Chapter Eighteen: Away From Me

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I hold my breath as this life starts to take its toll
I hide behind a smile as this perfect plan unfolds
But oh, God, I feel I've been lied to
Lost all faith in the things that I have achieved
I've woken now to find myself
In the shadows of all I have created
I'm longing to be lost in you
(Away from this place I've made)
Won't you take me away from me
Crawling through this world as disease flows through my veins
I look into myself, but my own heart has been changed
I can't go on like this
I loathe all I've become
Lost in a dying world I reach for something more
I have grown so weary of this lie I live…

- "Away From Me" by Evanescence

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He slipped in for a moment, checking to make sure she was asleep. Seeing her toss and twist in her blankets, he smirked. She knew something was wrong, but she wouldn't realize what was happening in time to stop it. At best, she would feel it as she closed her eyes for the final time, monsters clawing for her attention, paranoid delusions draining her energy even more than the sickness did.

Jaunty with his coming triumph, he flipped a switch, then exited, tugging his jacket up in an attempt to warm himself. As he did so, his collar slipped for a moment, and a blue tattoo at the base of his neck caught the dim light, making it gleam.

Behind him, there was a hiss of air being released, and the poisonous fumes rose to Sanar's face, an invisible pillow smothering her with her own ignorance.

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The rocks were hard under her feet; the wind buffeted her from every side. Sleet poured from the sky, lightning crackled, and Sanar knew where she was: Na'Lein'yhpaon – and not at just any time. She was on her home planet during one of her storms, after which her father had named her: Sanar, Storm Fighter.

Raising a hand to shield her eyes, she searched the horizon and then… A smile broke over her face. There it was! Home. Picking up her skirts, she raced across the land, unmindful of the storm and the sharpness under her feet. This was her land; this was her place, no matter what they…

She frowned, suddenly confused, but then shrugged it off. Well, whoever they were, they could never take her home from her. The wind pushed her every which way, but Sanar revelled in it. The rain whipped her cheeks, and she grinned the harder. Home! Home!

When she approached her family's small hut, she slowed, absorbing the weather before she swept her wet hair out of her face. Glancing down at herself, she realized that she was young again, and a yell of triumph escaped her. Already she could feel the memories disappearing…fading into the distance.

Yes! Fade away! Leave me be!

"Daddy? Mama? I'm home!" she called, and realized she was holding a basket of now drenched flowers. They, like her white dress, were ruined, but Mama wouldn't mind. And if she did, then Daddy would calm her. He placed no care in material objects; he would only look at Sanar's happy face…and understand.

No one answered, and Sanar stepped into the house, regretfully leaving the fierce storm. "Daddy?" she repeated, looking around.

Devnos was in the corner; seeing her, he snapped his book closed and hurried forward. "Sanar," he whispered urgently, "you have to be quiet. Just…don't speak. Please…"

There was a thump in the other room, and Devnos' eyes widened. Before Sanar could investigate, he tucked his book into his shirt, and took her elbow, leading her into the corner in which he had been hiding. "Sanar, promise me you'll be quiet."

"What's going on?" she demanded angrily.

"Something bad. Something… Can't you feel it, Brownie?"

Trouble. Trouble was coming: that was what the pit in her stomach meant. Now dumbstruck, Sanar let herself be led to the side, where Devnos placed a blanket around her shoulders. With a rare show of affection, he squeezed her shoulders. "Do you want something to drink?" he asked – whispering.

Sanar nodded, and he left. He didn't return.

She waited for him as long as she could, but finally gave up and headed toward the other room. "Devnos?"

No answer. It was a most peculiar day.

The sight her eyes met when she pushed the door open made her scream. And scream.

She stopped being a little girl; she was a teenager again, and Horaire was waiting for her there, glowering, striding toward her, his soulless eyes as black holes in his face.

Turning on her heel, she ran, tripping over the side of the door, then the awkward floor planks. Still she kept running. Sprinting. She couldn't be caught. The storm had given way to the hard, too-bright sun, and Devnos' blanket disappeared. The sun beat down on her, taking away all the water she had absorbed before. She was no storm fighter; she was only a girl. Running. Trying to escape.

Horaire grabbed her shoulder, and, sobbing, she pushed him away. Her dress ripped down the back, but she didn't dare stop. Ducking out of the city square she had found herself in, she tried to stay to the alleys, tried to avoid the glaring sun. She would find no refuge in numbers…unless death was now her salvation.

"Niftyax!" Horaire screamed behind her. "You cannot escape me! You are mine!"

She couldn't see past the tears, and she stumbled through the streets, no longer caring if they stopped her, beat her, killed her. She wouldn't let him catch her again.

Then he was in front of her, and Sanar fell back in terror. Clayra was in his arms, and Horaire's dagger was at Clayra's throat. "You…or your sister?" he mocked. "The fire…or the frail?"

Unseen hands almost threw her into standing position, and Sanar raced forward, tearing Clayra from Horaire's arms. "You won't have her!" she screamed, again and again.

Horaire was gone; in his place was Caesarea. "Failure," her weak mother croaked. "Disgrace."

In an embrace tight enough to hurt the younger girl, Sanar held Clayra. Then new arms – Devnos' arms – took the blond teen. "Run, Sanar. Don't let them catch you." Clayra pushed her forward, and Sanar stumbled forth again.

Through the city; past the priests' quarters; beyond the river, then…

They were chasing her again – someone whom Sanar didn't even want to look at. She didn't check over her shoulder; the terror was sufficient to keep her going.

They could not catch her. It would be the end of everything.

She ran until she came to the end: the end of her strength, the end of the land on which she could run. The cliff before her taunted her, the earth stretching out for miles…below her. The only way she could escape was to fly, but Sanar's wings had been burned long, long ago.

Then he was there. "Sanar."

Almost unconsciously, her arms stretched out to him, a smile beginning to soften her features. "Catch me," she whispered, and knew he would.

She leapt…

His presence wrapped around her; she was safe. His arms embraced her; she was loved.

They were flying – above the ones who would hurt them, above those who would kill him, destroy her. Her laughter started slowly, then grew with her joy, with her completeness.

"Fly with me," he whispered in her ear.

She would do anything for him.

She flew.

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Sanar never wanted to wake, and she desperately grasped at the dream. She would relive the nightmare again, a thousand times, if only she could be with her love again…

But she woke. His name was on her lips. Sanar tried to understand her cry, but couldn't. She never could; it was futile to try.

Why could she never remember his name, his face?

Only his voice, his love, remained with her.

When will you come for me?

If it wasn't soon, Sanar would be lost. No one was meant to be deficient forever. Life withered in incompleteness.

But he had promised! He would always catch her. She only had to believe.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she closed her eyes and tried to recapture his essence.

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They snuck up on him, like they always did; by now, the visions knew he would never consciously accept them.

Burning, cutting, dying, living, freeing –

No. Devnos ground his teeth and squeezed his head with his fists, trying to evade the images. He didn't want to see them; Sanar was the seer, not he. She should be the one seeing these; he wasn't built to remember – understand – accept all the things beyond.

Sanar is too close.

If he had had it, Devnos would have waved the papers, the manuscript, in the air as proof. I did my part! It's all recorded. You have to leave me alone now! You have to!

Sanar was the "different" one. The one the Force trusted. The one the Strings loved.

Devnos mistrusted the Force as much as it was suspicious of him. His gifts were practical, despite his youth's artistry.

Would you rather…?

Spilled blood, sticky hair, screamed agony, failure.

No! No! Stop before IT overhears you!

She must be warned.

I did my best; there is no more I can do. LEAVE ME ALONE!

Silence. Perhaps the visions were only regaining their strength for a renewed assault, but Devnos threw himself into his work. He refused to see more. He didn't want to know. He would crack, if he did.

IT would know.

Onyx. The search for Onyx. What a perfect distraction.

Devnos threw himself into his work, into the Darkness.

It would protect him. He needn't worry about prophecies or death, when in the Darkness. There was only his power. He was in control. He was a desperate man, but the Darkness cradled him. It would give him what he wanted – needed. Maybe he could avoid the prophecy. Maybe.

Yes! Perhaps he could even fulfill it himself, then gain the power. Devnos would avoid the visions altogether, then reap the benefits.

Even as he fantasized, he knew it was all a lie.

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Any comments would be appreciated :)

.Tjz