Hello everyone! (And one is right, KaiserMonkey, I'm forever indebted to you for that review) I'm back! With yet another installment of... (Drum roll please)... Reawakening! Yippee!

Sorry I took so long, but I had a major attack of writers block, and exams, and I was reading TGC and TSK again. Does anyone know what His Dark Materials means, by the way?

DISCLAIMER: In case you need to refresh your memory (and I really don't see how that can be), here goes:

I don't own HDM or any of the stuff in it. All of that belongs to the big guy, the great one, the one with all the imagination...Philip Pullman. I am merely a humble leech upon his vast genius, and own nothing but the (pathetic) plot.

Chapter 2 - Temptation

It was 6 O' clock in the evening, and the shadows lurking in the nooks and corners of the Botanical Gardens finally came out from their hiding places, and ran together to form an all-enveloping darkness. It flowed all over the garden and awakened a young boy sitting all alone on a bench, hidden away in an unobtrusive corner of the vast gardens. This particular boy was trying to be as unobtrusive as the bench itself, he was consciously trying to merge into the background. Nevertheless he attracted many curious stares, and mothers hurriedly shepherded their young children away from him, for there were several things about this boy that were very strange indeed. For one thing, he had a knife, a knife, in a sheath at his waist, and for another, he moved one hand rhythmically beside him, as though petting a cat. Where this cat might be no one could know or tell, and they all surmised that this boy was mad, and gave him as wide a berth as possible.

Will was, however, oblivious to the tense mutterings and suspicious stares, for he was used to it by now. He stared off into space, intense eyes searching for something beyond the comprehension of mere, ignorant onlookers, all the while stroking his cat - daemon, Kirjava, who lay curled up beside him, as oblivious to her surroundings as was Will.

Presently, he got up and stretched, a surprisingly graceful, fluid motion which drew comparisons to the lithe movements of a cat, and glanced briefly at his cheap digital watch before setting off towards the entrance of the Gardens, his brow still clouded by thoughts of far away people and places. He effortlessly jumped onto a bus that was just pulling out of the stop, in a movement that betrayed years of practice, for nearly every day for the past three years he had been coming to these gardens to sit on that bench, sometimes for only a minute, sometimes for an hour. But every year, on Midsummer's day, he would spend hours and hours and hours, staring off into space, all by himself, until darkness fell, and it was time to go home to his mother.

He took a window seat, the one he always took, three seats behind the driver, and watched as the buildings whizzing past became steadily more run down and decrepit, until finally the bus, nearly empty now, reached the station nearest home, one so small and insignificant, dirty and grimy, that its name had long ago been forgotten, even by those who used it daily. This was No-name Station; about five minutes walk away from the tiny, grimy studio flat where he now lived.

It was not for want of money that he lived there, for his father was a rich man, and his parents even richer, and there was enough money in the trust to enable them to live comfortably. But the remnants of Lord Burial's influence still lingered, and there were still people who knew about the knife and its legendary powers, people who would stop at nothing to get it. So Will and his mother had to move every few months, living in fear, looking over their shoulders at every turn, waiting for the inevitable.

Mary was now in Spain, far beyond their reach. She had arrived back in their world to find pictures of herself pasted on every wall, every streetlight, and every newspaper in Oxford. The police wanted her, and wanted her badly, for The Boreal Corporation, whose Dark Matter research wing was now headed by Dr. Oliver Payne, were none too happy about the research she had destroyed, and had friends in very high places. Left with no choice but to run, she had fled to Spain, with Will's help. Spain had no extradition treaty with England, and besides, she made a very valuable addition to the Governments dark matter research team. The Boreal Corporation could only fume, because Spain had no intention of letting her go, and, in order to make sure that she did not leave, paid her handsomely. So handsomely, in fact, that she had been able to buy a house, a charming house with a red-tiled roof and cream painted walls, with a large garden in which otherworldly trees shimmered and swayed. She grew in wealth and prospered, and asked Will to join her in Spain, visions of living as a big happy family in her mind. But Will had declined, at the cost of his safety and peace of mind, for nothing would make him leave Oxford, especially the Botanic Gardens, his last link with Lyra. Mary had accepted this with resignation, but insisted on helping Will somehow, by sending him money or advice or simply a kind word to cheer him up when he was down.

Will got off the bus, with the same bewitching grace that accompanied all his other actions, and began the short walk home at a brisk pace, for his mother, all alone at home, poor thing, would begin to worry if he was late. So intent was he upon reaching home, that he did not notice the strange feeling in the air at first. But Kirjava stopped dead and stared straight ahead, the beautiful shadow-grey fur on her back standing up straight, her back arched, ready to spring.

"What is it, Kir?", asked Will, suddenly alarmed, for he too had sensed the feeling in the air, of things stirring, things awakening, that long dead that should have remained so.

The shadows in front of them shifted, and formed one, no, two hooded figures, which advanced towards them slowly, and stopped about five feet away. They exuded an air of unmistakable evil, and still seemed to be composed of shadows, that shifted and stirred unexpectedly. Will looked about him for an escape, but found none. He was in a dark alley, backed onto on both sides by dark, forbidding buildings, not even lit by a streetlight. Behind him was yet another of the mysterious figures, moving slowly toward him. There was no escape, none at all. Will's hand went instinctively to his belt, where the knife lay concealed under his long shirt, and grasped the hilt of the knife, knowing that even the mere two inches of blade still attached to the hilt would be of great use in a fight. But nothing, in all the universes, had prepared him for their tactics.

Beside him, Kirjava made a small sound, as though to remind him of her presence. He reached out to her, and drew strength and courage from her presence, before challenging the figures in a loud voice that did not betray his fear.

"Who are you?"

"You are William Parry", said one of the figures. It was hard to tell which.

"Who are you?" he said again, now distinctly frightened. They knew his name! Kirjava rubbed herself against his legs, trying to reassure him, though she was troubled too, and afraid.

"Don't you want to see Lyra again?" said another of the figures, the one behind him this time. He had a soft, lilting, almost hypnotic voice.

Will span round and said harshly, "How do you know about Lyra?"

"We know many things. We know about the Angels. About their great Lie."

"What lie?" asked Will, in spite of himself. He could tell that these...creatures were evil, but they knew something about Lyra...Hearing them out would do him no harm...

"The so-called intentions of the knife can be dealt with by the Angels." continued the creature, "They have the power to destroy the spectres created by the knife, and if you closed it up quickly, no Dust would be lost. It would be such a simple matter for them to let you live together, a few years in her world, a few in yours. A very simple matter. They tore you apart; they broke your heart, when you had fulfilled your purpose, just like they let your father die."

"Yes..." said Will dreamily "They tricked us", through the thick fog that was filling up his mind. There was something wrong here, he knew, but he couldn't place it. Kirjava was trying to tell him, insistently, thrumming, but he swatted her away. Something was wrong, though, and it was rising slowly through the seas of his consciousness, dredged up from the heavy mud of his memory, but it was rising ever so slowly, and his mind was slow too, like treacle. And suddenly he had it! It was a voice, a voice he knew very well, belonging to a scruffy girl in a green blouse, and it was telling him... it was telling him, that the Alethiometer never lied

Suddenly, the fog left his head, and he could think clearly again, and he knew what he had to do.

The Odrath seemed not to notice, for he said, "So you should reforge the knife, bring it to us and we will help you, and then you can see Lyra again, and never have to be separated ever again. Ever again."

Will was barely listening, he carefully calculated the distance to the end of the alley. It would take him only two seconds to get there, and if he caught the creature by surprise, he could be well away by the time the others recovered. It was a long shot, but it was the only chance he had. He tensed his body, preparing to run, but then something happened...

A little golden tornado like structure, about the height of a man, burst into being in front of him. It seemed to be composed of millions of tiny golden particles that spun faster and faster, and suddenly, in the centre, there was a dark shape of a man, indistinct, but getting clearer and clearer all the time. With a blinding flash...Will threw up his hands to shield his eyes... the golden tornado disappeared, and in its place was a man, a slight man with fair hair, who turned to the shadows and said, "Go!". He did not shout, he did not raise his voice, but said it with unmistakable power, cold fire blazing in his eyes, and the creatures just turned tail and drifted away.

Will, blinking red spots out of his eyes, gaped at the man in surprise. He was very slight, and not much taller than Will. He looked to be in his early twenties, but there was something in his eyes...something that he had last seen in the eyes of Serafina Pekkala, that suggested infinite wisdom and knowledge and kindness. He turned to Will, and asked, "Are you the Bearer?" He had a soft, deep voice, like the growling of a big cat, that was quite incongruous with his appearance. Will nodded, still not having recovered his voice.

The man's eyes widened." But you are just a child!"

Something entered Will's eyes, and he looked back at him coldly, saying nothing. Lucien noticing, as many had done before him, the power and force in his eyes, said

"Perhaps not just a boy then. What is your name?"

"William Parry."

"Willia - oh! William Parry, of Ev - I mean Lyra?"

Will nodded again, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"How do you know that?"

"Your tale has spread far and wide. I was told of it by the Minstrels. But we must move from here. Do you have a place where we can speak in safety?"

Will nodded, narrow eyes never leaving the man's face." I live close by. Do you know what those things were?"

"Yes, I 'll explain. But not here. They will be back before long. My name is Lucien, by the way"

And Will, head reeling with questions, led the way to Apartment block C-952, and home.

A/N: That's it then. Ta-daa! I know it's not very good, cos as I said, I had writer's block. I'll change it if it's terrible, later, but you gotta review! You could just say: "Good" or "bad" or "so bad you ought to be torn apart by cliff ghasts and dropped into the Abyss". Pretty please?