"Those who dream by night, in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that all was vanity; but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes, and make it possible."

T. E. Lawrence (Lawrence of Arabia)

Demon Called Deception

Chapter Sixteen: Ancient Town

The city had been beautiful once; the columns and pedestals flickering like crystals under the unforgiving sun. The people had been prosperous and kind. No wars had struck their land; no famine, no disease. They had been blessed, one could say, by the Gods.

Their King had been kind, ruling with a soft hand. He was elderly, such was common knowledge. He had ruled for as long as anyone could remember, his wizened face growing more and more wrinkled as the years went by.

But that was all in the Past. The King no longer ruled with a soft hand. In fact he did not rule at all. He had died- been murdered, most would say- two years before. In his place stood a younger man, his cruel eyes causing the peace of the island to whither. Time around them had begun to shatter; the Past, Present and Future beginning to have no meaning.

It became known that the gift the God Chronos had given them was being abused. The people knew that Chronos would soon become angered; that he would take his anger out on his faithful followers. The greed of one man would become the death of hundreds.

Storms had formed soon after, thick clouds oozing through the sky, their ominous presence blotting out the sun. Lightning flashed through the sky; bolts striking every pedestal, every building. The people were afraid. For their simple minds the storms meant that the Gods had set out to destroy them.

Only one woman had thoughts of protecting her people; one woman who thought of more than just praying to the Gods who have seemed to turn against them. She knew something was not right, and it had nothing to do with the Gods.

It had to do solely with the man who called himself King.

And the one way to end the punishment that the Gods sent down was to destroy the man who abused his rights.

"You have the power of Chronos in your hands and yet you waste it on these Gods fearing people." The soft voice said, the low tones caressing his senses.

He turned slowly, already knowing who would be standing there. She was a woman of beauty un-rivaled; a woman whose beauty could easily be compared to the Gods'. She was someone that every man desired, but only one man could acquire. But she was a woman who he would own soon enough.

"One thing at a time my dear. All in good time," he smirked and held his hand out. "For now I have something much more important to attend to."

She looked down at his outstretched hand, her gold eyes narrowing imperceptibly. Moments later her face relaxed and she took his proffered hand.

He pulled her to him, pressing her body against his, her right hand still clutched in his. He kissed her forehead lightly, allowing his lips to linger on her smooth skin. His free hand trailed up to her hair slowly, withdrawing the pins that held her long golden hair up in its tight curls.

"I could have you as my own," he whispered, bringing one golden tendril up to his face and breathing in. "You could rule by my side."

"You will never have me," she snarled.

The man gripped her wrist tighter, squeezing until he could see the form of a flinch in her eyes. "Ah, my dear Prisis, you underestimate my abilities."

Prisis gritted her teeth, willing herself to stay strong; willing herself to do what she came to do. "Then why do you not show me? Show me your ability to overpower someone weaker than you, for that will be the only way you could ever take me."

His upper lip twitched in anger. He pushed her away, thrusting her back from him.

"You wish me to show you my power?" he asked, his voice deepening to echoing levels. "You wish me to show you what happens to those who cross me? Then pay close attention Prisis, for you will not see it again!"

With a primal scream the man threw his arms up toward the ceiling. Wind howled around them, whipping their clothing and hair around their bodies. Thunder rumbled in the air above them; the stones of the building shaking from the sound.

Before Prisis' eyes, a thin silver band formed in front of him. This was her chance. This was her moment to end the suffering of her people.

"Titus!" she screamed over the wailing wind. "This is where you End!"

Titus' eyes widened as he watched her lunge forward, her arms outstretched, her hands reaching for his possession.

Emory's body convulsed in waves of pain, her back arching high off of the dirty floor. Her mouth was open in a silent scream. Her sightless eyes open wide, staring at nothing and yet everything. Her hands clenched into fists, her dirt covered nails digging into the skin of her palms and drawing blood.

Time was testing her mind and body; inflicting the wounds that she was seeing. The wounds were not her own, nor were the images she was witnessing. She was merely an onlooker to the events that were transpiring and yet everything that occurred to the two, happened to Emory as well.

Emory's mismatched eyes began to glow as the scenes playing in her mind changed. Moments after her body had been wracked by pain, the pain disappeared, her body settling itself down in peace. Her mind settled, her eyes continued to glow, but dimmed slightly. Her hands relaxed, the blood from her palms pooling lightly in the dirt.

Emory's sightless eyes flicked lazily, following the new events taking place.

Prisis awoke days later, her head throbbing and eyes pounding when the light hit them. Her entire body ached. The soft thatch mattress did nothing to comfort her abused muscles. Soft voices tickled at her ears, and yet she could not make out what they were saying. Prisis could not remember what happened, nor could she remember where she was.

"What is happening?" she asked, her throat dry.

The voices near her quieted causing a silence that Prisis was not sure she liked. "You are awake?"

Prisis blinked against the bright light above her. She flinched as the whiteness of the room burned her left eye. "What- I . . . yes," she answered.

"And you are aware of what has occurred?" a new voice responded.

Prisis squinted her eyes, attempting to put faces to the dark shadows that had appeared around the bed she was laying on. Her voice cracked as she replied, "No. I remember nothing."

"Nothing?" a third voice asked.

"Nothing of the man known as Titus or what happened to him?" the first seconded.

"I-" she stopped, her eyes widening. Images flew through her mind as memories resurfaced. Images of Time running through her; of a bright space with no entry or exit. She remembered a man speaking, his deep voice angry. She remembered the form of another man, still and statuesque, trapped in Time.

And now she remembered. She remembered what had happened. She remembered where she had been. She remembered what had happened to Titus.

"He abused it," she whispered, her heart beginning to pound, "and now he is paying for it. He will not bother us any longer."

"No," the second voice responded. "Nor will anyone else use Chronos' gift for their own gain. We have hidden it in a place only one may find."

"And we will need your assistance once more, my dear."

Prisis sat up, one hand going to her still burning left eye. "I do not understand."

Before anyone else responded, two pairs of hands grabbed Prisis by her arms, dragging her from beneath the soft sheets. She struggled against them with everything that she possessed, but it was not enough. Her muscles were still too weak from her ordeal.

"What are you doing?" she cried.

"We are sorry, my child," one answered. "But this event must occur. You have already bonded with the gift; you have already become One."

"Now you must complete the journey," the second finished.

"Let me go!" Prisis screamed. Moments later she was pushed to her knees in front of the three Elders, her back facing them.

"This is the way it must be," the third replied, ripping open the back of her simple white dress. "You must know that."

"No!" Prisis cried, once again struggling against the two guards' iron grips. "Please just let me go."

The Elders did not respond, merely looked down with impassive faces. One reached behind them, wrapping his long fingers around a heated ceramic staff.

Prisis' back arched, a scream tore from her throat, as the piercing hot pain from the staff tore through her body.

Emory screamed as pain exploded through her already abused body. Tristan, who had already made his way half way down the wooden steps, paused for a moment and then bolted down the rest of the steps, jumping over the last three to land on the brig floor.

His fingers fumbled with the key to the cell door, his heart pounding as his eyes took hold of Emory's tormented form. Moments later he was by her side on his knees, his hands clutching her shoulders.

"Emory?" he called. "Emory? Good God what's happening to you?"

"She's learning-no. She's witnessing the truth," a smooth, icy voice responded from the shadows.

Tristan turned around quickly, his eyes finding the man who had seemed to just materialize behind him. "What have you done to her?"

The man gave a cold smile. "Simply gave her the ability to see what has occurred."

"What are you talking about?"

He laughed. "Out beautiful captain is witnessing the past." He paused, a malevolent glint entering his dark eyes. "Her past."

"You're insane."

"No. Just impatient."

Tristan jumped to his feet and grabbed the man by his shirt, slamming him into the bars behind. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Someone much more important than you, boy. You play nothing more than a side-note while I on the other hand am someone who began this and someone who will end it."

Tristan merely blinked at him. He did not know what to say. How could one respond to that? After everything that he had seen, after everything that he had done, Tristan could not believe what he was hearing. "What are you talking about?" he repeated.

"You're father did not tell you?" the man asked. "He told you nothing of your past? Of your destiny?"

"My father and I," Tristan spat out, "were not always on speaking terms."

"Or perhaps he just did not want you to know who you really are," the man continued, as if he had not heard Tristan at all. "Perhaps he did not want you to meddle with his plans."

"What do you mean 'who I am'?"

The man grinned again. "I should have said who you were. That is much more important than who you are now. The only one that matters now is her," he answered, nodding his head in Emory's direction, "and what she remembers."

Tristan hesitated before responding. "Because she bears the map."

The man's grin widened. "No, my dear boy. It is because she is the One, the Chosen. She will be the one to bring everything to a close. Do you see why she is so important? Look at her boy. Look at her and you'll see what you've lost."

Tristan turned his eyes away, gazing down at the still pained form of Emory. He knew the man spoke true. He had lost Emory two years ago. And yet Tristan would swear that he still held some part of her; that some part of her still cared for him. Ever since he had met her he had felt that there was something pushing them together. He had always felt a need to protect her.

"I haven't lost her," he whispered.

"But she doesn't need you," the man replied. "She never has."

Tristan released him slowly, his hands relaxing their grip on his black shirt. "You're wrong."

"Am I? Look at her boy. Look at how strong she is. Watch as she doesn't need you."

Tristan turned away again, his attention once again going to Emory.

The small boat rocked gently in the rolling waves of the ocean. The gentle motion was almost enough to put the two inhabitants to sleep; if only it wasn't for the pain that they had both just been through.

"Prisis?" his coarse voice called. "Are you still there?"

Prisis smiled weakly although she knew he could not see it. "I'm here, my love," she whispered. Shifting uncomfortably in the boat, Prisis pulled his head onto her lap, her fingers lightly brushing the soft cloth bandage covering his eyes. "And I am so sorry."

The feeling of tears hitting his forehead caused him to lift one arm, blindly searching for her face. "It is not your fault," he whispered.

Prisis took his hand in hers, placing it gently on her tearstained cheek. "Yes, it is. The Gods have punished me."

"Or they have given you a gift."

"I do not want it."

"The Gods do not give us what we want Prisis," he responded. "They give us what we need."

"I need my home, my family, back," she replied. "I need you to have your eyesight back."

"We must be strong. We must prove our worth to the Gods. We will protect our people from their own greed, even if we must be exiled to do so," he answered, ever the optimistic one.

Prisis was silent for a moment, her thumbs rubbing soft circles on his cheeks. "There was more," she said quietly.

"What?"

"There was more," Prisis repeated. "Something that I did not tell the Elders. When Titus summoned Chronos' gift and I touched it, a man appeared. He beat Titus, not me. He destroyed him," she paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "He spoke to me. He whispered in my ear before he returned me to our world."

"What did he say?"

Emory's voice shattered the silence of the brig, her eyes glowing bright again momentarily. Tristan's eyes stared down at her worriedly, unsure as to what to do.

"If one is born in each generation then Time shall be safe. But if two are found, it has ended, and Time has shattered," Emory said, her voice echoing across the silent ship.

"What is she talking about?" Tristan asked, confused.

A mischievous smile formed on the man's face. "Why don't you ask her?"

The glow in Emory's eyes died down, settling her eyes to their normal color. Her breathing slowed, the painful tremors that had been wracking her body stilled. With a soft groan, Emory sat up slowly, her muscles screaming with phantom pains. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly to allow the inhale and exhale of her breath. Emory's hair fell over her face hiding any movement or expression she could possibly make.

Not sure if he should go to her, Tristan merely called out, "Emory?"

Emory's head shot up like a leaf caught in a hard burst of wind. Slowly she turned to face them, her discolored eyes seeming to glow in the darkness. Tristan felt as if she were looking through him. Her gaze sent shivers down his spine. He had never seen her this way before.

And then he realized that she was not looking at him. She was looking behind him.

Emory's voice shot out of the shadows like a predator attacking its prey. "Titus," she seethed.

A laugh burst forth in the darkness, echoing in the dreary night.

AN: Yay! An update! God it has been forever. And I do so apologize for that, but my muse decided to die on me. But I have since found a new one! How about a round of applause. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter since it took me forever to write it.

And normally I would do reviews of the reviews here, but since ff dot net now frowns on that, I am going to have to skip it. If you have a burning question that you would like me to respond to, then I will reply to the review somehow. Enjoy!