Eternity

Part 5

By Mieren

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Mouri gasped, his eyes stinging at the sudden burst of light. Above him, he caught an image of a deathly pale figure framed in a thick mane of onyx hair. Impossibly black eyes shone back at him, framed by translucent flesh streaked with eerily visible arteries and veins. He shivered uncontrollably, the blood loss he had suffered insignificant when compared to the unearthly visage facing him. An unnatural chill raced down his spine and through his limbs, creeping slowly up his neck and across his cheeks.

"Feeling better now, or are you still in pain?" a soft baritone queried. "I was beginning to think that my efforts were in vain."

"I… I'm okay," Mouri answered uncertainly, still unsure of his savior. The strange words rung in his ears, though he was too groggy to understand the significance of the strange verse. The very presence of the man set him shivering. He recognized that the words were not in any language that he could readily translate, but that didn't seem to hinder his understanding of what the man was saying.

"Very well, if so you say," he murmured, preternatural obsidian eyes locking onto the trembling elf. "Then wish you to rejoin the fray?"

Mouri's head had barely dipped in acknowledgement when the world around him suddenly shifted, colors and shapes blurring together and reforming almost instantly. A wave of vertigo hit him and he nearly collapsed. A firm hold on his arm steadied him. Though he heard voices ringing around him, he couldn't collect his thoughts quickly enough to catch their first few words.

"Where am I?" he asked groggily, blinking vaguely as he tried to bring the world into clarity. His right eye didn't want to focus.

A strong hand slipped under his jaw and pulled his head forcibly upwards, dragging his still blurry gaze towards the ceiling of a high cave. Someone pried his right eyelid back and peered deeply into his eye. A good deal of muttering and grumbling ensued. Mouri exhaled weakly and sagged into the arms of the man holding him, making a weak effort to maintain his feet when he was pulled to a standing position once more.

"For the love of… just let him sit down," an irritated voice rang out. Mouri frowned and squinted miserably in the darkness. That had sounded like Sage.

"What happened? I thought that you were…"

"As delicate as you always were," Sage interrupted. "Shut it, Kento. Can't you see he's hurt?"

"I assure you he's not," Anubis interrupted. Mouri found himself being hauled to his feet once more by a blurry youko who he believed to be Rune. Anubis's voice was too far away for it to have been him. "A better question would be, who did this to him? Or perhaps, how did he get here?"

"Must have been a master of the arts," Rune's voice rang out only inches in front of him, confirming Mouri's guess as to who was holding him up. "This is incredible. To have thought that such a thing was even possible." After that, the youko's voice deteriorated into excited gibbering and strange squeaks.

"Do you suppose that this is some sort of trap?" Kenji asked, pessimistic as always. Mouri felt the blue-haired sorcerer prodding him in the side.

Mouri stiffened, tired of being treated as though he wasn't there, tired of being prodded and utterly ignored. Straightening, he slapped Rune's hands away from his trembling form, barely noticing that he was still quite nude. His eyes narrowed, bringing the cave into focus suddenly and sending a strange warmth spreading across the right side of his face.

"Do you people mind?" he snapped, grabbing the front of Kenji's already tattered shirt and hauling the stunned sorcerer into the air one-handed. The fact that he had been mortally wounded only moments before, and shouldn't even have had the strength to do what he was doing at his prior peak of health didn't even cross his anger-overloaded mind. "Would you quit talking about me like I'm not here? I'm not deaf, you bastards!"

The realization of what he was doing didn't hit him as hard as the sight of his right hand, encased in silver from the middle of his palm to half way up his forearm. Only the last joint of his thumb was visible. Most of his fingers were plagued by the shining metal to some degree, his hand appearing as though it were covered in some strange glove with the fingers cut out at different lengths. His fingers opened of their own accord, dropping Kenji to the floor, the sorcerer forgotten. Shaking fingers ran across the silvery metal, leading him to the shocking discovery that it was not entirely metal. His skin felt strangely warm and smooth where the silvery coloration covered his arm. Experimentation found that his arm moved as freely as it ever had, though an eerie tingling feeling radiated outward from the silver every time the metallic skin shifted.

He was so entranced by his hand that it took him several seconds to notice that the damage extended far past his arm. From shoulder to a little past his elbow, his left arm was covered in the same shining silver, which spread outwards from his shoulder across his collarbone and the top of his chest and back. A starburst pattern appeared in the center of his chest, causing his eyes to widen from the memory of the final blast that had passed straight through him. He didn't have to crane his neck to know that a matching hole in his back was similarly filled with silver. His gaze dropped to various streaking of silver across his abdomen and legs, some of the sections appearing to have replaced enormous chunks of flesh. He had a sneaking suspicion that there were twin stripes of silver across his face where deep, partially healed lacerations had previously been. Running one hand across his right ear confirmed that the cartilage terrorized by the invisibility rune had been replaced as well. On a hunch, he trailed two fingers gingerly over his right eye, nodding slightly in comprehension when a warm tingling radiated outward across his face.

"I see," he murmured in sudden understanding, unintentionally interrupting the questions that the others had been firing at him. "So that's what he meant about his efforts to revive me."

"Two things," Kenji said firmly, still brushing himself off irately. He appeared more than slightly disgruntled at having been dropped on his backside. "He who? And what in the hell is going on?"

Mouri glanced around the group of friends and youko, wincing when he realized just what he had been thinking. Or rather, what he had come to understand. Shin's knowing gaze snapped him back to reality.

"I think that… I sort of… um… died," he said slowly, staring numbly at the silver blanketing his chest. "Someone brought me back to life."

"So you say," Kento groused. "Does this 'someone' have a name?"

"I didn't get too good a look at him," Mouri said defensively. "But he had pale skin and black hair. Does that help?"

"Not in the slightest," Rune said cheerily, anxious to hear anything the elf had to say. "Continue."

"He was speaking in some language that I've never heard before, but could easily understand, and he was speaking in rhymes. Beyond that, I have no idea," he murmured. "I only caught a glimpse of him and then I was here." Shin nodded thoughtfully.

"So what about Cye?" the youth asked suddenly. "Where is he?"

"There's no telling with that one," Mouri whispered. A strange smile formed on his face as his eyes trailed skyward. "I never could sense where the first of the first was throughout the centuries."

"This again," Kento sighed. "Do we even need to ask?"

"Do we even want to know?" Sage corrected, looking irked.

"I'm thinking not," Kenji muttered, frowning at the partially metallic elf three paces from him.

"Are all elves like that?" Terru asked suddenly, prodding Mouri roughly in the shoulder when he continued to stare at the cave ceiling.

"What do you mean?" Anubis asked sharply. The youko leader scowled at him and he sank back, his piercing glare faltering under the general's look.

"I mean," Terru growled, "that there was another elf a little over twenty one hundred years ago that used to do the same thing, only much more vocally. I remember him shrieking at the top of his lungs that something that shouldn't exist would come into being, that it already had, yet it hadn't." He paused to shake his head disdainfully. "He was mad."

"And just how old are you?" Kento muttered. He raised his hands defensively when Terru scowled at him, only then realizing that the youko had heard him.

"Old enough to realize that we're losing miserably," he sighed, shoulders sagging. "Nothing we can do will be more than an exercise in futility."

"Perhaps there is something," Mouri murmured under his breath. Only Anubis, Shin and Rune were close enough to hear him. His voice began rising slowly, steadily, as he continued. "Those who once teach, must in time learn. Trust in the past where loyalties burn."

"Damn elves never could speak a straight sentence," Kenji muttered. Terru and Rune nodded in silent agreement. Shin only frowned at them.

"Like you two can talk," Sage scoffed, slumping against the cave wall. "I've heard the astral planers speak, not to mention certain sorcerers and the mystery one who fixed Mouri. To be perfectly fair about this, you're all nuts."

"All of those tries, and you still didn't guess who was speaking," Shin whispered. He traced his fingers over the metal fused into Mouri's arm. "Even with all of the blatant clues." He chuckled softly, still not noticed by the arguing adults. Thank you for helping him. Can you also save my brother and grandfather?

When only silence greeted him this time, Shin didn't grow concerned. He knew now that their predictable yet elusive ally was listening. A sudden burst of thoughts in his mind nearly overwhelmed him, but he was careful not to allow his thoughts or emotions to show to the bickering group around him.

Dragon's child and dragon's kin, banished forever for their sin. Yet time and fate have torn the lines of the limits and confines. You beg of me to save the light and thus join into another's fight. I hear your words. I hear your cries. But I'll not help you till another dies.

Shin shivered and swallowed hard. He closed his eyes and lowered his head to his chest, trying to understand why they were to be ignored until someone else was killed. A slight chill ran down his spine when he understood, and whispered the answer unheard into the damp cave air. "Is it that you won't help us or that you can't?"

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Cye groaned weakly and made an effort to rise. His shifting legs and arms contacted only free air and he paused in confusion. He was on the ground, wasn't he? A slight rhythmic jarring motion led him to believe that he was not. More than slightly disconcerted at his inability to move, he flailed again, this time with more force.

"Hold still," a tired voice commanded.

Not recognizing the deep voice immediately, Cye jerked frantically, this time gaining purchase on a piece of clothing and pulling himself free. Seeming to understand that he had no intention of holding still, his captor paused and lowered him to the ground. Before Cye could retaliate, he moved a few paces back and sat down. Cye forced himself to his feet and tried to focus his eyes on the still form a short distance from him, his efforts thwarted by the blood in his eyes. Frantic blinking brought a glimpse of blue into focus, but little more.

"You should really try to rest," he admonished Cye. "You're hurt."

Cye squinted pitifully and gasped as his captor came into focus. Once handsome features were now creased with the pain of loss. Downcast sapphire eyes were locked forever with the ground, the pain of battle destroying the once gentle gaze and extinguishing the once youthful light. Thick locks of sapphire hair hung across the pale face, the usually well-kept hair oily, stringy. Cye wilted back to the ground, the sight of the man across from him tearing at his heart.

"Rowen," he started, unsure of what to say.

"I was impressed that you were able to kill Picen," Rowen murmured. He swallowed thickly and looked away, his voice dropping almost to the point of being inaudible. Cye wondered if Rowen realized that he had exceptional hearing. "Too bad it wasn't Deterik."

Cye opened his mouth to try to comfort his grandfather and friend, hesitating when Rowen regained his feet and placed one hand tentatively on a nearby tree trunk. Before Cye's disbelieving gaze, Rowen's hand flickered and disappeared into the flickering shadows playing along the massive trunk. Deep swirls of utter blackness passed along Rowen's tense frame, pulling him swiftly into translucence and then nonexistence. Cye could only stare in shock as he disappeared completely into the shadows.

"Since when did he know how to do that?" Cye groused. Even after centuries of training, he hadn't mastered the shadows to that degree.

"Creator's sin and instrument's demise, the truth is in the beholder's eyes. Heed the ways of the future's past, the first to fall shall be the last."

Cye didn't bother to crane his head towards the source of the voice. He knew all too well who was behind him and the futility of ever trying to understand what the outlander was trying to tell him. Sudden realization of the increasing insanity of the riddles made him growl something entirely uncomplimentary under his breath. How could the first one to die be the last? Both Mieren and Touma had fallen in battle. The only way he could make sense of the riddle was if it was their opposition that the outlander was talking about. Picen was the first to die, and if he was the last as well, they were completely and utterly screwed.

Cye slumped against a nearby tree and rapped the back of his skull sharply into the trunk. Even after all of the years he had worked with them, he hated the outlanders and their infernal riddles. The rhyming drove him batty. If he didn't know better, he would suspect that they were doing it on purpose just to irritate him.

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Cehir raised his head, the search of the lands below him temporarily forgotten. Picen's presence had fluctuated suddenly and then disappeared altogether. The pain of his death still hung sharply in the air. His lips thinned in something akin to satisfaction. He had never liked Picen anyway.

He froze where he hovered. Though whispered, a string of rabid cursing reached his sensitive ears. It sounded as if the speaker was responding to something that Cehir hadn't heard, which was impossible unless it had been in response to a sending from another realm. Concentrating for a moment, he recognized the growling voice as one he had known so long ago. Memories swept across his churning mind.

Deep within the mountains, a youth hovered waveringly a mere foot above a stream of molten lava. He sniffled miserably, looking to a figure cloaked in black robes a few paces from him. He was tired and wanted to rest, but knew better than to anger the mentor that had suddenly emerged on his fifth birthday. For almost a century from that day, he had been obeying every word of the man who had kept himself hidden in the endlessly deep robes he wore. He had tried to catch a glimpse of the harsh mentor within the cloak several times to no avail. A mask of illusion interwoven with darkness prevented him from detailing the features of the man who had taken to training him.

Distracted by his contemplation of the silent figure watching him, he lost altitude and his toes dipped into the lava, searing his flesh. Howling in pain, he rose a good distance into the air and moved away from the charring heat. He had barely landed before he was reprimanded.

"Hold your position, boy!"

Cehir sniffed disdainfully at the cloaked man and the molten stone. He was a century old and felt that he deserved more respect than he had been given by this stranger. Despite his age, he retained a youthful appearance. Touline was only three centuries his senior, but she had told him on numerous occasions that he aged far slower than she had. Though the training had increased his strength and endurance, he was resentful that his power was only a joke compared to the hidden energies of the dark figure. He didn't even understand why he was being trained. The man before him had ignored Touline entirely and seemed oblivious to Koxanama's birth a few years ago. He only seemed interested in Cehir.

"Begin again," the dark form instructed him.

Hissing in resentment, Cehir reclaimed his position above the lava. He steadied his position and locked the burning pain from his mind, almost entering a pale state of meditation. He knew better than to entirely close his mind, though. He had been pushed into the lava more times than he would like to admit for that particular mistake. Mind and body steadied, he resumed the intricate weaves he had been playing with earlier. One weave shifted smoothly into another, each spell formed from the strands of the last and each growing in intensity and difficulty. He had almost finished his forms when an explosion sounded beside him.

Falling once more into the lava, he missed the brief battle between his mentor and his ever-vigilant aunt. By the time he had regained his footing on cool, solid ground, it was over. Mieren glared daggers after the form that had vanished into the earth and air simultaneously. She knew better than to try to follow him, but at times, it appeared as though she was tempted.

"Why are you still listening to that madman?" she snarled.

"He's just training me," Cehir whispered, ducking his head in embarrassment.

For the fifth time that week, he had been caught training under a man whose name he didn't even know. He recognized the battered voice and dark cloak of his mentor, nothing more. He waited patiently, knowing he was to be punished again for going against the will of his aunt and mother, the latter of which was still trapped in the Mountains of Omnipotence due to a vicious prank on the part of his aunt.

Ever since he had appeared out of thin air a century ago, he had been under the iron will of the women he called Aunt and Mother. Though neither he nor they understood where he had come from, they all knew that he was Lanfear's son. The bloodline was too strong to deny, stronger than either of his siblings. It was as though his father had been a dragon as well as his mother. He had dismissed that possibility long ago. There were no other dragons outside of their family and he had been the first male to appear in the bloodline. The drakes were out of the question. They were dangerous, no matter what their potential. Cehir was not the only one to hope that the mentally deficient prototypes to dragons would die out soon. Kenji had been a fool to design anything so uncontrollable.

The first blow to land across his back, he had expected, though not of the force in which it had come. His legs buckled and he sank to the ground, blood pouring down his back from a deep gash well over two feet long. Disbelieving eyes turned towards his aunt as the second blow fell across his exposed ribs, cracking four and shattering three. He steeled himself as the blows continued to fall, praying that her fury would quell itself soon. Mieren's temper was a thing of legends, her strength rivaling his mother's at times. He knew better than to fight back or speak. It would only make her angrier.

"You are not to train with that man," Mieren spat suddenly. Cehir blinked in confusion and raised his pale eyes to meet her deep jade. She had calmed more quickly than he had expected. "I don't know who he is, but he's dangerous. One of these days, he'll probably kill you."

Not waiting for his response or even allowing him the time to think of one, she vanished in a swirl of shadows. He lowered his head and sighed wearily. Though it was true that he didn't know the man that trained him, he trusted him and felt certain that no harm would come from the elusive figure. He was a harsh teacher, but he had never caused any serious harm to befall him. After being chased off so suddenly, he didn't expect to see his mentor for at least a few days. He was exceedingly wary of Mieren's or Touline's presence, more so than even Cehir. Because of this, Cehir believed he knew who the man was, but he dared not voice his suspicions.

Cehir snapped back to reality, his pale green eyes catching the slight movement below him. The man he knew so well yet so poorly was on the move again. Cehir grinned widely and dropped to the ground, careful to mask his presence. For once, he wanted to see the face of his ancient mentor. Though he was certain that he made not a sound, the man he was looking for was gone by the time he reached the area he had heard the voice. He blinked in confusion. Surely he hadn't been seen with the illusionary cloak he had been maintaining so carefully.

Amused, Cehir chuckled softly to himself. Once again, he had been eluded in his efforts to glimpse his master from so long ago. He decided that if he was ever to succeed in catching the man who had trained him, he would have to develop a new technique to bypass the sharp senses that currently surpassed his own. Sure, he knew who the man was, even though he constantly denied it to himself, he wanted a glimpse of him in an untransformed state.

His amusement was cut short. Hanging in the air was the sharp smell of blood. Someone had bested the man who had trained him. Either two or more of them had teamed up against the injured man or someone was out there that was a match for any one of them. He shivered at the possibility and rose into the sky once more. If such a force was out there, he didn't intend to face it alone. Steadying his determination and nerves, he circled back the way he had been heading.

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To Be Continued…

Yes, it will get weirder, as hard as that is to even think of. Just you wait. Please R&R if you want further insanity!