Enter The Light

Part Eighteen: Memories and Rain

Standard Disclaimer Thingie: Characters, not mine. Plot mine. Actually, this section is totally mine. So don't steal, don't sue. K? Thanks.
The sun was still high in the sky, but the clouds were gathering overhead, making it feel and later in the day than it really was when he caught sight of the enormous manor rising behind the iron gates. Wormmon was quiet, eyes following his partner's every footstep. "Do you remember this, Ken?" the caterpillar questioned in a soft voice.

"Dimly," he answered. "Distant memories. It was raining when I was last here, wasn't it?"

"I think so. Cold and dark, too."

There was a long silence. A warm wind blew through the trees, scattering pink and white blossoms through the air, making the black house look even darker against the colors. There was no movement on the grounds except for what was caused by the breezes, no people to be seen, no noise to be heard.

The wind grew stronger briefly, and laughter could be heard, echoing on the breeze. He turned, sharply, the dark hood falling from his cloak and fluttering behind him in the breeze.

There was no one there.

"I heard it," Wormmon said when his partner glanced toward him. "I don't know where it came from, though."

The wind gusted again, filling the air with blossoms and leaves. The sky was a blend of pink and orange and dark blue in the setting sun. Again, distant laughter echoed.

"Who's there?" he demanded. "Why are you playing games with me?"

"Because it's fun," answered the voice, and laughed again.

"Show yourself."

"As you wish."

The air seemed to fold and melt before him and from within the ripples appeared a woman with silvery hair beneath a bright red hat. She wore a pair of dark-shaded glasses, so shiny that he could see his face reflected in them. His hair had grown longer in the months he had lost, and his eyes reflected an exhaustion he did not recall having seen before. He stared, both at her and at himself, until she laughed, breaking him from his trance.

"Who are you?"

"You'd like to know, wouldn't you?" she said, her voice a mocking tone. She turned her head and with one graceful movement pushed the silvery hair back from her face. "I won't tell you, not yet. It's fun to play games." She smiled a grim sort of smile.

He grimaced. "What do you want?"

"To play games with you. It's going to be such fun, I can tell." Idly, she twisted a strand of hair with her fingertips. "I hope you enjoy yourself. I have high hopes for you."

Then, she was gone.

"What was that about?" he asked Wormmon, who was similarly clueless. He sighed, turning back toward the gates.

The air rippled and bent in front of him and a small red digimon emerged from the middle of nothing. He stood still for only a brief moment before dashing away, moving quicker than the eye could follow.

"Be careful," Wormmon advised. "That's Igamon. He moves quickly, and once he has a target, he is relentless."

"Is that so?" he asked conversationally. He was about to ask something else, when he caught, in the corner of his eye, a glint of shiny metal as it caught the light of the setting sun. He dodged quickly, stepping backwards, and a small star-shaped knife appeared in the trunk of the nearest tree.

"Shall I?" the caterpillar questioned. Before his partner could answer, another star whirled past his head, neatly slicing off the ends of a few locks of hair.

"Without delay."

"Wormmon evolve!"

The carriage was a raging fireball now, beyond saving. It burned brightly, the flickering flames reaching toward the afternoon sky and the sun high above.

The plains were silent, with only the tall grasses rustling in the wind. No one spoke. No one moved.

"How - ?" Takeru asked, breaking the silence at the same moment Hikari moved away from him, toward where the flames were leaping, near where Daisuke had collapsed into the tall grass, barely visible.

Hikari fell into the grass beside him, eyes wide, a few tears forming in each eye. "I should have known," she said.

"Is he hurt?" Miyako questioned, moving through the grass. She was squinting, focusing her sight on him now, seeking out hidden spells.

"I don't think so," Hikari answered, breathing a heavy sigh. "Thank heavens."

Takeru recovered his voice, shaking his head as he moved forward. "I don't understand. An illusion?"

"Seems that way," Miyako said, still squinting toward the magic, frowning in concentration. "I don't know enough about spells of illusion or anything like that. All I know is that something was broken, but something else remains. He's enspelled in some way."

"Do you see…," Takeru began, then hesitated, glancing toward Hikari. "Do you see gold, here?" He motioned toward his neck with his right hand.

There was another moment of silence, and then Miyako raised one eyebrow in surprise. "How did you know?"

Hikari sighed, shutting her eyes as she did so. "The spell that binds him, it would not break as easily as that," she said, rubbing her head as though she felt a headache coming on. "He is still enslaved, then."

"Stingmon!" called the green bug, now significantly larger than the tiny caterpillar he had replaced.

"Doesn't matter," called the enemy digimon from somewhere in the leaves of the nearest tree. "I'll still destroy you, no matter how powerful you become. Shuriken Throw!"

Wisely, Ken ducked behind a tree, and he heard two solid thunk, thunk noises as the stars were embedded in the trunk. With his left hand he felt a few hairs on the left side of his head, which were now significantly shorter than the right side.

"Stay there," Stingmon advised, launching himself into the nearby forest. Before long, the sounds of battle could be heard, and leaves and blossoms scattered in the wind, the unfortunate victims of the battle.

Cautiously, Ken peered around the edge of the tree, then ducked back behind quickly – just in time to avoid two more stars from slicing off the end of his nose.

"Yahhh!" shouted Stingmon, his voice echoing off the trees. He must have hit something, because there was the sound of a collision, but it didn't seem safe for his partner to check to see.

"Ha-ha!" laughed Igamon. He had either dodged or was crazy.

"Enslaved?" Miyako echoed blankly. "To – whom?"

There was a long silence. Takeru sat in the grass and watched the flames grow larger. Shijo had stood for a long time, staring wide-eyed at the proceedings, but now, feeling tired, he sat down in the grass as well, still watching.

"To…me," Hikari said when it had become clear that Miyako wasn't willing to forget the question.

Miyako rubbed the bridge of her nose. The flames leapt high into the mid-afternoon sky. A few embers took root in the dry grasses so the fire spread.

"We ought to stop the fire somehow," Takeru said idly, but seemed disinclined to move.

Taking a deep breath, the young mage lifted her right arm. The wind grew stronger for a moment, and the flames blew in the opposite direction.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Hikari questioned, feeling the breeze. Miyako said nothing. The wind grew even stronger, whipping itself into a tornado.

"Shield your eyes!" Patamon advised, and all did so, as the wind whipped up dust, dirt, and stray leaves and scattered them around.

It seemed as though they were in the center of a tornado for a moment. Shijo covered both his eyes with one hand and pulled the collar of his shirt up to cover his mouth with the other. The wind whirled around in circles, roaring in his ears, and then finally lessened.

"Was that necessary?" Takeru demanded, coughing. He'd managed, despite his best efforts, to swallow and breathe in some of the dust and dirt.

Miyako took a deep breath as though she were calming herself. "No," she answered shortly. "I could have allowed the plains to catch fire and spread from here to the nearest village or town and kill people." She sat down, hard in the grass.

There was a silence for a few moments. Takeru fell backwards in the grass and lay still for a bit, watching as a large, fluffy white cloud passed over the sun. "Now what?" he asked of no one in particular. The cloud moved on. He shut his eyes and yawned.

"We stay here, I suppose," Hikari answered. "Unless you wish to carry him."

"I don't. Then what?"

"Then we keep going."

"Going where?" Miyako asked.

Hikari stood, turning her face toward the ocean. Takeru sat up, listening for the answer to this question. A light breeze blew past, rustling the grass and blowing her skirts in the winds. "Out there, somewhere," she said.

"To sea?" Patamon asked.

"You want to go to sea?" Takeru questioned at the same time.

"There's an island my mother told me about," Hikari answered, turning back to face the others. "She told me to go there because it might help me to find some answers. He said that the spells to free slaves were lost. If anyone knows…."

"He who?" Miyako interrupted.

"I don't know."

"A stranger, dressed in a cloak so dark we could not identify anything about him," Takeru informed her. "He said that he no longer had use for a slave and he would have killed him, right then, if Hikari had not taken him."

Miyako was quiet, but her eyes were wide with shock.

"No," Shijo interrupted. "Not the same."

"No, I don't think so either," the mage said, shaking her head.

The boy sighed, an expression of relief.

"He could not free him because he said the spells were lost. The spells to create slaves were lost, too, until Daisuke found that book. Or rather, until he found the book and gave it to Daisuke." Takeru turned his eyes toward the one he spoke of now, lying in the grass.

"I don't know where he went," Wormmon reported, and it was only by following the sound of his voice that his partner was able to locate the small digimon among the leaves in the lower branches of a large tree.

"He's gone?"

"Seems that way."

"I don't think we've seen the last of that woman, whoever she was." He held up his arm and the small caterpillar climbed down on to his shoulder. The dirt crunched under his feet as he turned to face the iron gates and the house beyond.

Rain began to drip, slowly, from the sky, landing softly in the short grass.

"What do you think she wants?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "She said something about wanting to play games, but…why? There must be something else."

Wormmon was quiet. The only sound was that of the ever increasing rain drops as they pattered to the ground, bouncing off the dirt, the grass, the stone wall, and the iron gates. Ken sighed deeply and stepped forward.

Creaking slightly, the gates opened, seemingly by their own power. He pulled the hood of his cloak up to shield himself from the rain and walked along the road toward the house.

The grounds were empty, which was not surprising given the weather conditions. Rain sounded loudly on the stone walk, increasing from gentle drizzle to powerful downpour as he crossed the lawn.

Once, there had been gardens filled with flowers and vegetables, Ken suddenly recalled. A tree with a low branch had once had a small swing tied to it, and roses planted around it. Now, the blossoms on the tree were sparse, looking weak in the dark rain. All that remained of the roses were tangled vines that wrapped around the tree trunk. There was no swing any longer.

He could almost remember, when he concentrated hard enough, his mother sitting on a small wooden bench beside the stone path, watching as her sons played on the swing or tending to the roses. Now, the seat was rotten and the grass beneath it was brown, not yet revived by the spring.

Halting his steps, Ken shook his head. "This is not where I should be."

The rain had been building in the south for some time now, but by the time it arrived at the coast it was nearly dark. Nothing from the carriage could be saved to offer shelter save some pieces of badly burnt wood. There were no trees to take shelter below on the open plains, nowhere to go within walking distance, and no magical solutions to be obtained, for both Miyako and her partner had tired themselves enough.

Takeru, with Shijo's assistance, jammed some of the taller pieces of the least-damaged wood into the ground and then draped both his and Miyako's cloaks over them, creating a space only just large enough for them all to fit under, so long as no one stood.

As the sun went down over the ocean, the rain battered the makeshift shelter, loudly echoing above the heads of those huddled beneath.

"We ought to find some way to send word to Jun," Takeru said, and then repeated himself at a louder volume, as no one had heard him over the rain.

There was quiet for a while. Miyako set a pile of already half-burnt wood aflame again for warmth (there was nothing to cook to eat) and then shut her eyes and adopted a pose of concentrated meditation.

After some time, the rain slowly abated, still steadily falling, though not as hard. "Tomorrow," Hikari said abruptly, "we travel north along the coast until we arrive at a small dock beside an inn called the Rusty Plate."

Takeru raised one eyebrow. "You want to eat at a place called the Rusty Plate?"

She shook her head. "Not particularly, no. At that dock will be a man with a boat, with whom I wish to travel."

"To sea?" Patamon asked, turning in the direction of the water.

She nodded. "My mother told me of an island which is a sanctuary for mages and magic of all kind. She told me that to travel there might help me to understand some of myself. I think that, if there is a way to free him, it will be found there."

Both Hikari and Takeru glanced toward Miyako to see if she knew anything of this island, but she was quiet, eyes shut, still meditating, and it appeared as though she had paid no attention to the conversation.

"I think you should take Shijo and return home, Takeru."

A frown appeared on his face and slowly grew more pronounced. "I don't much like the idea of you traveling alone," he said cautiously.

"I won't go alone," she returned. "I want Miyako to go with me, if she will. And Tailmon."

"I should hope so. I'm not staying behind," the feline agreed sharply.

Takeru fell silent, his frown not disappearing.

"It's the court of the Wizard's Council," Miyako said, not opening her eyes, her voice startling all in the quiet. "The Sanctuary Island."

"You have heard of it?" Hawkmon questioned.

"Vaguely." She opened one eye, then the other, blinking twice. "The Wizard's Council judges magic – or rather, those who use it."

"Judges?" Takeru echoed. "What does that mean?"

"The council is responsible for bestowing titles on mages or wizards or sorcerers. They will unite seasoned magic users with apprentices, and send mages to places which need them. They can, if necessary, aid in training."

"How far is this island?" he wanted to know. Miyako shook her head.

"I don't know very much about the island, only about the Council," she told him. "I expect it would be a few days journey out to sea, and I believe it is only reachable by those who have use of or great need of magic."

"I have great need of magical assistance," Hikari said. "Or rather, he does."

The rain was only a drizzle now, the sun long sunk below the horizon by the time he had convinced himself that he ought to enter the great house. He had argued with himself for a while, and then questioned himself a while longer. There were memories here, and he was fairly certain that his mother still resided in this place, but it didn't seem as though it was the place that he ought to be. Some place, some person, perhaps, far away from where he now stood, was calling to him. This place seemed to both welcome and shun him.

There were no guards, no servants, and no workers out in the cold rain, and it was not until he reached the main entrance that he saw two doormen lazily resting against the stone walls, oblivious to his arrival until he was nearly past them. They recognized him at once, their eyes growing wider than their faces as they hurriedly bowed.

"M-my Lord, welcome," the braver of the two managed to stammer out. "We were not expecting you on such a night."

For a long moment he said nothing, as if not quite certain if he was the one they were addressing. Then he turned his face toward the nearer of the two men. "My mother - ."

"She is within, sir," came the answer. "Shall I go ahead and tell her you have come?"

He frowned then, turning away from them to study the door with some great interest. "No," he said. "I will go myself."

"O-of course. A-as you wish," he stammered, and they both hurried to their feet so they could open the door. Before they had reached it, however, he had done so himself and was inside.

The hall inside was tall but dimly lit, with only the sparsest of candles and torches on the wall. The sound of the rain was muted here, but his footsteps echoed on the polished stones of the floor. Distant, hushed whispers could be heard, and then the sound of hurried footsteps in the distance.

It was cool but not uncomfortable in the hall. He removed his cloak, dripping wet from the rain and smelling none too pleasant. Carrying it, he walked through the hall and when he reached the doorway at the end, he was not surprised to find that a housekeeper waiting, arms hesitantly outstretched to take it from him. She must have been the bravest of them all, but even she was shaking slightly, her legs wobbling as she stood. Ken wondered what his mother had been told, what she had passed on to the servants, and what tales they had made up themselves to explain for his prolonged absence. He frowned, knowing that the truth would be enough, but knowing that it was not likely that they knew it.

"Can you tell me," he began when the girl had taken his coat. She froze with one foot in the air and though she had turned away, Ken was certain that her eyes had grown wide and sweat was beading on her forehead. His voice, even quiet, echoed frighteningly off the stone walls. He finished in a near whisper: "where I can find my mother?"

It was a moment before she replied, having swallowed her fear and lowered her foot and turned to face him again, though she never dared raise her head to see him clearly. "I-I believe she is in her chambers, m-my lord," she answered finally, her voice squeaking slightly on the last syllable.

"I see," he said, his voice again soft. "Thank you." She turned again to leave, and he called after her in the same volume, "You might throw that out. I've no more use for it now."

He could hear whispers from the hallways as he walked through them, scurrying footsteps. "I can't blame them," he said to Wormmon, who rode perched upon his shoulder. "I would be afraid in their place, too. I wonder what they have been told."

"I can hardly imagine the rumors that have been around," Wormmon answered. "Misinformation spreads faster than the truth."

"This is true," he conceded.

They had reached the door he had been heading for, an ordinary wooden object with an ordinary metal handle, same as nearly every other door in the building. He hesitated as he had done in the gardens, staring at the shiny metal as it reflected a candle on the opposite wall.

He took a deep breath and entered the room.

It was as dim as the corridor had been, and he wondered if he had chosen the wrong room. The memories had not been wrong yet, but perhaps she had moved to another chamber while he had been gone, or perhaps he was remembering wrong, this time.

He took in the room slowly, his eyes seeking to fill in the dark blankness of the space before him. There was a fireplace on the wall to his right, and a window directly before him, through which he could see the rain gently soaking the grounds beyond. The sound of the light shower tapped on the glass panes, surrounded by dark red drapery, tied back on one side with a loose cord. There was a door beside the fireplace, leading to another room, and another window to the left of the first. Between the windows was a small chest of drawers, a small mirror placed on the top of it, reflecting the fire and the room's latest visitor.

To his left was an assortment of chairs and couches and a few small end tables. The floor was covered with a dark red carpet that exactly matched the drapery on the windows. One chair faced the far window, and it was in this seat that a woman sat, watching the rain out the window, sipping a small cup of tea, saucer resting on a table beside her.

She was smaller than he remembered, and older, with a few strands of grey peeking through her hair. He took a deep breath and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him, hoping it would announce his presence.

But she didn't turn, in fact didn't seem to notice that anyone had entered the room at all, and he realized that this was to be expected, for maids and servants had probably been entering and leaving this room all day, bringing her tea and helping her to dress and other such tasks. He would have to speak up for himself after all. He took a step forward and cleared his throat, which was enough to startle her into turning and facing him.

As the doormen had done upon first sight of him, her eyes grew wide in her face and the color seemed to drain away. She blinked three times and then got to her feet, shakily, steadying herself on the arm of the chair. She took a step forward and wobbled, and instinctively Ken stepped forward crossing the room and taking her arm before she fell.

"You live!" she said in one breath, an expression of relief or shock or fear he was not quite certain. "Oh…Ken…you are real, aren't you?"

He nodded. "Yes, Mother, I'm real." He tried a smile, found that it didn't completely hurt, and saw that she was smiling, too. So it wasn't fear she felt, he concluded with some relief.

"Oh, Ken," she said again and collapsed into him.

Wow. Progress.

More to come, obviously. Thanks for waiting, reading, reviewing

Enjoy!