winding off into the darkness. (Yes. Ayrel probably has them by now though. What do you think she'll do with the others?)
((Don't worry about that for the moment)) I could feel Ark reaching out, searching as well. ((Grab Trebara and lets get going. There's no way we can hope to surprise her now))
In spite of the guiding pull of the spirits, it still took us some time to find our way through the city. One wrist clamped firmly in my left hand, Trebara followed without protest. He didn't seem fully aware of what was happening, and his eyes were slightly dazed as he stumbled along in my wake. Ark had touched his mind once more since leaving the forest, and hadn't liked what he had found. When he had tried to erase his memories one before in the Alphine manor, he had found that there was nothing for him to work with. Now his thoughts were intact, or close to it. Ayrel's touch hung over him like a fog; whatever it was that had happened to cure him, she had been involved. Ark had been particularly sour on that point. The last thing we wanted was to be dragging around someone who owed Ayrel a favor.
The wood smoke began to disperse as the drizzle became a light rain, driven in sheets by the gusting wind. Overhead, patches of cloudy sky could be seen through the shifting smoke, heavy and black as they rolled sluggishly over the city. The Moon was hidden completely from view; absently, I wondered whether that would be considered good luck or bad.
((Let's call it good)) Ark muttered. ((If we're going to make it through this in one piece, we're going to need all of the luck that we can get))
The narrow back roads gave way to the more spacious, better-lit streets of the inner city. These were all but deserted; though it was only an hour or two after nightfall, only a handful of people were still out and about, their cloaks pulled up over their heads to protect them from the cold rain. Then the track of the spirits took a sudden turn, and I found myself standing on the broad avenue that stretched across the breadth of the city, running from the north end of the valley to the south. At my back, far across the valley, the steeply angled towers of the Crystal Palace rose gracefully from amid the sea of surrounding rooftops, glimmering faintly in the glow of the muted city lights. Before me, the body of the Temple of the Moon Child reared to the skies, dwarfing the narrow, spindly buildings that crowded against its outer walls. Its shape was vaguely reminiscent of that of the Royal Palace, and it seemed to stare possessively out over the city, its windows like a host of vacant eyes. The two buildings faced each other over the length of the avenue, an unspoken challenge in a battle that had long since been lost. The Crown of Tiberoa had slid in and out of the Temple's control a number of times over the past century or so, and once more, the Temple again had it at their fingertips.
I didn't glance back. The avenue ran through an archway into the walled plaza before it; it literally ended at the Temple's doorstep.
I smiled thinly, feeling my blood begin to race. The anger I had felt initially leaving the forest had faded, leaving only a dull remnant. It was always better to go into a battle with a cool head anyhow. "End of the road."
Ark grunted in agreement. ((Took long enough)) he commented dryly. ((Unfortunately, until you regain the energy to fuel it, the spirit is going to be out of the question))
(I know) I looked up at the temple. (I don't think it would make much difference, though. They're in there somewhere, and I'd probably end up wrecking the place if I started trying to hit Ayrel with a shot from the cannon. She's planned this rather well)
((You're better off as human, then. You're more agile in your own body anyhow))
I laughed a bit half-heartedly. (This would be a good time to surprise me if you have any tricks hidden up your sleeve. I'm really not liking the circumstances here)
((You'll have to live with it, Dart. I think I know a way, but I'd rather not try it unless I absolutely have to. It's dangerous to begin with, and you'd have to be unconscious for it to work for sure)) He sounded almost apologetic.
(I'll keep that in mind) I replied. (I'd take almost anything to level the field at the moment)
((I don't think you'd say that if you knew what I have in mind))
(Then don't tell me. Frankly, Ark, I couldn't care less what you have in mind. As long as it works, everything's fine, right?)
He said nothing.
I sighed. (Look, if it makes you feel any better, I give you full permission to do… whatever it is)
((As if I needed your permission!)) He bristled.
I grinned. (See? I'm feeling better already) I glanced back at the stoic Trebara, then shrugged. (Well, no point in putting things off any longer. We're keeping the princess waiting)
Ayrel's POV:
When I finally left father, I found Dart already waiting in the plaza before the temple. This was a surprise. I'd expected him to try to find another way in to try to gain some small sort of advantage. Him waiting openly in the street was an unexpected display of honesty that was, for once, completely unwelcome. I'd seriously been hoping that he'd cause some trouble; it would put on a better show for the dragoons. A little disappointed, I shut the temple door firmly behind me and walked out to meet him.
"You must be getting old, Dart." I told him when I was near enough. "Whatever happened to roaring up to the temple, all guns blazing? I suppose that there's some charm to a quiet entrance, but couldn't you have done something a bit more flamboyant?"
"I had my hands tied," he said dryly. He jerked his head back over his shoulder. Captain Trebara sat slumped in the shadow of the arched gateway, apparently unconscious. "You shouldn't leave your trash lying around where it doesn't belong, Ayrel. It's inconsiderate."
I sighed in mock disappointment. "And here I thought that we might be able to be civil to each other. You're a terrible letdown when you put your mind to it, do you know that?"
"I try my best. Though I have to say…" he looked around, raising one eyebrow. "A street, surrounded by a couple of walls. Maybe a gate. Seems a little weak for a trap, doesn't it?"
"Who said anything about traps?" I replied airily. "You're too suspicious, Dart. All I want is for you to put on a good show." I gestured with one hand at the temple behind me, its monolithic face studded with windows of every shape and size. "I went through all that trouble of bringing your friends here. You don't want to disappoint them too, do you?"
Dart glanced up, his eyes settling on a wide arched window perhaps halfway up the Temple face. They narrowed, and then his face turned wooden. "I see," he said finally. "So that's what you've got planned."
"Pretty much." I shrugged, smiling in a good-natured sort of way. "It's really for their own good, you know. Now, why don't you just get on with things and use your dragoon spirit? I'm sure the suspense must be ready to kill them by now."
He stared up at the temple for a moment longer before he shifted, sliding into a long stance. His sword made a silken whisper as it slid from its sheath, and he grasped the hilt firmly as he lifted it to shoulder height. The naked blade gleamed wetly in the rain. "I can't, I'm afraid."
For the first time, I felt a flicker of irritation. "You're being stupid, Dart. You know you don't have a chance without it, so why bother? You'll have to sooner or later anyhow."
"I'm drained, Ayrel. I couldn't even if I wanted to."
The irritation snapped. "Even if you wanted to? You're going to have to let them see sooner or later, Dart." I said hotly. "They already know the truth. Why draw it out any longer?"
"Why?" He lifted the sword slightly, giving me a steady look. "Why not? I've been with them for quite a while, Ayrel, and I know how cynical they can be. I'll have some explaining to do when I get them out of here, but until then, I think that they'll go on believing what they want to believe, whatever you told them. They're a stubborn lot, that way."
Impassively, I hurled a fireball at him. He sidestepped, shaking his head as it burst on the cobblestones beside him.
"Temper, Ayrel. If you don't watch it, you'll end up looking like the bad guy. We can't have that, can we?"
Pulling the dragon buster from my belt, I thumbed it on. The blade ignited in a tongue of flame, writhing and dancing as it condensed and became something like solid. "Dart," I told him sweetly, "if you don't activate your spirit this instant, I'm going to have to force you."
"Trust you to want the impossible." The evil length of his blade glinted wetly, and suddenly he lunged forward with a roar, closing the distance between us in two great leaps.
The world flickered, and abruptly I was at his back, drawing on my power as I reached out to seize his shoulder as his blade cut through the empty air where I had stood. The focused energy blazed down through my arm, bursting from my palm in a great gout of flame, emphasized by a sharp detonation that resounded throughout the square. With a cry of pain Dart stumbled forward, going down to one knee even as he twisted, slicing back at me with his blade. It grazed my open hand and I recoiled back, clenching my fingers tightly around the stinging wound.
Dart started to his feet and I dropped the dragon buster, raising my good hand towards him threateningly. He froze, his eyes flicking warily from my hand to my face.
"So that's how it's going to be, then." He said, lifting his sword again. Steam was rising off of the charred fabric on his shoulder, but if the burn was causing his arm any pain, he wasn't about to let it show.
My palm tingled as I charged a new spell, more forcefully this time. "The spirit, Dart. Use it!"
He dove sideways as I let it go; the air crackled as a bar of white-hot light split the stones where he'd been an instant before. I jerked my hand back and grabbed the dragon buster, teleporting across the plaza to intercept him. A bad move; the instant I reappeared he was on me, rain streaming from the edge of his blade as he swung it two-handed, trying to batter my sword out of my grip. My arm numb from the shock of the blows, I let his blade slide off of mine again and again as I dodged sideways, trying to put some distance between us. One particularly strong blow knocked me back several steps; before Dart could close the distance, I raised one hand and hurled another fireball. He swept it away with his sword, but the second one hit home, colliding violently with his hip. They were hastily formed, and far from the strength they could have been, but they were enough; his leg buckled as he came after me, and blood was mixing with the rainwater dripping off of his clothes onto the stones. Still…
He feinted to the left, then flicked his blade to the right, locking against the hilt of the buster as I moved to block. Distracted by the sword, I never even saw him swing his fist.
Stars exploded in my vision as it connected with the side of my head, and I was knocked from my feet. I'd lost my grip on the dragon buster; I caught a glimpse of Dart shaking it free of his own sword as I rolled over coming onto my hands and knees. Desperately, I jerked in my will and teleported to the opposite side of the square. There, I was able to stagger to my feet, still shaking off the effects of the blow.
I touched my hand to one side of my face gingerly. 'Healing.' I fed a little bit of power into the spell, but not too much. I had enough energy to continue casting spells for quite a while yet, but there was no sense in using more than I had too. The pain lessened, and I blinked, able to see clearly again.
"You shouldn't be running, Ayrel." Dart was crossing the square slowly, breathing heavily. Beneath his coat his clothes were sodden from the blowing rain, and his shirt was stained with blood from a shallow cut across his ribcage. He held a sword in either hand, the dragon buster hissing and spitting in the downpour. "Sooner or later, you're going to get caught."
Dart's POV:
"Sooner or later, you're going to get caught."
It was sheer bravado on my part. This fight was over; I'd known it from the moment I wrested the Dragon Buster from her grasp, hoping for a chance to land a finishing blow. But she had escaped, and in taking her sword I'd done exactly what I had hoped to avoid and forced her into a position where she would have to use her magic. Steeling myself, I continued to walk slowly towards her through the rain, one step at a time.
"Is that so," she said coolly. Her back was against the wall, but she seemed to have recovered somewhat. "The spirit, Dart. You must be able to use it by now."
"Sorry. It's really taking its time rousing itself tonight for some reason." I stopped and looked around, for the first time noticing the biting chill that was slowly seeping though my layers of wet clothing. "Beautiful weather we're having, isn't it?" I remarked.
"Stunning," she replied flatly. She lifted both hands toward me, palms outward. "This is your last chance, Dart. Activate your spirit."
I felt the particular prickling sensation at the base of my skull, like needles tapping into my brain, as she gathered the energy for the spell. My wounded leg gave a sharp pang. There would be no evading this one. Clenching both swords tightly in my hands, I lunged forward toward her, knowing it was useless.
(Ark?)
((Yeah?))
(Unconscious, you said?)
The prickling became a spear point. For a moment I thought I heard a rushing sound; then the world dissolved around me in a blur of pain and black.
Mariko's POV:
"NO!"
Kaelin pressed her face against the glass, horrified. Far below, in the center of the courtyard, Ry fell back onto the bloodstained cobbles. As the others crowded against the window around me, I could only stare. Ayrel's spell had been all but invisible- to my eyes it had seemed nothing more than a powerful wind sweeping the plaza- but the pressure in the air as she had released it had been immense. And Ry had been caught in the center of it…
His face pale, Zion turned away from the vast window to stare at Asalla, who stood back from us a ways, watching with her husband. "He's a monster, is he?" He said in a sick tone, his voice shaking slightly. "Is that what you want us to think?"
Asalla looked over at her husband. Mathis was carefully re-wrapping a heavy piece of driftwood in burlap cloth, looking a tad disappointed. "He resisted using it," she murmured. "I wonder if he knew…?"
"HEY!" Zion grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. "What sort of sick trick is this?" He demanded. "He wasn't trying to kill her! He was here for us!"
"Mister Damnen!" Mathis said sharply, "Restrain yourself! Do not forget, we have your friend and her daughter just outside! There's already been one death tonight! Do not bring it upon yourself to be the cause of another!"
Zion's mouth worked silently, his face white with fury. "You…. You…" Behind him, Cai stepped away from the window to back him up, his face grim.
My ear was ringing. I frowned and shook my head absently, too numb from what I had just seen to give it much thought. Then I clasped my head as the ringing became a soundless roar, seeming to shake the air itself with a violent energy. I screwed my eyes shut, hearing Asalla suddenly gasp.
"Mathis!"
"Look!" Amaya said sharply. There was a rush as everyone hurried back to the wide window. I pushed in between Zion and Solana, an impossible hope rising in my throat. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust once more to the dim light, but…
Down in the courtyard, Ayrel was not alone. Slowly, incredibly, Ry was getting to his feet.
Ragnarok's POV:
He was dying.
Even as I shoved his faltering mind aside, I could feel his systems shutting down one at a time, unable to cope with the trauma Ayrel's last attack had inflicted on his body. Blood began to pool around his inert body, dark and steaming on the frozen cobblestones as his limbs slowly began to go numb.
(Dart!) I jostled him, willing him to stay conscious. (Dart!)
For an instant, it seemed that he might. Then, sluggishly, his mind began to darken. Lying on my back on the stones, I felt blood fill my throat and I coughed weakly to clear it, feeling the convulsions rack my body. (Hang on!) I jostled him hard, trying to shock him into alertness. (Damn it Dart, hang on! )
He wavered, on the brink. And then with a sigh he started to slip out of reach, fading slowly into the darkness.
It was then, in that endless moment that separated his life from oblivion that I felt it. For one fraction of a second, with nothing left to sustain it, the resistance Dart's mind had always harbored against my power trembled and weakened, wavering like grass in the wind. Without thinking, without hesitating, I hurled myself at with everything that I possessed. Unable to withstand the assault, the wall shattered like glass under the force of my mind.
Dart's body jerked painfully as my power suddenly filled him to bursting, overflowing. The darkness evaporated, taking the threat of death with it. Dart's mind stirred feebly against my own, then stilled. Unconscious. But alive.
Suppressing my own elation, I took control of the flow of power, cutting it off before it could overload his system completely. But the timer had started ticking; I had a minute, two at the most, before the flow became too much for his body to handle. And he was in hard enough condition as it was… Hurriedly, I began to feed a small bit of power into his body, forcing the wounds to knit themselves closed, refueling his exhausted muscles. The wounds covering my body began to burn and sting, in something that was almost, but not quite, real healing.
"So you refused to use it after all." Ayrel's voice floated out of the darkness. "Idiot. I didn't think you'd go down that easily." She almost sounded regretful.
The pain faded from my body. I rolled over, and slowly got up, swaying slightly. Just a little bit more…
"You can still stand? Amazing." Ayrel came to a stop before us, the dragon buster disengaged and hanging loose at her belt once more. "Why do you even bother? You're beaten, Dart. I could end everything with one swing, if even that." She sounded curious, but I could hear the gloat underlying the words. "Well, Feld? Any last words?"
Slowly, deliberately, I lifted my head, meeting her gaze eye for eye. Watched her give a start, confusion giving way to slow realization as she recognized the change.
The corner of my mouth twitched into a contemptuous smirk, water and blood flowing freely down my face.
"Brat."
She flinched as though I had struck her across the face, and in that split second I reached out to my own power, feeling the flow, remembering... and seizing it, I flexed my mind experimentally, much in the way that I had seen Zion flex his shoulders before drawing his sword.
The shockwave that followed blasted Ayrel back a clear ten feet, sending her rolling across the ground like a rag doll; the air cracked like a bullwhip as it rushed in to fill the invisible scar left in the wake of the strike.
I felt a grin spreading across my face as she rolled over, struggling back to her feet, recovering from the surprise. True, I had hit her while her defenses were down. But still, not bad. Keeping an eye on the stunned girl I began drawing my power, inward focusing it again. Closing my eyes, I breathed in deeply. No limitations; neither the forcefully imposed ones set by Dart or the natural restrictions that my natural dragon form had always set upon me. Eight hundred years was far too long to miss something like this.
Breathing out, I opened my eyes in time to see Ayrel activate the dragon buster, a tongue of forged flame in the semi-gloom. Stooping, I picked up my own sword from where it lay in a pool on the cobbles. The time was ticking away, and yet…
I released my power, letting it rage through me and down into the cold sword in my hand. The blade seemed almost to shiver as the energy thrilled through it, setting the crystalline runes alightwith a wintry fire.
Suddenly, I felt much better about this.
Ayrel's POV:
Ragnarok.
Dart had been down. Beaten. His body had been a mess, torn and bloody from my last spell. And yet the dragon was forcing him to his feet, dragging him back from the brink of death.
How could I have missed it? Power emanated from him like a cold wind sweeping the stones of the courtyard, searing my mind like something between an acid bath and an electric shock. It distorted the air, rippling and shimmering until it seemed that the energy itself must be visible.
Slowly it ebbed...then gusted in a powerful blast as Ragnarok exhaled suddenly, laughing. I raised one hand automatically to shield my face and braced myself as the wave of power broke against me, battering against my body like a gale. Was this really his power? Free from the restraints and restrictions of the dragoon armor, this raw unfettered energy... was this the true ability of the Divine Dragon?
Once again the tide of power diminished, only to gather itself about the wounded human body he used, focusing. Like a beast, coiling its muscles to pounce. Slowly, water running down the back of his wrist, Ark picked up his sword from where Dart had dropped it on the cobbles. Wiping the blood from his forehead with the back of his free hand, I was not entirely surprised to see the gash healing slowly, a bitter, festering red as it sealed itself closed.
"Ayrel!" He lifted the sword, pointing it at me with a dreadful grin. "We end this!"
Power lashed out at me, striking me across the face like a whip. Staggering back, I forced it away with my own- then raised the dragon buster just in time to catch Ragnarok's blade as it split the night, slicing at my head. The two blades met in a shower of sparks; my arms buckled, unable to hold it. Panicking, I turned my mind against him, pushing back with every once of power I could muster, only to have it swallowed up in his.
The resistance broke; his power smashed against me, sending me sprawling across the stones. I rolled to my feet, then dove out of the way as his sword drove into the cobbles, the stones splitting apart under the force of the attack. A dim haze seemed to surround the blade, an icy nimbus that writhed like cold fire in the darkness. He had joined his power with the weapon?
Again it surged; this time I was able to block it, if just barely. Focusing, I drew myself up to counter, but his power swelled over me, smothering the attack before I could even begin to form the spell. Suddenly nauseous, I leapt aside just in time to avoid his sword again. Stone shattered, filling the air with shards. Not knowing what else to do, I turned and fled.
There was no reason to it. There were no spells. Only an impossible power, a raw force that repulsed or destroyed everything it touched. One after another, I tried every spell I could think of- only to have them inevitably swallowed up by that dreadful power.
'For the love of Soa, where is father?'
I slid; at some point, unnoticed, the rain had turned to sleet, coating the avenue's surface with an oily slick that was worse than ice. Scrabbling, I struggled to find my footing, then lost it. I went down hard, sliding across the road even as I tried to get back to my feet, off and running again.
And then Ragnarok was there, swooping down upon me as though the slick had no effect. His feet skidded slightly; whirling, he swung at me again, his saturated, shredded clothing flying out behind him as he moved.
I raised my weapon, only to have it knocked from my hands. I had fallen, I realized, and I backed up on my elbows as he stood over me, dark and terrible with his power raging around him. For a brief instant, I recalled that moment in the valley of corrupted gravity where things had been so much the same, except that then I had found a way out. Now, staring up into his cold, triumphant eyes, I knew there was none.
He lifted his blade one final time, sleet and rain water trickling down its burning edge. "Remember what I told you, Ayrel." His eyes narrowed, and his power seemed to retract, focusing within his sword. "Never wound what you mean to kill!"
I closed my eyes as the blade fell.
The blow never came.
"Tsch…"
I cracked open one eye. Captain Trebara stood over me, blood dripping down his neck from where Ragnarok's blade had buried itself in his shoulder. He grunted, his feet sliding slowly from beneath him as he collapsed to the ground next to me, coughing. "Heh… heh…"
Was he actually laughing?
Ragnarok muttered an oath, lifting his blade once more. But even as he did so there was a sudden flash of green and father appeared in the air behind him, the weathered length of the dragon block staff clutched tightly in his hands. Before Ragnarok could move he swung hard, breaking the glass globe of the staff against his head.
The dragon stiffened. For an instant I thought that nothing had happened; then slowly, like a candle stuttering in the wind, his power died. And with a sound that was something between a snarl and a whimper, the Divine Dragon collapsed at my feet.
Kaelin's POV:
In the courtyard, Ry slumped to the ground for the second time in less than five minutes. This time, however, he didn't rise again.
The chamber was filled with a stunned silence, broken only by the sound of Asalla's hysterical weeping. No one spoke; even if we had been able, what would we say? What we had seen was impossible. He had been dead, or as good as. And then, in moments, he had…
I looked away, unable to watch any longer. 'The Black Monster. Damn it Ry, is that what you really are?'
"We're all monsters on the inside, Kaelin. It's what makes us human."
I suppressed a groan, finally seeing the truth. He had as good as told me as much in Solana's manor back in Tiberoa. How had I been so blind?
Once Asalla had regained control of herself somewhat, she went to the door, commanding a detachment of guardsmen to see us to the holding cells under the temple. Too numb to protest, we did as we were ordered and allowed ourselves to be taken through to the lower levels. There the guardsmen divided us among three cells and left us, alone in the semi-darkness with only a single lamp to cast any light.
The silence stretched. No one seemed to be willing to speak; the memory of what we had just seen was too unreal and vivid all at the same time.
Finally, Solana spoke. "What was that?" She asked, her voice subdued
"Who knows?" Zion said miserably. "I don't know what to think any more. The Moon Child is full of it- she has to be… but…"
"Ordinary people don't hurl others around without touching them, Zion," Cai growled. "I'm starting to think she was telling us the truth."
"Yeah, right." Zion glared at him. "You would be the first to say something against him, wouldn't you?"
"Don't be an idiot!" Cai snapped. "We all saw what happened. You can't deny it!"
"He's not trying to," Amaya interjected smoothly. "And Zion, calm down, okay? Cai's got a point. No one seems to have been telling the truth, lately."
Solana shook her head. "It just all seems so… wrong. He always seemed so ordinary."
That one hung in the air for a moment.
"Well, okay. Maybe not ordinary," she corrected, "but I never would have thought that he was in to something like this. Right, Kaelin?"
I hesitated, leaning against the grille. What should I say?
"Well, actually…"
I stopped at the sound of footsteps. Two guardsmen entered, Ry slung between them, half-dragged, half-carried. My breath caught in my throat. Up close, he looked even worse than I had thought him to be. Haggard and exhausted, his whole body trembled and spasmed, as though caught in the grip of some unimaginable horror. His clothes were in tatters, and seeping half-healed wounds, livid and scabrous, slashed his arms and torso. Sweat and blood had matted his hair, and his head hung limply, his teeth clenched and grinding as he snarled and whimpered helplessly like a beaten animal.
Almost carelessly, the two guards dragged him into the cell next to us and dumped him unceremoniously onto the stones. He jerked and writhed for a few moments as the guards drew back, but once the door to the cell closed the jerking subsided into a tremor and he lay almost still, breathing hoarsely with his cheek pressed against the cold stones.
Asalla watched this all from the other side of the bars, her face a mask as she instructed the guards to leave. She watched them go; however, when she turned back, the mask had slipped slightly.
"You fool, Ragnarok," she whispered. "You desperate, blind fool."
Her words hung in the dead air, and for a long moment the only sound was that of Ry's labored breathing. Finally, Zion cleared his throat, finding the words.
"What's wrong with him?" He asked quietly, looking back and forth between them. His voice was calm, but in the lamp lightfiltering into the cell I could see that his eyes were disturbed. It had been one thing watching the fight from the window, but to see Ry reduced to such a state...
"He left himself open," Asalla replied, "and the dragon took all that he had to give. His body's been pushed beyond the limits of human endurance, and now it's all but broken." She gazed at him, her eyes troubled. For an instant there might have been pity in her eyes, but if it were it was gone in the next. Then she turned away, her hair streaming gently behind her like a cloak. "He'll live," she said flatly, without turning around. "The pact he made with that accursed dragon will see to that much. But for what strength he'll possess..." She turned at the bottom of the stair, looking back over her shoulder. "He might as well be dead."
Sorry if there were many typos in this one; I'm a bit tired right now, but I really wanted to get this up tonight. Just let me know, and I'll get around to fixing them.
If anyone's interested, I finally got around to doing a general artwork (headshots only) of the dragoons and Ayrel. It can be viewed at http/ After the next chapter, I think I'm going to have to take some time and go back through and fix up some details in the past few chapters. There's a load of inconsistencies and such that I never got around to fixing, and really, really need too. Plus there were the obligatory few things that I wrote in intending to use later on, only to have the game plan change and make them pretty much useless and out of context. It's really been irking me lately. Not to mention a general spell check and re-formatting of everything so that it's all the same.