Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

-Chapter Five-

Jak waited impatiently for King Damas to answer. That was why he was here, wasn't it? For Damas to help him find his home?

But Damas was staring at his map the same way Samos looked at him when he'd done something so astonishingly stupid that words failed him. Disbelief, suspicion, and denial were all plainly written on his face. It was enough to make Jak fidget uncomfortably, especially when he found those intense violet eyes drilling into him. What? he wanted to say. What is it?

"This map," Damas said. "Where did you learn about all these places?" Each word was weighted with demand, not only for an answer, but for the absolute and utter truth. Now.

Jak winced. Somehow, Damas made him feel like he'd done something wrong, like he was once again a little boy who'd been caught poking around in places he shouldn't be. It was a very disconcerting feeling, more so because it wasn't Samos or his uncle chewing him out for some misdeed. In fact, as far as Jak knew, he hadn't done anything. Why was Damas mad?

Feeling awkward and uncertain, he reached out to touch Sandover's name on the map. This is my home. He met Damas' eyes, trying to will him to understand. He pointed to himself, then at the map again. Home. Why wouldn't I know about my home or the places around it?

If anything, Damas' expression hardened. "You cannot be from Sandover," he said harshly. "You might fool anyone else with that story, but I know Haven's history. Sandover has not been known by that name for three hundred years."

It was like someone had yanked the very ground out from under Jak's feet. He stared. What? That didn't make any sense. Sandover had nothing to do with Haven. Jak had never even heard of Haven before that Precursor ring brought him there. And three hundred years? What was Damas talking about? Jak shook his head in denial. I don't understand.

"Could there be some other place called Sandover?" Sig stepped in. "If he came through a transport ring, he could've come from anywhere. Maybe there's some other part of the world the Metal Heads haven't destroyed besides Haven, Kras, and Spargus, and we just haven't heard about it 'til now."

Damas grimaced. "Possibly. Although that does not explain the geography on this map."

"We don't know how accurate that map is, Damas," Sig pointed out. "It sure as hell doesn't match completely with what we know. Names can get reused. For all we know, this could all be coincidence."

The glare Damas shot the other Wastelander could have peeled off paint. "I like that theory even less. Dismissing connected things as coincidence is a good way to get yourself killed in the Wastes."

"You're right, it is," Sig said levelly. He crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to back down or be intimidated. "But jumpin' to conclusions before we've looked at all the angles is even more dangerous."

Sig made sense. Even though Jak still felt like he was missing something important, something that the other two were seeing in his map that he wasn't, he could see at least that. They obviously didn't have all the pieces of what was going on here.

Though his mouth twisted like he'd bitten something sour, the king nodded reluctantly. "True. I will have my monks collect whatever maps of the world they possess. We can go over them and compare them to Jak's map to see if anything else fits." Then, coming to an abrupt decision, he gestured toward the lift. "It's late. We can continue this conversation later. Sig, take Jak to a spare room. See that he is given food and water, and fresh bandages if he needs them. I will see you both in the morning."

Jak lifted a hand, preparing a protest that he wasn't tired. He wanted to keep talking and figure this out. He wanted to see the maps of the world and find Sandover. But a heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him. He blinked up at Sig.

The warrior shook his head. "No arguin', cherry," he said. "When Damas gives you an order, you obey it."

Something rebellious rose up inside of Jak. He'd never liked that reasoning, doing something just "because I said so!" He was also getting tired of following Sig like a puppy. It was one thing when he was lost in an unfamiliar world and the man was offering a friendly, helpful hand, but Jak felt like he was finding his feet now. He didn't need to be treated like a child.

He planted his feet and scowled. No.

Sig grimaced as he realized Jak's intention to fight the command. Still holding onto Jak's shoulder, he leaned forward and glared right back. "Listen to me, and listen to me good, Jak," he said, voice low enough not to reach Damas. "Maybe you don't realize this, but your life is in that man's hands. You don't wanna get tossed out in the Wastes, you do as he says. Right now, you know somethin' he wants to know, but if you cross certain lines, that won't save you. Understand?"

Jak faltered. Sig couldn't be serious, could he? What kind of leader threw someone out just because they didn't do exactly what he said? His eyes were drawn to Damas, but the king's expression was unreadable as he watched Jak and Sig. His arms were folded across his chest and he stood tall and strong. He looked like a warrior to Jak. He looked like a leader. But he didn't look cruel.

Was he really like that?

Taking advantage of Jak's distraction, Sig pulled him toward the lift. The teen stumbled, unprepared, but this time he didn't protest. Unhappily, he realized that he didn't know what to believe.

Maybe some time by himself really was for the best.

-o-

Sig didn't allow himself to relax until Jak was safely in a room with food and water and strict instructions not to leave. For a minute there, he'd felt certain the kid was going to do something stupid, like mouth off to Damas - or whatever the equivalent was for someone who couldn't speak. Damas was a ruler of a hard people, used to dealing harshly with any who stepped out of line. Sig wasn't certain how he would respond to a teenage boy who wasn't a Wastelander, but he didn't want to find out.

Damn kid's gonna give me gray hair, he groused.

After dropping Jak off, though, he didn't immediately go to his own place in Spargus. Instead, he headed back to Damas' throne room, despite knowing that the man had probably meant his orders for Sig, too. Something about that whole conversation bothered him, and it wasn't just Jak.

Damas was still there when Sig got back, sitting hunched on his throne with his chin on his hand, but he didn't look up even when Sig stepped off the lift. He just kept scowling at the water and the remains of Jak's sand Metal Heads.

So it wasn't just my imagination, Sig noted grimly. Something was eating at the Wasteland king, something that had prompted him to end his questioning of Jak before he'd even broached the topic of the Metal Heads. "Damas-"

"You could have warned me," Damas cut him off.

What? Sig opened his mouth to ask what the hell he was talking about, but Damas went on.

"You could have warned me that he looked like Mar."

Sig blinked. "What?"

Damas finally looked at him. The lines on his face seemed more pronounced than ever, and hidden pain flickered behind his eyes. "Jak," he said. "The boy. He looks like Mar. Too old, of course, but..." He gestured toward the water, as though Jak were still there, then let his hand fall into his lap. He was still scowling. "You could have said something."

...so that's what this was all about. "Damas," Sig said slowly, "the last time I saw Mar, kid was barely walking. It's been longer for me than it's been for you. You know that." He'd argued that he wasn't certain he could recognize Damas' son when Damas had first sent him on the mission to find Mar, but there really hadn't been anyone else. At least, no one the king could trust. "Jak's what, fifteen? I can't look at a fifteen year old kid an' say 'oh, hey, he looks like that baby.' You say he looks like Mar, I'll believe you, but I honestly didn't see it."

Silence filled the chamber, broken only by the soft rush of water as it was churned by the wheels beside the king's throne. Damas was a stubborn man, and he had difficulty letting go of things. Especially, Sig knew, when it involved the man's son. It took several long minutes before he grudgingly conceded Sig's point and let the topic drop.

Well, not drop so much as shift focus. "Have you found anything?" he asked. His eyes pleaded with Sig. Give me news of my son.

Sig hated this part of his reports. They both knew that if he'd found any hint of Mar's whereabouts, any clue who had him or if he was even still alive, he would have said so right at the start. But Damas had to ask and Sig had to answer. He shook his head, forcing himself not to look away when disappointment flashed across the king's face. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

Damas didn't respond. He just turned his head, staring at the water, but his eyes saw nothing that Sig could see. Letting out a slow breath, Sig quietly withdrew to the lift. At this point, Damas was best left to his thoughts and his grief.

-o-

Morning couldn't come soon enough for Jak. He didn't know how long he'd slept on the flight to the desert, but it was enough that he woke well before the sun came up. The starlight that filtered through his window was barely enough to see by, so he was forced to sit in his bed and wait. And wait. And wait. It felt like an eternity. By the time the sky brightened, he considered it a very real possibility that he would be as old and gray as Samos.

But Sig had made it very clear that he wasn't to leave his room until someone came to get him. After what had happened the last time he'd left someplace that Sig had told him to stay, Jak was inclined to listen. For now, at least.

The room itself was a spartan affair. On one side there was a cot with a thin mattress and a sheet, rumpled from Jak's restless sleep. An old clay chamber pot sat in the opposite corner. A battered wooden table was the only other piece of furniture in the room, unless he counted the crate he'd used as a chair when he'd eaten his dinner. An unlit torch was attached to the wall by the door, but he had nothing to light it with. Everything else was plain, worn stone.

Somehow, inexplicably, it reminded him of home.

He spent some time looking out the window, enjoying the second story view and the fresh night air. The air was a lot cleaner here than it had been in Haven, and the buildings weren't as crowded together. They looked better, too. No metal or rust, just rough hewn stone and cloth awnings. I think Daxter would like it here. He smiled wistfully at the thought of his friend, wondering what the ottsel was doing. He'd be looking for Jak, of course, but what kinds of things and people had he found?

Eventually, he pushed away from the window. Hoping for something to occupy himself with until Sig or Damas or whoever appeared, he began poking around the room. He left the chamber pot alone as both smelly and uninteresting, and looking under the bed revealed nothing but darkness, dust, and cobwebs. The crate, however, yielded unexpected results.

What are these? he wondered, fingering the strange yellow capsules that had been inside. They were about the size of his finger and glowed very faintly, and he could almost swear that they felt like eco. Curious, he tried to pry one open.

Ow! Oh, it was eco, all right. Jak sucked on his finger to relieve the sting of the yellow energy. Something had been done to it, changing it slightly to something he hadn't been prepared to absorb, but there could be no doubt. He could feel the warm tingle of the yellow eco swirling around within him.

Eyeing the case full of capsules, a thought crossed his mind. I bet if I broke open enough of these, I'd have enough eco to fire a blast at that torch. And that in turn would give him light to see by. That and boredom were good enough reasons to go through with the plan, so he plunked himself down in front of the crate and set to work with a will.

Half an hour later, with dozens of empty shells on the floor, Jak finally felt like he had enough eco collected. He'd have to be careful not to hit the torch directly, or he'd risk blowing it to pieces, but if he hit the stones right next to it, the heat of the blast would do the rest. With yellow energy swirling around him, he took careful aim.

Unfortunately, that was exactly when Damas walked in. The blast went wild as the startled teen jumped, and instead of lighting the torch, it nearly took off the king's head. Damas threw himself to the side with an oath just as the eco shot past his ear, and it went through the door and out of sight. The ensuing explosion said more than enough about what happened to it next.

Slowly, Damas straightened and leveled a dark glare at the still-glowing Jak. "What did you just do?"

Jak cringed. It was an accident! Oh man, where was Daxter when you needed his fast-talking excuses?

Damas suddenly strode forward and grabbed his wrist, holding it up to examine it more closely. Jak felt a moment of panic as the yellow eco tried to jump from his hand to Damas', but the man didn't seem to feel it, even when it passed through his skin.

No, not through his skin. It was going into it. Jak's eyes widened.

Is he... absorbing it? The thought was almost as shocking as the near-accident. Jak had never met anyone else with his talent for manipulating eco. Even the sages could only deal with their one type, and somehow he didn't think that Damas was a yellow eco sage.

When Damas finally released him, his expression was inscrutable. "You can channel eco," he said. It wasn't a question, but Jak felt like a response was expected, so he nodded. It was the simple truth. "Have you handled other types besides yellow?" Another nod. Jak ticked the colors off on his fingers.

Yellow, red, green, blue, and... He hesitated. Light eco was incredibly rare, so rare that almost no one had heard of it. He only knew about it because of his fight with Gol and Maia. If he brought up a fifth eco, Damas would undoubtedly ask questions. Explaining that story without any help would be a lot harder than describing his fight with those Metal Head creatures, and he wasn't certain he wanted Damas to know about light eco. He still didn't know how he felt about the man.

In the end, he decided to stick to just four fingers.

"Hnn." Damas eyed him consideringly. His gaze went to the crate and he raised one naked brow when he saw the drained capsules that littered the floor. Once again, Jak felt like he'd done something wrong - and this time maybe he had. Those things probably belonged to someone. He shifted uncomfortably, waiting to be read the riot act.

But Damas didn't blow up at him as Samos would have. Instead he just... turned away. "I want you to clean this mess up," he said as he headed for the door. His voice was stern and brooked no argument. "When you are done, you will find clothes waiting for you outside the door. Change into them and meet me downstairs." The door closed behind him.

Jak blinked. That was it? No threats, no yelling, no nothing? Maybe Sig was exaggerating about him, he thought, cautiously hopeful. He knelt down and started picking up the shells, putting them in the chamber pot for lack of a better place. The task only took him a few minutes, and when he opened the door, he found a neatly folded pile of clothes waiting, just as Damas had promised. Sitting on top of them were his goggles. He'd left them in the water by accident after telling the king his story. Apparently Damas had found them. Jak fingered them, feeling something strange inside his chest.

The clothes were somewhat worn and didn't fit as well as his old ones had, but there was a belt to make up for the looseness of the waist and they were clean. The tunic was brown and sleeveless and the pants were a light tan. There was even a pair of boots. Jak would have preferred to keep wearing the wrappings and leather that had protected his feet up until now, but if Damas had bothered to get him boots, there was probably a reason.

Once he finished getting dressed, he left the room and went down the stairs. He'd barely reached the bottom and spotted Damas waiting when the man tossed him something large and black and bulky. He fumbled it in surprise, nearly dropping the thing, but when he got a grip on it, he found that it was a gun. He stared at it, then at Damas. What?

"If you're going to play with bullets," Damas said firmly, "you're going to learn to use a gun. You obviously have no respect for weapons, and that can get you and those around you killed." As you have already demonstrated. The words hung unspoken in the air, making Jak wince with chagrin. But he couldn't deny it, and somehow that made it even worse. He almost did kill Damas. The king watched him for a moment, then continued briskly. "Use the strap to holster it on your back. We will see to your training later. Now, come with me."

Jak did as he was told, slipping the dark blue strap over his chest as he trotted after Damas. They didn't head back the way he remembered coming the night before, but went down a different street. It soon became apparent why when they stopped in front of another small building and Damas rapped on the door. The door opened almost immediately and Sig stepped out, dressed and ready despite the early hour. It was as though he'd known that Damas was going to come.

Maybe he did. Jak shrugged the matter off as unimportant and waved at Sig. Sig nodded to both of them, though his eyes lingered on Jak's new gun. Damas didn't offer any explanation, though, for which Jak was grateful. Instead he went straight to business.

"I received a report last night about Metal Heads infiltrating the Monk Temple," he said, both his voice and his expression grim and serious. "The monks tell me that this should not be possible. All the entrances are well guarded to protect their secrets. However, there may have been something they overlooked." His full attention turned on Jak, who blinked back uncertainly. "Jak, Sig told me your story about how you arrived in Haven. Tell it to me again, and make certain you are absolutely clear. There may be lives at stake."

-End Chapter Five-