Beautiful Collision
"Funny Little Frog"

Two hulking guards clutching seven-foot-long lances nodded amiably to Cornelia in greeting, as the dank stone floor of her basement gave way to the immaculate ivory marble of the Meridian palace. "Evening, Lady Cornelia," rumbled one in a gravelly baritone. "The Queen is upstairs in her private study. Allow me to summon an escort to accompany you there."

"Oh, that's okay." Cornelia waved a French-manicured hand in dismissal. "I'm not really expecting a sneak attack from the third floor solarium—but thanks for the offer."

The guards merely nodded again and resumed their attentive stances flanking either side of the portal, leaving Cornelia to continue on her way, swinging a bulging paper shopping bag from one hand. She'd never really considered the oddity of being welcomed by enormous humanoids brandishing sharply pointed ears and teeth and gouging implements, when she stepped across the threshold into her best friend's home. It was simply something one got used to, when one's best friend happened to be ruler of a parallel world. And frankly, it was a trifle less annoying than the way Will's mom was always barging in with glasses of Tang.

Oh…Will. Cornelia heaved an impatient sigh. She really hadn't wanted to dwell upon thoughts of Will, not tonight. Not Will and not Caleb and definitely not about the two of them engaged in a passionate tongue-tango. But Elyon didn't know about the breakup yet, which meant that she'd spend at least an hour recounting all that had happened, and another alternately cursing like a sailor and sobbing like an infant. At least she'd come with the necessary equipment.

She passed the aforementioned solarium—really a lunarium now that it was nighttime—en route to Elyon's study, wondering what kind of official queenly business could be occupying her at this hour. Upon reaching the door, her knuckles hovered uncertainly over its surface, but her hesitance was interrupted by the sound of her friend's voice from within.

"Come on in, Cornelia. I'm almost done."

Cornelia peered around the door jamb. "How'd you know it was me?"

"Uh…magic powers, remember?" The flaxen-haired Light of Meridian shrugged, a slight grin creasing her features as she scrawled across a piece of parchment. She was seated behind a large gilded desk, her diminutive form nearly concealed by piles of papers, sticks of sealing-wax and partially unrolled maps that looked like they might fall apart if nudged. "That and the guards have far less dainty footsteps than you do. Go ahead and sit down." She gestured to a wingback chair nearby, still not looking up from whatever it was she was jotting down.

"Yes, your Highnessness," Cornelia responded dryly as she plopped into the pale lavender velvet cushions, dropping the bag at her feet. "What's with all the paperwork? It's not like you're punished with nightly geometry anymore."

"No, I've got to pick territorial governors from a group of over five hundred applicants," Elyon replied crisply, dunking her white peacock-feather quill into an inkwell. "Which means I've got over five hundred letters addressed to 'O Most Exalted Sovereign Light of Meridian' to slog through. Believe me, I'd rather be doing geometry. And next time I come visit you, remind me to pick up some normal pens at the office supply place. This stupid quill keeps drying on me and I can't stop sticking it in my mouth."

Cornelia suppressed a tiny snicker as she peered at Elyon's black-stained lips. "Good, 'cause I was about to lecture you for taking up the mall goth look. Don't you have…underlings that do that kind of thing for you?"

"Subordinates," corrected Elyon, attempting to rub her mouth with the back of her hand and only succeeding in smearing ink across her cheek. " 'Underlings' sounds like some kind of weed you'd step on…the kind of thing Phobos would have called them." An unmistakable edge crept into her voice at the less-than-rosy memory of her older brother. "And the laundry's one thing, but I'd rather oversee this sort of matter myself. I don't really trust policy-making left up to other people. You know. They could be doing what he did."

"What, playing you like a fiddle?" Cornelia answered automatically before clapping a hand over her mouth. "Uh…I mean…"

"It's okay, Cornelia. It's the truth, after all, isn't it? That's why I'm taking care now to not let anyone pluck my strings. I have advisors, sure, but I'm the one who has the final say on everything." Elyon finally dropped her quill back into the inkwell and rubbed her mouth again, making a face. "And I say I think I've had enough for tonight." She lifted an eyebrow at Cornelia's parcel on the floor. "What's in the bag?"

Holding the bag aloft, Cornelia began unloading the contents upon Elyon's desk. "Well, I've got two pints of Haagen-Daas, one Bananas Foster and one butter pecan, both of which are rapidly melting. One economy-sized box of tissues with those little polka dots that kill bacteria…and last but not least, a copy of the Vance Michael Justin opus Ocean of Tears, the very last film of his celebrated poet-shirt phase. Oh, and spoons." She held up one in each hand.

Elyon blinked, then took a closer look at the DVD case. "Isn't this the one where the girlfriend gets cancer and they decide to elope? And you were gnashing your teeth the first time we saw it because you thought the actress playing the girlfriend looked like Courtney Grumper and she wasn't worthy?"

"Uh…if memory serves," Cornelia said, shrugging with an air of feigned innocence.

Elyon nodded thoughtfully, then took on a suspicious look all of a sudden. "Wait a second. Ice cream, Kleenex, and Leukemia Theater? Cornelia, did you break up with Caleb?"

Cornelia sagged. "That obvious, huh?" she answered quietly.

Elyon pointed toward the chair again, expression sympathetic, but her eyes bearing a ravenous sort of curiosity. "Sit down and take the Kleenex with you. I want to hear everything."

So Cornelia obeyed the royal edict, beginning with her and Caleb's aborted last evening together and leaving out no uncertain detail—strange necklaces, 'obligations' and all. By the time she got to Will's sordid admission at yesterday's lunch, Elyon's eyes were wide as saucers, a spoonful of runny butter pecan paused halfway to her open mouth. "What? Will and Caleb? Making out?"

"Well…" Cornelia wheedled, trying to recall Will's exact words. "She didn't…exactly say that. She said he kissed her."

"But how? French or sans tongues? Friendly peck on the cheek? CPR? There's a lot of things that constitute a kiss, you know. I need details."

Cornelia felt mildly rankled at Elyon's apparent enthusiasm over the subject, then patiently reminded herself that after all, Meridian shopkeepers did not carry Star Tracks or Celeb-Blab Weekly, and the young queen's only real source of gossip were the staff rumblings from the kitchens. And while on occasion, one might overhear from the housekeepers an entertainingly lurid topic like a hundred and one uses for dual-horned skribben testicles, usually it was about mundane (or gross) things like which guard was caught using the palace planters as chamber pots. A matter which earned her Cornelia's sincerest sympathies. "Well, she didn't really say that either," the Earth Guardian was forced to admit, twining a blonde tendril around one finger. "She just said that…she'd been crying over Matt in front of him…and that it was nothing."

"So…maybe it was." Elyon inclined her head as she scraped her spoon across the bottom of the container.

"But…but…" The outrage and misery that Cornelia had been stewing in these last few days—which she had, as of yesterday, directed at the Keeper of the Heart—reduced from a steady boil to a feeble simmer. Maybe that was all it had been. Caleb trying to comfort an upset Will. Friends did that sort of thing for each other all the time—so what if they happened to be seeing other people?

Except the both of them had, technically, been on the rebound at the time. And Will's initial reluctance to admit it had even happened was kind of strange—as was when she'd finally spit it out, clapping her hands to her mouth as though she'd expelled a state secret. And then there was still that pendant… The boiling resumed as Cornelia shook her head. No, she wasn't willing to forgive either of them yet. Her wounded feelings were still a long way from scabbing over.

A sharp knock on the door cut into Cornelia's thoughts. "Come in, Aldarn," Elyon called around her spoon.

The green-skinned ex-rebel strode in, dressed in the immaculate uniform and cape of Meridian's Captain of the Guard—a position offered him when his best friend Caleb had refused it. He stopped short as his eyes settled on Cornelia, looking maybe just a touch flustered at the sight of the young woman he'd once attempted to chat up with fakey-ollies—but quickly regained his confident composure and bowed deeply to both her and Elyon. "A thousand pardons, Lady Cornelia, Your Majesty—but there's been another disappearance to the north, and I thought you might want to be notified as soon as possible."

Elyon stood up suddenly, her spoon clattering to the desk. "Not Crystalgard," she said in a low voice that Cornelia hadn't heard before—a voice tinged with dark, ominous notes of concern.

Aldarn inclined his head in confirmation. "Young girl, aged seven, wandered away from her family's wagon. Parents are cloth traders en route to a bazaar in the north—they stopped the wagon about a quarter-mile south of the town in midafternoon to take a nap. When they woke, she'd disappeared. Of course," he added in a somewhat unconvinced tone, "it's also possible that she could have been carried off by an animal—but given the circumstances…"

Elyon bobbed her head rapidly. "No, no, you're right. I just…" the young monarch pressed a hand to her brow in frustration. "We've sent soldiers to inspect three different times, and every time they find nothing! Usually not even a footprint! And I just…I have a feeling that this time won't be any different, and yet…" She sighed, closing her eyes. "Only seven years old…"

"Wait, wait, wait a second," Cornelia interrupted, rising from the chair and waving a hand at the other two in mock-kindergarten fashion. "Um, Official Guardian of the Veil here. Is something going on that I should know about? What is this Crystalgard place?"

"It's a town—well, it used to be," Elyon corrected herself. "A long time ago, before Phobos came to power, it was home to a colony of artisans. Glass artisans, mostly, which was where the name came from. They designed the most awesome buildings—and plants and flowers and trees that were all made from colored blown glass—there's a book in the library full of drawings of them. Now it's all just ruins, with shattered glass everywhere you walk." These last few bitter syllables made it evident that Elyon clearly thought her brother had had something to do with that as well.

"It's fairly remote, so few people bother heading near it," Aldarn added. "But travelers passing through to one of the other northern villages have been known to pick over the ruins. And occasionally, one of them will just…disappear. There's no rhyme or reason to it at all."

Cornelia mulled this over. "You're thinking something lives there? Some kind of…body snatcher?" she speculated.

"If there is, we've never found hide nor hair of it," Aldarn said, shaking his head in baffled exasperation. "I was with the outfit that investigated the last disappearance—a man in his mid-twenties, a thief by all accounts, who'd bragged to some of his tavern buddies that he was going to bring back something valuable. We inspected the remains of every building, combed through pile upon pile of glass shards—nothing. You'd never know anyone had been through."

"Maybe it's something you can't see," Cornelia wondered aloud, thinking back to that overgrown warthog with invisible tendencies that had terrorized the halls of Sheffield until the Guardians stepped in.

"If it is—and if it's something involving magic—I ought to be investigating, myself," Elyon sighed again as she adjusted the gold circlet proclaiming her status, which twinkled merrily even in the room'sdim light. "If there's some sort of invisible stronghold full of Phobos sympathizers hanging around, we're going to need a lot more than just a couple of royal guards on call."

"Which is why you have me," Cornelia pointed out, stepping closer to wind an arm around her best friend's shoulders. "And the other Guardians. Why don't you let us check it out first, and if we end up in over our heads, we'll call on your awesome royal powers to finish the job, O Exalted One?"

"Quit that!" Elyon giggled, though the seriousness hadn't fled her features entirely. "All right. I'll leave it to you guys. But are you sure that isn't going to be a problem? I mean, you and Will working in tandem so soon after the…you know?" Her eyes flickered to Aldarn, whose own face held obvious interest, but was clearly not about to beseech the matter.

"Oh. Right." Cornelia hadn't thought about that. Giving Will the chance to lord her Supreme Guardianship over her just two days after she'd had the gall to suck face with Cornelia's boyfriend—okay, technically, ex-boyfriend—sounded about as much fun as rolling naked in a pile of manure, or getting a hot-oil massage from Blunk. That was to say, not.

But there were more important things to worry about now, like a pair of distraught parents missing their little girl. This was business—the business of Saving the World—and Cornelia was determined to be the bigger person, regardless of how petty her feelings toward Will might have been at the moment. And besides that, Elyon was counting on her.

She pulled on a bright, phony toothpaste-commercial smile and nodded reassuringly at the Queen of Meridian. "No biggie. I'm a professional, remember?"

The previous morning, Caleb had awoken in the dark, thrown together his meager belongings, tacked a sheet of vellum with a scrawled thank-you to Sario for his hospitality to the silo door, and set off on foot to the north. Somewhere around noon he'd lucked into catching up with a traders' caravan headed in the same direction, who'd been more than willing to let him stow away in one of the wagons once they noticed he was the great Caleb, resistance leader and modern folk-hero—a pronouncement which, much to Caleb's own surprise, had made him blush. The Caleb of three years ago would have been loudly proclaiming himself as such, he had thought wryly, but then again he hadn't yet been humbled by a certain quintet of formidable little girls.

That night had been spent partaking of the traders' hospitality, sharing stew and swapping old war stories around the bonfire when they'd stopped to camp for the night, then falling asleep underneath the stars to the lonesome serenade of a pan flute. In the morning he'd continued on with them as far as the creek at Heartsfall, when the caravan diverged east. Which was where he happened to be now, lying sprawled on the creek bank among tiny violet flowers and humming insects, staring up at the clouds which thickened as they sailed on brisk winds across the sky to the north.

Throughout all of this, he'd been trying not to think of Will.

And for the most part, he'd failed. Miserably.

Oh, he'd damn well made an effort. He'd tried to lose himself in the rapt attentions of a few of the merchants' daughters the night before, who'd hung on his every word—and, in the case of a particularly bold girl in a blue kerchief, hung on his arm as well—as he'd trotted out the heroic tale of his rescue of the Threbian lord's daughter for the dozenth or so time. But as he'd gotten to listing his extensive catalog of battle scars, he'd made the mistake of looking into one girl's eyes—warm reddish-brown eyes—and suddenly he wasn't looking at a stranger's adoring face at all, but rather a familiar redhead with a sarcastic lopsided grin, arms folded in a silent proclamation that he was going to have to try a lot harder if he wanted to impress her.

Caleb groaned. Like what? Start a band and take up the electric lute? Would that impress her?

It was all moot anyway. He had no business even thinking such a thing, not when Will was still all heartsick over Matt—and when he himself was only three days severed from Cornelia. It was for the best that he'd decided to simply stay away from Earth—and all of the Guardians—for now while he got his head together and got back to business. Girls were just an unnecessary distraction. A never-ending source of anxiety and grief that kept him from his true purpose.

So what if they'd been invaluable allies in the war; it was peacetime now and he had no need for their powers. So what if they'd become his closest friends; he had other friends here, on his native side of the Veil, not to mention legions of admirers—most of them female. So what if he'd fallen in love with one of them three years ago; he had nothing to show for it now but a bruised ego and an extremely agitated ex-girlfriend who might cause a literal earthquake if she were mad enough. At least he was safely out of range.

And so what if he'd kissed the Keeper of the Heart. It had been just a kiss on the forehead, nothing more. A very brotherly gesture. Except he hadn't felt the least bit brotherly while he was about it. Not with his nerves crackling electric, turning to live wires and his blood to molten lava as his arms enfolded her lithe body…as one hand had stroked the soft garnet hair while the other rested on her back, keenly aware of the trembling flesh under the thin cotton of her top…Oh, gods. His blood pounded furiously at the all-too-vivid memory.

"Why did I have to kiss her?" he roared at himself in frustration, but got no response other than the bubbling of the creek and a few scattered ribbits from frogs hopping amongst the rushes.

Caleb rolled over on his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows as he watched the small spotted amphibians—perhaps the most pervasive reminder of Will yet—tread the shallow water. "Frogs. Figures," he grumbled. "Even nature's against me."

This just wouldn't do. He couldn't go on constantly losing himself in thoughts of Will, his pulse racing at the memory of what it had felt like to touch her, not when he wasn't sure he could ever look her in the eye again after that damned cheeky attempt at comforting her. The way she'd wrenched away from him—well, sure, he'd been surprised by the kiss himself, but she'd acted as though he were contagious.

He'd only made things worse. Will wanted Matt, not him, and he should've been trying to encourage her to that end, instead of talking smack about the guy—whether he deserved it or not (and Caleb was firmly convinced that he did). And Will deserved to get what she wanted, even if it was that…straggly-headed, string-plucking skainsmate. (Whose string-plucking skills were, frankly, nothing Caleb couldn't replicate on a handcrafted Metamoorian bandora with an ounce more style to boot.)

But she deserves better than him! flared his indignant thoughts again. She deserves…

"CALEB!"

Caleb's eyes shot wide open at the gleefully gutteral exclamation of his name that pierced the sleepy creek air. Not exactly the voice he'd been hoping for…but it had been a long time since he'd last heard it nonetheless, and he couldn't help but expel a tiny sigh of relief.

"Blunk," he responded, turning himself upright once more to face the bug-eyed creature's unabashedly cheerful face. Even though the pilfering green passling had proclaimed himself Caleb's eternal bosom buddy back during their days tangling with Phobos, he had thankfully opted not to accompany the rebel on his restoration tour of Meridian. Swiping and swindling were, after all, a bit counterproductive to charity work. He seemed much the same as when Caleb had last seen him: same snaggle-toothed grin; same stained burlap bag of no doubt ill-gotten goods in his grip; though the odor seemed to have improved… "Long time no…" Oh. There it was. "…smell."

"What Caleb doing out here?" Blunk inquired, dragging his heavy wares behind him as leafhoppers scattered in his wake, oblivious to the fact that his human friend's expression indicated a sudden and intense battle with his gag reflex. "Why not with girls?"

Caleb scowled before he could stop himself. "Caleb needs to get away from girls for awhile, that's why. What are you doing all the way out here? Pickings must be pretty slim."

"On contrary!" crowed Blunk, his uneven yellow grin spreading from ear to ear as he held the mouth of the bag open for Caleb to peer inside. "Look at all Blunk sparklies! Many sharp edges, so double as stabbing weapon. And, since Caleb Blunk favorite person, Caleb get ten percent off!"

Caleb raised a suspicious eyebrow as he studied the bag's contents. A cracked hand mirror with a beautifully sculpted pewter frame glinted dully up at him among a colorful riot of smashed blown glass. There were all sorts of shapes and objects, all rendered painstakingly in transparent glass: a broken amber-colored branch with a still-intact rosebud and leaf; a replica of a human hand shot through with electric blue to represent veins; a tiny green frog the size of his thumb, eyes two miniscule flecks of black. He held the frog aloft in his palm, wondering to himself whose idea of a practical joke this was. "Where did you find these, Blunk?"

"In town that way." Blunk stabbed a finger in the general northernmost direction. "Nobody there. Long gone. Left sparklies lying on ground, all smashy-smashy. So Blunk help himself."

"What?" Caleb's brow furrowed. He'd heard plenty in his lifetime about the abandoned settlements to the north. During Phobos's reign, his troops had taken particular enjoyment in cutting off the trade routes and ransacking caravans for their own selfish gain, forcing an exodus of the townspeople when the grain that was supposed to sustain them throughout the harsh winters never arrived. Every now and then you'd come across human bones half-buried on the trails, each a solemn marker of someone who hadn't been strong enough to make the journey to a more fruitful village. He remembered, as a young boy, watching his father rebury a pile of unusually small bones, not realizing at the time they belonged to a child likely not much older than himself. The memory infused him with simultaneous swellings of sorrow and rage.

But in all the stories he'd heard, there'd only been one mention of a "glass village." The one his mother had talked about whenever she gestured proudly to the ornate looking-glass that hung over the bureau. The one Phobos's soldiers had smashed to pieces the night they'd come to burn the house of the rebel traitor Julian. The last tangible thing they'd had left of her.

Caleb swallowed, hoping his emotion wasn't visible on his face. He cleared his throat and tried out a nonchalant tone. "Blunk, you think you could show me where this place is?"

As usual, Blunk took no notice of Caleb's mood, too absorbed in his own mercantile machinations as he scratched his warty chin, pondering. "All right," he said at last. "Blunk show Caleb, but Caleb not tell anybody. Blunk want market cornered. And if Caleb want frog, Caleb pay for it. Blunk not eat off five-finger discount."

Caleb opened his clenched fist, having forgotten all about the tiny glass frog pressed into his palm, now glittering up at him as a stray ray of sunlight poked through the clouds. Why the hell not, he thought. Maybe it'd bring him luck.

A/N: I live! And I apologize profusely for my absence. Things have been semi-nuts since the move, coupled with the fact that I've apparently lost my will to write (which I'm sure is proportionate to the fact that I lost Toon Disney when I switched cable providers, gack, so no more reruns for me).

This chapter's not as long as I originally wanted (they never are), but next time expect a chap with Caleb, more Caleb and basically nothing but Caleb. (Okay, a little Blunk. Not much, I promise.) I'm afraid his reunion with Will is still a ways off…and that's all I'm gonna say about that. (is evil)

Crystalgard is based off a town of the same name in the ancient PC game LOOM (which you might've noticed I have a forum dedicated to). Aside from the name, the only real similarities are the purpose of the town (glassmakers' colony) and the fact that it went smashy-smash. That's it. (LOOM's Crystalgard, in fact, looks like it was constructed from Coke bottles and is manned by guys in spandex who somewhat resemble Dr. Zoidberg from Futurama. I can safely say mine will NOT be like anything of the sort.)

Chap title is a great song by Belle and Sebastian…and "skainsmate" is an Elizabethan euphemism for "prostitute." Moo ha ha. (I'm a dork.)

Once again, thanks for your reviews, you guys are really the best inspiration.