FoG Writing Contest - Caligo

Footsteps of Ghost In Caligo
FoG's June-July 2011 Contest

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• All members of FoG can enter, both moderators and regular members alike!
  
  
• This contest will be voted on by the public in a poll. Everyone is encouraged to vote for their favorites, but you must read through every submitted entry before voting.
  
  
• People wanting to participate in the contest must PM me their story submission personally. DO NOT post your story here. I will post everyone's story myself, so that the entrants will remain anonymous until the end (so as to prevent people voting for members they're friends with and being biased).
  
  
• Everyone submitting a story to be judged must vote for their own story in the poll. This way, we can prevent any strife in not knowing if some members did vote for themselves and others didn't. If everyone entering votes for themselves, then it will be equal.
  
  
• No material submitted can be above the rating we have set for our message board, which is R. If any submission is deemed unsuitable, that person will be disqualified. If you are unsure whether or not something could be rated R or above (as in NC-17), then it is best to just exclude that from your writing.
  
  
• There is a length limit of 5,000 words. There is no minimum amount of words required. If an entry is above the limit, we will ask you to shorten it before it is even considered for judging.
  (In order to check how many words you have, simply open Microsoft Word, and go to Tools --> Word Count. If you do not have Word, or would simply like a quicker/easier way, you can use this Word Count Tool.)
  
  
• Only fictional stories will be accepted. In other words, poems, songs, biographies, or other written works will not be recognized.
  
  
• All entries must be original works in English. Plagiarism, in any form, will, of course, disqualify you.
  
  
• All entries are final. No revisions will be accepted. This means, be sure to carefully read over your entry for mistakes before turning it in to Fate Foretold. When it is submitted, it will be considered complete and finalized; she will not alter it for you in any way.
  

The smell of death is the thing you never really get used to.

“Cover your nose, “ I warn Collins behind me, not looking back to make certain that he does as I step inside of the warehouse and feel the grim aroma of death saturate me until I’m glad that I haven’t eaten.

Collins clearly has, and dashes outside to revisit it when he doesn’t listen. It doesn’t surprise me. Most people don’t listen the first time, especially cops. There’s a certain machismo swagger that new homicide detectives have. I’m not sure if they have an issue with it in Vice or Narc. Hell, maybe it helps them out to play Billy Badass in their line of work.

But the dead don’t care about badass.

I leave Collins to his Technicolor yawn and step in, letting my eyes adjust to the dark of the warehouse, touching the device on my chest so that it starts recording video and audio as I step onto the scene, each step carefully taken to avoid disturbing it.

“Two victims, a male and a female, look to be in their early twenties, but it’s impossible to tell.” The blessing of being a Caligoan also makes it annoyingly difficult to determine an exact age from just the bodies. “Residue near the scene seems to suggest their shades were killed here.”

When I was younger, I wondered why Caligo needed a police force. From everything my father told me, the outside world was not nearly as advanced as the one we lived in. Yet he recognized the bigotry, the hatred that still lingered in this place. “Technology does not erase what is inside of us,” he used to tell me, “If anything, it only magnifies it.”

Moving on, I try not to think about what someone has in them that inspires this.

“Victims were shackled to the ground. There are large abrasions on the wrists, probably self inflicted due to struggling. Victims,” I pause and close my eyes, “appear to have been conscious when they were murdered.” A wave of nausea hits me at that which once would have made me join Collins outside, emptying my own guts. Now I just open my eyes and unfocus them slightly, staring into the dark.

It’s a tribute to having grown up with it that I don’t start when I see Raksha melt from the shadows, a grim spectre looking over the scene. My father named her from The Jungle Book, a story he was read as a child, after a wolf that takes care of an orphan boy. Perhaps it’s that I’ve always seen her as maternal that I notice a glint of sorrow in her eyes as she sniffs about.

“The smells are the same.” Raksha says apologetically, and sighs. She knows the news of it turns my stomach almost as much as the stench of this place.

“Empirical analysis suggests that a nitrogen based compound similar to the other ones was at the scene, though the purpose remains unknown. Will need a more in depth lab analysis to be sure.”

Preliminary work done, I don’t linger on the scene. I’ve been to enough Charon’s Gate crime scenes to know they won’t be sloppy enough to leave something new. Collins stumbles from around a corner as I make for our cruiser.

“Was it them again?” Collins asks in a way that reminds me of how happy Raksha was when she was just a puppy, eager for attention.

“Yeah. Let it never be said that religion can’t fuck you over wherever you go.” I mutter, and then internally wince as I hear the words come from my mouth. Collins is particularly religious, and I’ve just opened the door for a long hellish car ride.

“What? Religion can be a beautiful thing, Jack.” Collins says pleadingly. So it begins.

“Look, I’m sorry. Getting woken up at 4 a.m. to go stare at dead bodies just has me a bit cranky. I understand that not all religions are bad, I just… sometimes I agree with my pop that it’s kind of a shame it caught on here.”

My father always told me he was surprised when he learned after arriving in Caligo how prevalent religion was. In the shows he’d watched, the ones that had portrayed the future, religion was usually an abstract concept. With technology, it was believed, a utopian society would emerge, shedding the need for such things. In reality, technology never replaced religion, nor did immortality. And Caligoans are as prone to using religion for hate as the rest of the world has ever been.

Collins looks expectedly confused. “Why do they call it Charon’s Gate, anyway?” he asks timidly, knowing it was in the briefing file that he obviously didn’t read.

“Charon was the ferryman to the underworld in Greek mythology. You know better than I do that we get sailors washing up here now and again,” hell, Collins happens to be one himself, “and as such we get all sorts of religions from all over the world. Charonism started out peacefully enough…”

“Until Octavius Flamel came along…” Collins pipes in, looking at me questioningly.

“So you did read some of the briefing,” I mutter with a wry smile. “Flamel was the first organized leader of Charon’s Gate. Like the leader of any good cult he knew exactly what his followers cared about, and exactly what to tell them. Charonism before was merely a fascination with death, which I suppose makes sense given that a fair chunk of the population can’t exactly die…”

“Flamel took that belief and told his followers that Caligoans by were born affronts to nature and thusly would be plagued with suffering if they did not do something. Sort of like his twist on the Original Sin, I suppose. He instilled in them the idea that in order to please the ferryman, they needed to somehow balance the scales of death, and logically the only way to do that is to kill those who would not normally die. You kill the shades of five Caligoans, you receive the blessings of the Ferryman throughout life.”

“It was bad enough when it was just the Caligoans he was converting, but Flamel had the insight to see that he could offer something to the drifters as well. After all, to some of them, Caligoans are the ‘haves’ while they are the ‘have nots’. Now Charon’s Gate has a healthy percentage of drifters amongst its ranks, believing that if they kill enough Caligoans, then the Ferryman will bless them with immortality too.” Looking over at Collins I notice his face has darkened substantially. Talking about Caligoans vs Drifters is always an awkward topic.

“Look, I didn’t mean anything by it. My father was a drifter too, Collins.” I offer, hoping that it’ll be enough to broker peace.

“I know. I know.” Collins says with a heavy sigh. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Life doesn’t make sense, Collins. That’s part of why it sucks.”

Silence is the music on the way back to the station. Collins still seems annoyed, and I don’t bother to push him. We get lots who sign up for homicide thinking that it is something grander than they’re used to with the day to day police work that other units get. Unfortunately there’s nothing really that grand about dead bodies, especially when finding their killers isn’t nearly as easy as it was in the old stories my father used to tell me.

Besides, Raksha likes the quiet. I leave her in the car as we pull into the station parking lot so she can enjoy her peace.

“How come you weren’t using the CLAD earlier?” Collins finally asks me as we make for the front door.

“Because the Cross-spectrum Light Analytic Device is a piece of crap, Collins, and no replacement for a real detective’s visual cues,” I say with a sigh, trying to pretend like the new ones don’t always ask that question at first.
“But the handbook says-“

“The handbook recommends it, yes. But over time you learn that to a trained eye, some sort of device that tries to outline each point of interest at a crime scene along with ‘helpful data’ simply distracts your vision from what’s important,” I fire back with a smirk.

“I don’t understand.”

Sighing, I rub my temples, and then gesture to the remains of the monument in front of us. “Take a look at that with your glasses on and tell me what you see.”

I watch the skeptical look in Collins’ eyes and then watch him put on what looks to be a pair of glasses, touching them to activate the sensory units in them. He blinks a moment as he tries to gather in all the data that it’s blasting at him.

“It’s a composite metal alloy, approximately 2 meters cubed. Date on it looks to be at least 500 years old. The words at the base of it, ‘In the end, vigilance is all that keeps the good from becoming the bad’ is an old Caligoan Police saying that is not attributed to any particular officer.” I watch as Collins stops, puzzled. “What exactly are you looking for here, Jack?”

“Is that it?” I wait for Collins to nod before continuing. “With your glasses on, you see a bunch of numbers and data relating to it. But you don’t see this…” I motion for him to walk up with me to the base of it, running my hand along the edge of the top so he can see what I see. From this height it becomes somewhat obvious.”

“Weird. The top of it looks somewhat malformed,” he says, looking at me.

“It doesn’t look malformed. It IS malformed. That’s because what used to be there was the base of a statue of Aurelius Aequitas. Your glasses aren’t going to provide you with that sort of information, knowing what used to be here, and all the details they show you are going to be the trees that obstruct your forest, Collins. That’s why I don’t use ‘em.”

“Aurelius Aequitas… wasn’t he one of Caligos most renown criminals?” Collins asks me with raised eyebrows.

“Aurelius was quite a bit more than that, Collins,” I call back, turning around, “Before he was a criminal, he a founder of the Caligoan Police Force and its Commissioner for centuries afterwards. Not to mention wielder of one the most powerful telekinetic shades Caligo has ever known.” Personally, I think they should have left the statue up. It would do some people good to remember that even the greatest of us can fall to darkness under the right circumstances.

“I’m going to go brief the chief on what we found.” I shout to Collins, who is still wrapping his head around all of this. The report I give is brief but hits on all of the major points of the case. I try not to see the look of disappointment in the chief’s eyes that I’m sure mirrors my own.

Walking out of his office, I nearly feel like passing out I’m so tired. I’m not sure if it’s from the lack of caffeine, being woken up so early, or just being tired of death, but the next thing I remember is my head hitting the pillow and Raksha curling up by my side. I don’t even remember driving home.

I’m holding a woman in my arms. I don’t recognize her, and yet something in me does. That something is screaming in me with more agony than I can conceive of. It feels familiar, the sensation of loss. There is the sensation of relief too, though as I perceive it I am instantly revolted with myself for experiencing it, and try to shut it out of my head. A part of me numbly realizes this is a dream and yet my thoughts are drown out by the screaming emotions tearing through my brain.

With trembling hands I reach up to touch her face, then slowly, with uncertainty reach down to touch the cloth about her neck, the white linen sheets there, soaked with red. The policeman in me analyzes it, and yet can’t face it at the same time as I look at the abrasions on her neck, on her fingers, and realize that it hadn’t gone the way that she had planned it. The drop didn’t snap her neck, and she flailed for air at the end.

She died in fear and pain, and the realization of it destroys me.

The sobs come through me as I clutch her to my chest, and I hear myself ask why, though who I’m asking it to, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, I realize as the icy razor of logic burns its way through my mind. She’s dead. My daughter is dead. Nothing I can say or do, nothing within the power of any shade I know of can bring her back from it. And were there a way, she would hate me for it.

Through tear soaked vision I notice the inklaw perched upon her bed, its head bowed in mourning and understanding. And yet, even though I would have called it brother, even though I could complete every sentence it started to say with certainty, I know that this is the thing it cannot understand. This is the thing it cannot feel the way that I can. And I know that it knows that as well, and cannot come up with the words to say.

“I’m going to kill them.” I hear myself whisper lightly, and I see the shade look up. There is fear in the inklaw’s eyes, not for me, but because it knows that it is not an idle threat that I am making. I know, saying it, that something unseen has now passed between the two of us, and yet I mean every ounce of my words.

“You have not been a part of the police force for thirty years, now, Aurelius, and you’re too personally involved. You have to know that they’re doing all that they can.”

“NO!” The syllable erupts from me like a demon from the blackest pit of hell, and I stare at the inklaw with more malice and anger than I have ever looked at anyone before. His wings start to extend as if he intends to fly out of my reach, and I realize in that moment that he fears me, that he truly does not understand anything about the pain that I feel. “No, Veritas, they are not doing all they can. They are playing a game, a game I designed based off of the games that they play in the outside world. I never understood until now how stupid they are.”

“That’s not true. Justice has nothing to do with vengeance. You know this… it is the keystone of everything you’ve built.” Veritas says, folding his wings again. It is a deliberate show of trust and I know it. “You know that no punishment you could mete out would make up for…” I hear him trail off, unable to go on.

“Say it…” I growl out darkly, feeling my hatred overflow as he looks away. “SAY IT!”

“I’m not going to have this conversation with you now. Not here.” Veritas says, his voice full of sadness.

“You can’t even bring yourself to say the word RAPED, can you? They killed Peace and Mercy like they were a couple of mangy hounds, and then they raped my daughter and my wife. They killed the love of my life… and then they left my light… my joy… to die slowly, knowing what they had done to her.” The fire of hatred drains out of my voice with each word, dying out into a smoldering coal that burns so much hotter in my chest.

“You make it sound like I was not there, that I did not see the aftermath with my own eyes, Aurelius! You were the one who locked yourself here with her for three decades, not letting any of us in. I cannot imagine the pain of watching her like this, knowing you would out live her, but she would not want this… nor would Ariel.”

“You profane her name by using it in the same sentence that you ask me to give her murderers mercy.” I stare at him now with dead eyes, looking through him. Slowly I lay down Adora’s body upon the ground. Soon she will be beside her mother, in the grassy tombs near the memorial of her and her mother’s brownytes. Only after… will I begin.

“Once you do this, there’s not going to be any coming back. I will help them hunt you down.” Veritas warns me. I can hear the pain in his voice as he does it.

“There is nothing for me to come back to.” I whisper.

Consciousness comes at the price of a splitting headache as I jolt awake. At least it’s daylight now, I think grimly as I watch the clothes line outside my window bounce violently as a pair of finches take flight from it. Raksha’s head raises as one of her ears tilts in my direction to make certain I am alright before lowering.

Times like these I wish Raksha’s powers were along the lines of telepathy instead of healing. Then again, it’s not as if the ability to patch me up hasn’t saved me quite a bit of recovery time in the past, so maybe I’m just complaining too much.

Still, something about it feels wrong. While I’m sure I read it somewhere I can’t remember reading about Aurelius’ past. I try to let it go as something that I dreamed up, but it seems to stick into my mind like a sliver, refusing to come loose. By the time I’m at my desk I’m distracted enough that even Collins picks up on it.

“There’s something there. I don’t know why I seem to think that there is, but something about Aequitas that is there. I just… don’t know what the hell it is.” I see a couple of the cops looking at me with a sour look. Aurelius isn’t exactly anyone’s favorite person around here.

“So what happened with him, anyway? With such a powerful shade, he must have been hard to take down.” Collins asks with a raised eyebrow.

“No, oddly, Veri-“ I wince, not wanting to get into the dreams, or how I know that name, “his shade didn’t side with him, which was part of why he was legendary. Everyone assumed his power was completely in his shade, but in reality Aurelius was also an amazing tactician. He started off doing the smallest time protection stuff you could imagine, but within a handful of years became one of Caligo’s major drug dealers. His signature drug, Rapture, was never actually analyzed. Cops could never get their hands on the stuff.”

“So did they kill him or what?”

I pause, frowning. “No… they never caught him. His former partner, Sasha Illecebra, took over the force in his absence. It was said the last thing he did was kill her before he vanished.” I pause, thinking for a moment. “Aequitas was always obsessed with tracking down a single person. The rumor was he was cracking down on human trafficking rings… what if that’s the connection in my mind? What if the reason why these bodies go missing years before isn’t because Charon’s Gate is saving them, but there’s a trafficking ring sitting on them for decades before selling them off to the highest bidder?”

I watch as a look comes across Collins’ face. He’s following my line of thought now. “We just need to cross check the camera feeds of trucks making deliveries there with known shipments.”

Even as the words come out of my mouth I know something feels wrong about it. The lead, however, is all too good, and disturbing. The shipments all come from the same company, ‘Combined Shipping Solutions’. And worse, traffic cameras pick up the truck making its rounds towards the west side of Caligo. I yell for Collins to get backup on its way as I burst in a dead run towards the door.

“We’re walking into a trap.” I mention to Collins as he meets me outside the warehouse. In the distance I hear sirens coming.

“What do you mean it’s a trap?” Collins asks, wary.

“There were two inklaws outside my window this morning. They put this idea in my head… disguised themselves.” Finches wouldn’t be heavy enough to make the wire bounce like that. “I’m being set up. Wait here until backup arrives. Raksha, you too, I have to go in there.”

Normally I would wait, make sure my t’s are crossed and my i's dotted, but every heartbeat I waste could be another moment for Charon’s Gate to tear another Caligoan’s heart out. I don’t have time to hesitate, I move.

Their voices are clear as I slip in the warehouse. They don’t expect to get caught, not tonight. From the shadows I spy the scene laid out the way I envisioned it from the aftermath they will leave behind. A crimson haired woman in a revealing dress to match in her late twenties and a long black haired young man who barely looks nineteen are chained to the ground. The woman lies still, but the boy struggles violently.

“And you’re certain that their shades are already dead?” One of the men asks, but the boy starts to interrupt.

“I told you, they gave me a guarantee. It’s not like shades wouldn’t have come looking for them by now. These bodies have been gone for centuries.” A dark haired female replies.

“What the hell is a shade?” The chained young prisoner demands. “I’m a U.S. Citizen, you can’t do this to me!”

I see the Charon’s Gates members stiffen. To sacrifice a drifter, one who would naturally die is considered an insult to Charon. The young man might have just saved himself.

“Scan him. We need to be sure.” The man says to the woman, whose grimalkin comes up to stare at the black haired young man.

I pause, tensing my muscles to intervene into the situation, before my head suddenly explodes as if shards of glass are implanting in my brain.

Terry’s shade isn’t just a run of the mill telepath it’s a projector. I hear the others gasping as their brains are laid bare as well to the visions that fill their minds, visions of…

Mountains as far as the eye can see. I withhold the urge to whistle as I look at them in the distance. Oregon, a green land flashes before my eyes. Cable TV, texting, the internet, all of these things start to flash through my mind. But what flashes through most is parents never having been there, never caring. Having to fend for myself… no, not me but him.

Yet still through it all, a single beam of hope shines down on my life. My… HIS older sister’s friend, Sasha. She’s there for me when my parents aren’t, she cares for me in ways they never do. And even though she’s older than me, and no one would approve, she teaches me things about my body, about loving that I could never have dreamed of. I am her obsession and she is mine.

But it’s not real.

Icy needles stab up my spine as it all begins to come together and I start to see it everything, each individual piece connecting slowly, and at the center of it is the woman in the vision that was just projected into my brain, the woman chained next to the boy, the woman that was at the center of it all. My head reels as I come to grips with exactly who both of them are, and everything that was about to happen here. It was a web all woven by someone who shared Sasha Illecebra’s ambition and desires.

I don’t bat an eyelash as the two inklaws swoop from the shadows and perch on either of my shoulders, I simply turn to the one on my right shoulder, staring at him ask I ask the only question that has any hope of saving my life. “Are you Veritas?”

“Yes-“ he begins to say, but only the syllable registers in my head as I grab the inklaw on my other shoulder and roughly toss her to the ground, unholstering my gun and firing a stun bolt into it. I watch it twitch as Veritas leaps from my shoulder to the ground, lest he share his partner’s fate.

“What have you done?!?” the inklaw demands darkly.

“Saved you. He’s here, isn’t he? Aurelius…” I see Veritas’ eyes narrow, but he nods, his silver beak bobbing lightly. “You planted those memories in my head so I would see a connection between him and these murders, so I could find him for you…”

“No,” Veritas says wearily, “I approached you so you could bring him to justice, and when you did, that you could be an advocate for him. He escaped justice long ago, turned into something I do not recognize. But I believe the man he once was is still inside of him.”

The voices behind us start to pick up as the Charon’s Gate members regain themselves. “What the FUCK, Terry. He’s a goddamned drifter.”

“No, I saw the DNA tests, it can’t be right. Just… let me dig further… something, something is wrong.”

I pause, looking at the empty doorway behind me and I realize that she’s right. “Get out of here, now. I’m trusting you to get my back, Veritas.” I spit out. The inklaw doesn’t hesitate. And as the projectionist digs deeper I start to feel the shards of glass in my mind again as memories are forced into my head.

There is no sound in them, and it’s disjointed, like a mangled video recording. But I see Sasha Illecebra arguing with the boy… no, arguing with Aurelius. Through broken bits of speech I hear her pleading with him to let the past go and to just love her, the way that she’s always wanted… and I feel the rage in him as he realizes that Sasha was a part of it all, a part of what killed his wife, destroyed his family, drove him to the brink of madness. I see Sasha’s face realizing she can’t even go back, and the inklaw’s eyes glow as it proceeds to decimate his mind.

Numbly, I hear cursing coming from Charon’s Gate, as they try to grasp what is going on. I see from the shadows Veritas’ eyes widen with recognition as the pieces fall into place for him, and then I see Collins step out with the other two members, a blaster pointed at Raksha’s head.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Collins. Killing me won’t get you the immortality you want.”

“You have no idea,” Collins growls at me. “My entire life will just be a blink for you and yet you have the nerve to try to tell me I shouldn’t take my one chance at immortality? Fuck you, Jack. FUCK you.”

Raksha gives me a look, and I know she wants to go for him, but I shake my head. I never had illusions I would live forever, but Raksha is a part of me, and I couldn’t bear to see her die.

But before I can say any more, all of us turn as a chain snaps on the boy’s wrist. I look up at the inklaw in the rafters, but he is as still and as frozen as me. And then I notice the blue-ish glow of his eyes, and the last piece falls.

Sasha tried to mindwipe him, and in the struggle he called upon power of his own to use telekinesis to disable them both instinctively. But the damage was already done. When the kidnappers came for them they were both dazed… and both put on ice for centuries.

I hear swearing coming from everyone’s lips, even my own as the boy stands, and starts to laugh uncontrollably. “I… I get it now.” He says with a twisted smile as he snaps the other chain with the power of his mind, and anything inanimate object in the room not nailed down begins to hover.

Raksha and I dive for cover as the objects explode out like a fragmentation grenade, staining the room in a thick abstractionist painting of blood and gore. Sasha raises up beside him, motioning to her chains, and he breaks them like twigs in a heartbeat. The way he looks at her is filled with love, and even as I open my mouth I realize nothing I can say will stop him from going with her.

Pain and agony tear through my mind as Sasha’s inklaw awakens, and by the time I come to my senses, she’s gone.

Veritas lands on my shoulder again and looks out at me, and the dead bodies around us. I grimly wonder if their last thoughts weren’t wishes that they had killed more so Charon would spare them.

“We need to report this to the police.” Veritas says quietly.

“No. I say as I look at Collins’ dead body. “Charon’s Gate has people inside of the force, Collins proved that. And they wouldn’t just plant a single drifter to keep an eye on us. I don’t know how far this thing goes up.”

I shake my head and stare out at the horizon in the direction where they departed. “We have to find Aurelius. Sasha’s going to try to use him, and if Charon’s Gate finds out about him they’ll do the same. And whichever of them succeeds is going to try to use him for their own means, and change the face of Caligo forever.”

December 1945

“Mmm, I don’t suppose you will stay home tomorrow…” Brenna rolled over and entangled one bare leg between her husband’s two. He responded with a noncommittal grunt, rolling her into his arms, her head tucked under his red beard and against his bare chest. He gave a deep sigh, and she could feel his chest rise and fall, his heart beat ringing in her ears.

“Is that a no?” She asked, half teasingly, half true.

“A story is a story…it’s my job to tell it,” he responded, and she gave a pout that he couldn’t see, but must have felt. Esil, being a journalist, worked all sorts of odd hours, and she never had him to herself for more than a couple. Adding in her job at the university, as well as the time they devoted to their precious daughter, Lyra, time together was rare, indeed.

Gabriel, Brenna’s inklaw, ruffled his feathers a bit as Eutropia, Esil’s bownyte, cleaned his feathers in a soothingly loving manner. They were as devoted to each other as was the husband and wife.
“What is the story again? Something at the docks?” Brenna was more interested when he covered stories involving ancient artifacts or historical documents than current events. But she tried to show interest in the…less interesting.

“It’s just a review of some fishermen. Nothing big.” He said no more, and when she went to ask for more details, she heard a “mom!” ringing from the other room. Brenna instinctively jumped, reaching for her shirt, but Esil eased her back down. “I’ll get it,” he said, and proceeded to dress quickly. As he reached the door, he turned to her and said, “You better stay just how I left you,” and Brenna smiled.

The Next Morning

Brenna awoke early, and sighed at the empty space next to her. Esil had left hours ago. She crawled out of bed and dressed, waking up Lyra and making breakfast. Gabriel prodded Lyra and Pan, her grimalkin, as they rushed to get ready for their day. Esil had not taken the hoverbike, so he must have ridden Eutropia to work. Eutropia was a pleasure to be around, but one was always wary of her power. She could gaze into one’s eyes and seek the truth, which make Esil and reputable reporter, at least when he was allowed into an interview.

They left the house in a rush and all piled onto the hoverbike. Gabriel flew beside it, and Lyra crouched in front of her mother, her grimalkin curled onto her lap. The first stop in Phasmoenia was school for Lyra. Their house in the woods was secluded, yet not far from the city. It was just more inland than her parent’s cliff dwelling, which overlooked the edge of Phasmoenia.

On the way, they passed by the old home, which was where Brenna’s brothers currently resided. She doubted anyone was home, and continued on the road. As she passed the house, the road veered closer to the cliff so that drivers could see the wonderful view. Today, though, she saw something else. She slowed the bike, leaving it at a hovering standstill as she looked over the beaches and out to the sea beyond. There was smoke coming from the water, and emergency vehicles were heading to whatever was on fire out in the sea. She couldn’t make out what it was. There were people lining the beaches below, trying to make out the disaster. Brenna felt a pit in her stomach. He did not say he was going on a boat, she reminded herself. She pushed the hoverbike forward again and took Lyra to school.

“I love you, sweetie,” she said, and kissed Lyra atop her curling golden locks.

She smiled back, “Love you, Mama.”

Afterward, instead of heading to work, Brenna went toward the accident, just to make sure that Esil was alright. He was bound to be at the scene, getting the story.

As she and Gabriel searched the crowds, her heart felt more terror when he could not be found. “What happened?” She finally asked an emergency respondent whose job it was to keep people out of the water.

“Fishing boat got hit by a plane,” he said, and in the same breath shouted, “Back up! Back up!” to the crowd.

“A plane? What plane?” She asked, incredulous. He spoke with calm demeanor, but it made little sense. She added quickly, almost as an afterthought, “Is everyone alright?”

“It’s from the outside. Some sort of fighting plane. No survivors found yet,” then he shouted “Back up!” again.

Outside. It was not a plane from Caligo. That gave her chills. How could it make it so far, and then land right where a ship was? What were the chances…? Brenna didn’t know. And she didn’t know if Esil was on the ship or not, but she forced herself to doubt it. Perhaps he was on an emergency vehicle getting the story that very minute. She forced herself to let go of the worry, and go to work.

Later in the afternoon, a statement was released announcing who had perished in what they were calling the “Freak Accident of ‘45”. There were thirteen dead caligoans, and two dead drifters. There were none reported missing, but there was no roster to say who was on the ship. All of the caligoans were identified, and none were Esil. Brenna breathed a sigh of relief, but in the back of her mind, the worry was still there, and would be until she saw Esil again.

She went through her usual schedule, picking up Lyra from her brother’s house, visiting for an hour or so if whichever of the two who was watching Lyra had the time. It was Lorus this time, and usually they spent the hour in deep discussion, but he could see she was in no mood for anything beyond a simple chat. After a short while, they said their goodbye's and then went back to their home to make dinner. Esil should have returned an hour or so after her.

When he did not return in the evening, her terror resurfaced.

“Where’s Daddy?” Lyra asked between spoonfuls of potatoes and gravy. She must have noticed Brenna becoming anxious, for she put down her spoon and would not eat anymore. Gabriel flew to Brenna’s shoulder, and she felt an immediate calm. With a touch, he could use his power to stir any emotion, and what she needed that moment was calmness. In her mind, she thanked him, and he nodded back a silent welcome in return.

She took Lyra’s hand in hers. “I don’t know Lyra. But I will find him.”

So began the search. It started with calls to his work, to find out where he was assigned. They had little information, and none of it detailed enough to be of any service. The fishing boat had no roster, and no other fishermen mentioned being with a reporter or even seeing one on the docks that day. Who would remember one man after a disaster such as that one? No other bodies had been found; no one else had been reported missing.

Days melted to weeks, weeks to months. Brenna left Lyra with Johan and Lorus for days at a time while she helped authorities search the beaches, the forests, anywhere and everywhere. She lived off of the calm euphoria Gabriel emitted as her search went from desperation to obsession. The authorities searched for three months, but eventually even they gave up his case as a lost cause.

It was one night soon after this that Gabriel finally collapsed from exhaustion. He had been calming her emotions the entire time, though as time went on it became weaker and the despair began to take hold. He fought it as long as he was able, but there was a time when he could do no longer, and the full pain that she was feeling came rolling in to crush her. It was this night she realized that she could search no longer, and had to begin healing herself. She had to fix her life in shambles, and she had to do it before she killed Gabriel and thus, herself. That night, she gave up Esil for dead, and she looked to the stars as she cried and cried until she could cry no more.

May 1985

Brenna’s archaeological investigation led her to the other side of the island. An inland area had sparse hills surrounding a woody area, and the fog there was nearly unbearable compared to the usual fog of Caligo. There was a lower populace in this area, nearly abandoned, and it seemed that every footstep she took in those abandoned woods echoed in ghostly demeanor. She loved the quiet, its tranquil nature soothing her soul. There were many miles to traverse, and she might have had Gabriel carry her if she didn’t enjoy hiking so much.

Studies had suggested she might be able to locate an ancient cemetery hiding in the woods. This was her first reconnaissance mission in hopes of finding the site, which had yet to be formally documented, if indeed it even existed. It was another reason she was on foot…she could easily miss it from the skies, with how dense the woods had become.

About half way there, she noticed a shadow, barely seen through the fog, moving in the trees. She approached it cautiously, one hand on her knife holstered on her hip. As she neared the being, she gasped in horror, dropping her knife to the floor. It’s blade flickered, trying to cut against the forest floor but not catching anything. There, in front of her, was an old and haggard woman. The wrinkles in her face threatened to swallow it, and she was bent and frail with extreme age. Brenna knew that there were some people, a small few, who lost their shades and aged. But she never saw one, and certainly not so old. Many died long before reaching however old she must be. Seeing this woman, shadeless, was like looking upon someone without a head. The woman glared back at her, an evil in her eye that shook Brenna’s core. Gabriel swooped down from the skies, landing in his monster form and raising his wings in warning. Old or not, this woman had a threatening demeanor.

The woman instead turned away, and went. Brenna was afraid to follow and yet, she felt an urge to understand more of this woman’s situation, frightening though she was. So, Brenna collected her knife, holstered it and followed, walking loudly so that the woman would know that Brenna was following. Either the woman wanted it, or didn’t care, for she continued without turn or comment.

It was several minutes before the scenery changed. Brenna first noticed a gravestone when she tripped on it. It was little more than a rock, and she bent down, brushing the dirt from its crevices. The writing was illegible. She began to lose sight of the old woman, and rushed to follow, leaving the weathered stone behind. There were several more, some large, most tilted or broken, all weathered. Her excitement had begun to grow, but was soon quenched when she began to see other fixtures. Tents, metal shacks, temporary housings worn with extended use littered the ancient graveyard. Little yards full of meaningless artifacts, little more than trash, melding into another shack’s midden circle. The faces that surrounded this slum were what truly saddened her.

Many were old, like the woman, haggard, old, and angry. Angry at having their immortality stolen from them. Brenna had long forgotten her age, she had never imagined mortality. She had never imagined so many caligoan mortals still living. The true sadness, though, was in the young ones. Too young, barely out of childhood, these people still had youthful physique but lacked the spark of immortality, giving an illusion of dullness and gray. A few of them looked up at her, all eyes darting to Gabriel who had long since perched on her shoulder. He became incorporeal, out of defense, trying to hide in a place that he was not welcome. The members of the camp began to slowly approach her; it was an offensive gesture made in a defensive way. Brenna had a feeling that they weren’t sure what her shade’s power was, and that was their only wariness in approaching. Everything else about their demeanor spelled violence. Brenna took a defensive stance, feet spread wide and hands to the knives at her hips. Gabriel returned to solid form, fluttering his wings and opening his beak wide; it made many of them flinch and back off, but a few others seem to be spurred by the gesture and moved closer. They started mumbling incoherently, their voices rising to angry shouts before quickly dropping back down to mumbles.

Let’s get out of here! Brenna thought to Gabriel and in a flash he took monster form; she climbed aboard, but at this point they were upon them, hands gripping the feathers, refusing to let go. For a moment, Brenna panicked, but suddenly the group calmed down and backed away, heads shaking. Brenna looked around, bewildered, before she realized that Gabriel had used his power to calm them all. Unfortunately it was short lived; he could not use his power on that many people for any length of time. They were getting angry again.

“What is the meaning of this?” A man yelled from behind. Everyone turned to face him, and Brenna did as well. He was old, the kind of old where he was still straight backed and proud, but with silver hair and a weathered face. One could call him beautiful if they were adjusted to such. His eyes were sharp, blue, and he had the posture of a leader. His eyes met hers, and something happened that she did not expect: terror.

He grabbed his heart and fell part way, kneeling on the floor. A few of the people who had surrounded her ran to him, in obvious worry. This man was a leader, or someone important, to them. She should have taken this moment to run, but something told her to stay. Something told her he was important. Something reminded her….

“Eutropia!” Gabriel cawed in despair, and it hit her too.

“Esil?” she half whispered, and everyone turned and stared.

Suddenly, she wasn’t the enemy anymore, and the once angry mob parted as she ran to him. Her legs felt like lead, and every step seemed not but inches closer to him. In an eternity, she was there, gripping him from the side, he leaning against her, head held down. His body was shaking madly.
Gabriel was flapping wildly, half flying, half falling, rolling on the ground. The crowd gave him wide berth. For all of the inklaw’s serenity, when his heart was broken, it was a horrid sight to see.

“Esil…what?” Brenna didn’t know what to say.

He took deep breaths, until he was somewhat calm again, and then looked her in the eyes. A weakness was there that she had never seen before, not even the moment he stepped out of the tent. A weakness caused by her, she knew.

“Esil! The time we have wasted!” She cried.

“I couldn’t…” he breathed heavy, tears on the edge of his voice. “I couldn’t escape my own terror of mortality…I couldn’t face you again…knowing…you can’t know the terror…my love!” His hands wrapped around her ears, thumbs caressing her cheeks and fingertips nestled in her hair. They were the same hands. Old, weathered, but strong, and his.

“You fool! No, no, my love, it will be alright now, it will be alright; we are together again,” she whispered, and wiped the tears from his sapphire eyes. They were surrounded by faces, but she felt completely alone. “But how? Why? Why must it be you? Our time together…was so short…why can’t we…”

“Start over again?” He almost laughed, but there was no mirth to be found. “Why can’t we start over again…it is the question of my people. The shadeless. All we want is our souls returned…it is our final wish, and we would carry it to the stars if the gods would grant it to us again...no, as it is, we can never return.”

She looked around, and saw the faces surrounding her. The faces living vicariously through her. Wanting to feel alive again, to feel love, and connection, and…life.

“Your people?” She said aloud, though she didn’t mean to.

“I tried coming home to you. I tried, but I never could. I couldn’t face knowing that I would see you and know you and have to give it up. I wanted it to be a choice, not a sentence. I knew I mustn’t be the only one, so I looked for others. Others like me, who had nowhere else to go. We came here, to die in what peace can be had on this godforsaken island.” She fell into his arms, both of them kneeling on the ground, holding each other and shaking. She saw behind Esil that Gabriel had fallen to the ground and just laid there, wings askew. He could have been dead, but she could feel that he wasn’t. Yet, there was no Eutropia to return to.

“If only we could start over again…this time we’d get it right…” he said, though it wasn’t to her. It was to his own failures. His own inability to face what was certainly ahead for him. His breath caught quickly, and he began shaking wildly, falling away from her. “Not…not now!” he said between breaths, and she laid him down, quietly consoling him as tears fell from her face onto his.

“Not now,” she repeated, a fruitless gesture. The shock of seeing her was killing him. She looked up. “Can any of you save him?” She yelled. “Can’t anyone do something?” They stood there, a few bothering to shake their heads. Even if they could save him, she knew they wouldn’t have. It was the point, after all, for them. To die.

Esil’s voice rang out once more, it shaky and uncertain. “I knew…I could never…face you again.” He said through breaths. Then, his hand shot out and clasped her chin, he nearly jerked her off her knees, pulling her face to his. He kissed her, passionately, and she found her fingers roaming his silver hair for what was going to be the last time. The kiss was short, for he was breathless, but he forced himself to speak.

“Don’t…don’t ever tell. About us. Don’t ever…My love. Don’t tell Lyra.” His eyes rolled back, and his breath released, and calm returned to his body once more.

Brenna screamed.

Amending the Wrongs of Our Past

“Liluye, where are you going?” The calm voice behind her nearly made her heart stop with fear. She turned, pasting a false look of calm over her face.

“I am going home, Dante. It is late, and I am weary.” Her own voice was calm despite the rapid pulsing beneath her breast. His pale eyes gazed at her searchingly, as if he could sense her fear. Beside him, a great feline with glowing, indigo eyes and silver saber teeth seemed to peer at her in the same, searching way, with his head cocked slightly. His name was Sy, and he had always given her the creeps - just like Dante did.

An average-sized, black bird was perched upon Liluye’s shoulder, unmoving though his glowing green eyes viewed everything around him. The lack of pupils in those eyes made it difficult to discern where he looked, but Liluye knew the Inklaw watched the Grimalkin very closely. The avian’s muscles were tense beneath his glossy, black feathers; he was ready for action should the need arise.

“Very well.” Dante spoke at last, breaking a silence that had been more than frightening for the dark haired woman. “We need you, Liluye. You must return tomorrow night.” The hint of a threat edged his voice, pebbling her flesh, but he walked away without another word.

What have I done, Montsho… The thought skittered from her mind into that of the Inklaw. His head cocked toward his companion, silver beak flashing in the dim light from the windows of the building where she had been working for the past few months.

You could not have known, Liluye… You did what you thought was right at the time… Now that we know the truth, we must work to amend our wrongs… His voice was calm and soothing, slinking over her mind and filling her entire being with his wisdom. She only nodded in response and walked a little farther away.

Montsho leapt from her shoulder, landing on the ground before her. However, his size had increased dramatically. No longer did he appear to be a harmless, small avian but an overly large one, bigger than she was. The sizable beak glinted with the glow of his verdant eyes. Lifting her skirts about her thighs, the woman mounted his back, clinging gently to the feathers at the nape of his neck as he lifted them both in flight.



The next afternoon, after a brief discussion with Montsho of what must be done, Liluye Kang contacted one she believed could help her. They met in private to discuss the urgent matter. The man had brought a large, black canine with softly curving horns that protruded from its head – a Brownyte. The man himself had sandy blond hair that was long and straight, and he kept it bound at the nape of his neck. His skin was fair, and his eyes were a deep mocha colour. Those optics held a comforting warmth that could make anyone trust him and relax around him, as they very well should have, for he was a messenger of the gods themselves.

“You see what has to be done, do you not?” Liluye asked after she had explained her discovery to Lux.

“Yes. This must be stopped. I have long suspected my brother had some plot up his sleeve, that he was involved in something unsavory, but I never imagined it was this terrible.” Lux responded thoughtfully but seriously.

“We will deal with Noxus’ greed and his lust for power before anyone can be harmed – at least anyone else, for I doubt he has harmed none in his pursuits.” The Brownyte had spoken in a voice as smooth and as affable as Lux’s eyes.

Lux spoke again, his voice sounding a bit far away, as if the wheels of his mind were spinning strategically, “I am hoping we can deal with him in a non-violent matter.”

“However, a physical act may be the only way we may get through to him.” The Brownyte seemed to finish with what Lux may have said himself. “Thank you for coming to us. Do you have your own plan of action for dealing with the help you have given Noxus and his project?”



The evening came, causing the perpetually foggy gloom of the island to deepen with each passing moment. Liluye sat upon her marriage bed, dark eyes gazing past the softly lit expanse of her room as her fingers fiddled with a flash drive containing a code she had written after she’d finished her meeting with Lux.

Liluye lived with her husband who she had married only two years ago, but he was currently working. She had never told him of the thoughts that plagued her, for she knew he would try to stop her for her protection, but she had an imperative to do this whether he consented or not. “We must go.” Montsho’s voice interrupted her thoughts of her husband.

Even so, worries and doubts still plagued her mind with fear. “I don’t know if I can do it. They’ll catch me! They’ll-”

“You know it’s what must be done. We must be brave. Besides, Lux now knows what we learned yesterday. He will help us.” He interrupted her forming panic with cool logic. “Wenyan will understand once it is finished, and he will still love you despite your discretion.” A small sigh of defeat emanated from her throat. She knew the truth. Millions could die if she didn’t at least try to stop what they was happening. They had lied to her to get her aid, but it would be her turn to lie to them to inhibit their progress indefinitely.



To keep attention and suspicion off her, Liluye walked at a normal pace toward the covered building where the project was coming to life. Within it, at the center was a large, towering machine of slightly old but of innovative design that had been updated considerably despite retaining the flavor of its original conception. It was as tall as the building itself. Computers surrounded it on the main floor, and on upper levels, there were rooms with still more computers as well as several offices.

Her station was on the ground floor, and it took her no time at all to reach it. Her long fingers quickly tapped over the keys to log herself into a system with which she was very familiar. Those who had gotten her aid on this project had first found her because she had unsuccessfully tried to hack into their database simply because she thought it would be amusing. She’d had no idea they were such an intense and secretive company at the time.

They’d traced her through the computer she’d used, and after a very long, very uncomfortable talk, they decided they’d rather have someone as skilled as her on their team than against them. They hadn’t counted on her discovering the lies they’d fed her just as she didn’t expect her current attempt to merely log into the system this evening to be thwarted.

ERROR: L.KANG – ACCESS DENIED

Softly arching, dark brows cinched together, and her heart beat so rapidly she could feel it in her temples. They knew… Somehow, they had guessed her intentions, and they were doing what they could to stop her from sabotaging them.

Without hesitating, Montsho lifted his wing to touch the computer, but before he could make contact, a familiar, unsettling voice sounded behind her. “Liluye, Noxus would like to speak to you in his office immediately.” She turned, her face a calm mask despite her inner turmoil.

“About what is this? Why has my access been denied?” Her demands were met with Dante’s slimy smirk.

“You know perfectly well why your access has been denied; it is written all over your thoughts.” Dante’s Grimalkin companion had a voice that was as seedy and disturbing as Dante’s personality. She had never known what Sy’s ability was, but he had just revealed it to her as plain as day. He must have read her mind last night; he must have known she had learned the truth, and he must have told his human companion.

No wonder Dante seemed to be Noxus’ right hand man. He had a window into everyone’s thoughts through him and Sy, so he would always know who was on his side and who was against him.

Cowardice had never been something she had allowed in herself, but her sudden instinct to run as far and as fast as she could was suddenly so strong that only the realization that Sy had likely already informed his companion of her thoughts stopped her from fleeing the scene. She had no hope for escape that way, but she was smart, and she was strong. She could face Noxus.

With Dante and his shade companion trailing her closely, Liluye and Montsho climbed the steps to Noxus’ second floor office – the largest in the entire building. She didn’t even knock before entering, for she felt no need to be polite to one who would likely try to harm her. With her head held high, she faced the leader of this project. His back had been turned to her, but at the sound of his door opening, he slowly turned toward her and nodded a dismissal at Dante. His face looked a great deal like Lux’s, but his hair was a light brown in colour which he kept short and slicked back, and though his eyes were the same shade of brown, they held none of his brother’s warmth. In Noxus’ eyes, there was only an icy calm and a hint of danger.

“Ah, Mrs. Kang. I have heard a great deal about your work with forming a way to leave our… lovely island with our shade companions at our sides. It has been quite ingenious, really. It is such a shame that you came into this building today with the intention of wiping all of that information from the database.” He shook his head with mock disappointment.

“It is my research. I have every right to destroy it to ensure it won’t be used to murder millions of people!” Her anger was rising along with her voice, but Montsho sent soothing thoughts to her mind. Yelling would get her nowhere in this situation; it would only let Noxus know that he had power of her, and he could try to control her with her fear. She took a calming breath.

“Unfortunately, that information ceased to belong to you the instant you entered it into our system, but do not fret. It is probable that millions will die, but the cause is so much bigger than any of us. As a superior race, we have a right – no, we have a duty – to expand into the world with the technology our people first created thirty years ago. One, tiny island cannot possibly hope to hold all of our wisdom. We need to share it with the world.” Noxus had the commanding voice of one who could inspire many, but Liluye refused to be a puppet in his theatre.

“You do not mean to help anyone other than yourself, Noxus. You want to rule the outsiders, not share our knowledge with them, and that is not what I signed onto this job to do.” Her voice was much calmer, but defiance was clear within her tone.

The Grimalkin beside Noxus suddenly spoke, her eyes blazing a fierce orange. “No, it is exactly what you signed onto this project to do! You wanted to study those people and societies of the world outside our tiny island, and that is just what you would have been able to do. Just the same, you have kept this secret from the gods knowing they would not approve having us even innocently mingling with outlanders. You will be condemned like the rest of us.”

“So be it if the gods damn me. I could never feel all right about studying anyone with blood on my hands.” Contempt was clear in Liluye’s confession.

Noxus paused for a moment as if to think, but in his eyes, Liluye could already tell he’d made a decision. “Pity. I cannot allow you to continue with this project without your cooperation in making it a success, but with the knowledge you possess, I cannot allow you to leave.” With those words, a burst of flame shot toward her from Noxus’ shade companion. She gasped and rolled to dodge it and Montsho quickly spread his suddenly giant wings before her, but the heat of the flames never reached the Inklaw, and she never felt his pain or detected the sickening smell of burning feathers. Instead, every hair on her body seemed to stand on end as energy crackled throughout the room.

“Noxus, I cannot allow this to continue.” Lux stood in the doorway, vibrant electricity flashing about his Brownyte companion. They stepped forward as a unit, away from the door, opening an exit for Liluye and for Montsho.

“Is that so, Brother? Does this mean you have come with some feeble attempt to stop me?” The mocking in Noxus’ voice was clear, and a rasping sounded from the Grimalkin at his side that was likely meant to be laughter.

Liluye and Montsho didn’t stay for more. This wasn’t their fight; it was a fight between brothers - Lux and Noxus - and their shade companions. They rushed through the doorway just as the heat of flames and flashes of lightning coruscated through the room from opposite ends.

She hurried down the stairs only to nearly ram into a surprised Dante who blocked her route. Without a thought, she leapt over the banister, her boot making contact with his face as her legs swung over the edge. Dante’s wounded form lost its balance and crashed down the stairs, and his Grimalkin rushed after her only to feel the agonizing peck of an enormous, silver beak crushing into his skull before Sy’s saber teeth could reach Liluye. The hiss of pain from behind hardly registered in her ears as she rolled into her fall as soon as her feet slammed into the floor.

The unconscious form of the Grimalkin crashed behind her before evaporating into black smoke and fading away in its death. A terrible scream sounded from the man who had crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, but Liluye was already running toward the computers with Montsho gliding after her, so she didn’t even hesitate. The Inklaw reached one of the cubicles first, and his large wing swept over the equipment within it. He needed to type nothing on the keyboard, and he didn’t need to verify himself. As if he had simply asked the system to allow him entry, access was granted to two computers. Liluye, unsurprised, took over the computer next to him, tapping her way into the system and quickly inserting the flash drive into the machine.

“Blimey! Whot yeh doin’ at mah station, Liluye?” She didn’t even turn toward the man who spoke but simply continued to work as rapidly as she could.

“I am just borrowing your computer for a moment, Charlie. I will be finished momentarily.” She felt him peer over her shoulder at his computer.

“Yeh’d betteh not be doing whot I think yer doing, Kang!” He shouted, a hint of panic in his voice. He suddenly shoved her fiercely, away from the computer, before she could finish, sending her crashing to the hard floor. In response, she kicked at his legs, sending him flying onto his back as his knees buckled. A Grimalkin with vibrant, red eyes suddenly became corporeal and purposefully brushed hastily through Montsho’s tail feathers before rushing toward the computer where Liluye had been implementing her code into the system. His paw brushed over the machine, and the computer shut down while Charlie restrained Liluye on the floor.

Suddenly, an explosion from the second floor sounded, drawing the attention of both Charlie and of Liluye. Flashes of white and of orange-red caused another explosion before all that was left were flames lapping at the stairs. “Bloody hell!” Charlie exclaimed, his blue eyes turning toward the second floor along with the orange ones of his Grimalkin.

Thinking quickly, the Inklaw and the young woman moved simultaneously while the pair were distracted. Reaching the Grimalkin first, Montsho shoved into him hard and pecked at its head. Charlie’s arms suddenly clutched at his own scalp, feeling the pain that had been inflicted on his companion. “Forge!” He managed to cry before Liluye managed to roll his weight off her and smash his head hard into floor twice before he lay still - unconscious but alive, just as the Grimalkin was.

She rushed back to the computer and tried to turn reboot it to no avail. I think Forge has the same ability as you do, Montsho… Liluye thought as the avian brushed his wing over the machine, causing it to instantly boot up. He even got it to bring it up to the point where she had left off, so she didn’t have to start from the beginning.

No, I do not believe that is so… I felt something when he touched me, like he leeched a bit of energy from me… He sent the feeling through their minds, and Liluye felt the odd sensation that Montsho had experienced. It was not enough to harm me, but I think he took enough to copy my gift for speaking to machines…He just didn’t quite understand the best way to utilize it... By the way, I deleted our research, so it can never be recovered…

She continued to type furiously until she had finally attached her code to the system’s weakest parts. With only minor hesitation at so much clever information going to waste, she hit the LAUNCH key. The information on the screen began to become scrambled beyond recognition as her virus took effect, and it quickly made its way through the entire database, ruining everything from the time when the machine was first built thirty years ago to when the project was reinstated twenty years into the past to present day. It was much faster than trying to go through and delete everything, and it would hopefully take longer to remove her virus and decode the scrambled information than it had taken to research and create it all in the first place.

Liluye would have done more – such as try to see if Lux was okay after that explosion – but her attention and her breath were suddenly caught by an unusual but amazing sight. Twelve, pure black eyes – optics belonging to six humanoid beings – passed over all within the building from the giant machine to the computers to the people. Their pale skin and blue hair gave them a sort of ethereal beauty that was uncomfortable for Liluye to behold, yet she could not look away. These were the deities who had gifted the Caligoans with all of their knowledge and technology. She had always believed in their existence and in their goodness, but she had never witnessed even one of them in person until today, for she had been born eight years after they had bestowed her people with the gift of shade companions and the island of Caligo, and the gods rarely traveled among the people any more.

Everyone in the building had stopped working to stare. Some eyes contained fear but all of them contained awe at what they beheld.

As one entity, they spoke, their voices loud and clear and achingly beautiful yet they contained no true emotion. Their words were of an unknown language, yet she could understand every word, for all on the island were omniliguists because of these divine beings’ gifts. “You have attempted to abuse what we have generously given to you.” They spoke to everyone at once. “You have proven yourselves to be disrespectful and insolent. For this, those who have lusted for power over the weak shall be ended. Only those who have not disobeyed our wishes will be left.”

They lifted their arms in unison, and Liluye’s world went black.



Pounding like a drum beat…

Pain…

A groan of discomfort…

Things didn’t immediately make sense in this world of torment, but steadily, understanding seemed to take hold. Her lids peeled back from her dark eyes though her vision was hazy for a moment. Shapes began to form in the blur, slowly taking sensible shapes. A man leaned over her as did two shades, an avian with emerald glowing optics and a Brownyte with luminescent violet eyes. “Mon-Montsho…” Liluye croaked.

“Hush now, my love. He is here. You were spared the wrath of the Gods. You must be the only one in this entire area who survived.” Liluye’s husband spoke softly, and there was a sort of relief in his voice that was simultaneously choked with sorrow. As his dark-skinned face began to take a more meaningful form, Liluye realized there were tears in her mate’s eyes. Her entire body ached, but she lifted a hand to his cheek.

“Wenyan.” She spoke in a hoarse whisper. “What happened?” Her voice became a little clearer, and she slowly sat up, painful as it was. Alaric supported her in his arms as she gazed slowly around herself. The machine was still in place, but the building had mostly collapsed. Dust and debris littered the area, and she was covered in scrapes and bruises. The machine still stood tall, but the computers had all been destroyed. The bodies of the dead lay everywhere, some in full view, and some were covered by dusty scraps of metal and plastic. Caligoans and shade companions who she didn’t know picked through the debris, likely looking for their loved ones, hanging onto a dim hope that they continued to live.

“The gods were all over the islands, Dearest. They told us they would spare only those who had not disobeyed them, those who didn’t want power. They placed us all into a slumber, a mercy for those of us who would live, so we would not have to see those around us perish.” He paused momentarily, as if he was trying not to allow the emotion to enter his voice. “I heard half of the population was decimated, but I do not know for certain. I heard the Machine of Mass Destruction was being rebuilt and that was the cause of the gods’ fury. They were saying the location was where you had worked for these past months, and I became so frightened for you. When I came, I saw this destruction, and I almost panicked, but Daiyu found you. You know how she can find anyone.” His words became choked with emotion, and he held her more tightly to him. Daiyu, his Brownyte companion nuzzled his shoulder comfortingly. Liluye didn’t cry out with the pain his tight embrace caused, content to have him hold her regardless because being so near one another was comforting to them both. “I am so grateful you are alive, but how is it possible?”

Her memories flashed into her mind of the instants before she became unconscious. “I… I tried to stop this. I hadn’t known what they were really doing, what they intended, but when I found out, I had to end it.” Montsho and Daiyu rubbed gently against her.

We survived… The Gods saw into our hearts, and they were merciful… Montsho’s voice blew softly over her mind.

“If the people on Caligo were destroyed, the rest of us must to stick together,” Liluye said softly, “and we have to start by getting rid of this machine for good, so no one can ever try to use it again.”

She started to speak again, but a cough wracked her wounded frame, so Montsho finished her words, “The people of Caligo will heal with time, but we must never forget what happened today.”

Embers of Rain


~ ~ ~
Caligo, September 16th, 1477 A.D.
~ ~ ~

Aatred held his dying lover in his arms, her perfect face wet with rain-washed blood. She painfully struggled to keep her eyes on him, blinking through the heavy raindrops falling on her eyelids, flowing in her tears. Thunder crashed, echoing on the beach far below the cliff, its flash and volume making the young woman's eyes and body wince for a moment as if in pain. Aatred bent farther over her, holding her close until it passed. When he felt a hand on his salty cheek and looked back into her eyes, he saw she was smiling.
“Aatred, I...”
“Ilaris, no... please... I can't lose you.”

Close by, a silver-horned shade gently nudged the dead body of a huge grimalkin. He shifted forms, sat in the black-red pool of blood, and began to utter a long, mournful howl.

Aatred looked back from the grimalkin's death to his lover's dying smile. “No, don't... don't leave me! Two hundred years, and I finally found someone my heart can belong to, someone it yearns for! If I lose you, I won't know... what to do...”

Ilaris's smile weakened. Her hand began to slip. Aatred took the hand in his own, held her head up in his other. His chest pounded in fear.
“Ilaris! do you hear me? I love you! You can't die! Please...”
Her quivering eyes were sad, straining to keep him in sight. Her voice was faint. “I wish... I...”
“What?”

She drew a deep, desperate breath and kept her lungs full with it, as if she knew it would be her last. “Kiss me... please... So I'll remember... when... I'm...”

Aatred shook his head through the watery heat behind his eyes, trying voicelessly to shape the word 'no,' but he bent and pressed his lips against hers. Into the kiss they poured their desires, their hearts, and their final farewells.

When the seal of their lips was broken, Aatred could feel the breath of Ilaris's last words warm on his mouth. “I wish I could have been with you... for... orev... er....”

Aatred could hear her last breath slowly escaping her body, could feel her slowly going limp in his arms, and there was nothing, nothing, he could do.

~ ~ ~
Caligo, December 1st, 1476 A.D.
~ ~ ~

Ilaris Viloquens sped along a two-way travelcourse that curved back and forth up a steady slope, with hills of rock to either side atop which dense forest disappeared into the grayness above. Despite the fog, the travelcourse was well lit, not only by the white lights of her dimensionally-powered hoverride, but also by the warm groundlights directly below and mistlights suspended at even intervals along the way. At Ilaris's side, keeping up with her along the one of the designated ground lines, was a black, sliver-fanged grimalkin who covered distance with huge, leaping bounds, her long tail balanced in the air behind.

Ilaris's dark hair whipped into her face as she turned her head to the side. “Ayana!”
The shade glanced over as she ran alongside the muted, single-rider vehicle. “Yes?”
“We have plenty of time! It's beautiful here; we'll rest for a while!”

Ilaris turned a handle to slow her craft, a chrome Subvolo Celerity D.8 with an eight-chamber dimensional-extraction generator. A slight change in pitch from the cooling systems and the reduced frequency of the engine's cycling hum were the only sounds to accompany the rush of air over the small, opened flaps as the speed decreased. Ilaris banked to the right off the travelcourse where the rock hills dipped enough for her vehicle to rise over them and enter the woods.

They found a spot further up, at the cliff-like edge of one of the hills, overlooking the travelcourse. The Celerity powered down smoothly--silently, but for a small, muffled spinning noise. Ilaris swung her leg over the seat and disembarked onto the damp foliage, walked to the edge of the hill and folded herself into a sitting position, leaning back on the heels of her hands and letting her calves dangle against the cliff wall. Into her view brushed Ayana's huge head and saber-like fangs. The shade started to shift to her smaller form, but Ilaris forestalled her: “Wait.”
Taking the direction, Ayana retained her large form and lay down behind Ilaris, compassing the young woman's back like an enormous--firm, furry, warm--black cushion. Ilaris leaned back and rested one arm over Ayana's neck, the shade's ears level with the woman's shoulders, the long tail curling around over the edge to brush against her feet. Faint sounds came, every few moments, from some other vehicle or shade rushing along the travelcourse below.

Ilaris looked past the course at an angle toward where she had come, a direction she knew was roughly southwest. Distances were confusing in Caligo; all she knew was that somewhere that way, as the inklaw flies, lay the densely packed high-rises of Phasmoenia City. Her whole life, the activity there was invigorating, but the population density, stifling. She had needed to get away, and now she had. The fresh, damp air felt good to breathe in. Ilaris turned her head in the other direction, northward, toward her destination. She could see nothing through the fog, but she could remember, and she could imagine.
“Vectra. I'm finally going to live there.”
“I guess living in a place is different from visiting,” Ayana said, nuzzling Ilaris's waist. “Have you thought of studying something besides just Art, since Mother and Father paid for an extended stay?”
“What else is there to study in Vectra?”
“Philosophy, History, Speculative Theory, Aeronautics, Meditation, Picto--”
“Alright, alright, I read the copy, too,” said Ilaris. “I just meant nobody goes to Vectra to study History, they go for 'The Most Prestigious Art Societies on Caligo.'”
“I know.”
Ilaris smiled. “I know.”

“Well then, have you thought about it?”
Ilaris laughed and poked her shade in the ribs. “We'll see when we get there.”
“Well, you can do what you like, then,” Ayana teased, “just as long as I get to have some fun.”
Sitting there together, wistfulness retook the fore of Ilaris's mind. “It'll be the start of a new life for us.”
Ayana lifted her neck and twisted her glowing blue eyes to look into the dreamy, determined expression on her companion's delicate face. She followed Ilaris's gaze out toward the north for a moment and then nestled back around her shape. “Yes. Like a flame rekindled from the embers.”
Ilaris nodded once. “Even under a pouring rain.”

Thunder rolled in from the distant west. The companions paused, looked at each other, and smiled.
“Come on,” Ilaris said, pulling her legs up from the edge, “we'd better go.” She stood up, stretching her arms in her warm travel suit, then climbed over Ayana's torso to get back to the hoverride. Vectra was waiting.

~ ~ ~
Caligo, December 16th, 1476 A.D.
~ ~ ~

Aatred looked down at the fog bank, perhaps four or five staves distant. Next to Aatred was Faron, a bownyte shade, his forelegs and muzzle up on the polished stone balcony, silently pondering along with his companion. The solstice was only a few days away. The air during this season, at this elevation, was becoming cold. Aatred glided a hand over Faron's sleek coat of black fur, as much to gain warmth as to express affection. “We'll always have each other,” he said, trying and failing to console them both.

The shade managed to nod with his head on the balcony, a slight movement of his silver horns the only indication. His lonesome words were accurately translated despite their muffled utterance. “It's been eight years since our two-hundredth birthday.”

Out of habit, Aatred approached the problem philosophically. “Anything long awaited or long sought is all the sweeter when discovered. We both know we'll never settle for less than perfection. We simply haven't met them yet.”
“That doesn't make it any easier.”
Aatred was unable to argue, even theoretically. He felt it just as strong.

“It will be worth it,” he finally said. “It has to be. If we have to search for a hundred more years or wait a thousand even for them to be born... it will be worth it.”
Faron sighed. “I know.”
Trying to lighten their mood, Aatred chuckled softly and said, “I wonder if we'll end up like Syphir?”

“Wouldn't that be splendid for you,” exclaimed another voice. Where Aatred and Faron's were somber and staid, this was smooth and expressive. Syphir was suddenly behind them. “Well hello, my favorite pupils. Why so grey?”

Turning around, Aatred smiled in spite of himself. “As old as you are, excellent master, how can the world never weary you?”
“There isn't all that much to the world, when you think about it, and yet it contains infinite pleasures! With so much to discover, how could I ever grow weary of searching?”
“I wish I had your faith.”
“I'm sure you will, someday, if anyone will.”
Faron had turned from the balcony as well. “Master... Do you ever feel incomplete? Lonely?”
“Why of course not,” Syphir exclaimed, genuinely grinning, “I have Qulan,” his shade.
Aatred and Faron looked at each other only to keep from sighing. Faron looked down; Aatred looked back to Syphir. “Did you want to see us about something?”
“Oh yes. I was wondering if you'd like to accompany me to the north shore after the new year.” He pointed backward to one of the larger buildings in the complex around them. “The Vectra Guild of Archaeology is sponsoring an underwater excavation to search for foreign artifacts. Obviously I leapt at the chance, but I thought you might enjoy coming along as well. And, your Faron's abilities would be most helpful.”

Before either of them could answer, a resonant female voice was heard: “Syphir!”
All three turned to look. A blue-eyed bownyte, large even in her unshifted form, sat atop a grand flight of stairs farther up the mountain. Qulan. She continued as soon as she had Syphir's attention. “I must speak with you at once. Bring the young one.”
Syphir turned to them and angled his head toward his shade. “Come on.”

They climbed several branching and progressively narrower flights of stairs, up to some of the most magnificent private dwellings in Vectra. Syphir had been here for more than two millennia, and his towering abode was among the finest. Aatred noticed that Syphir hadn't stopped to flirt with any of the pretty females along the way. That, even more than Qulan's terse tone, convinced Aatred that this was a matter of consequence.

When they entered Syphir's home of forest greens and polished darkwood and sleek, all-natural stone, Qulan was waiting. She led them deeper into the building, someplace comfortable but private. This room was furnished only with a fireplace and large, synthetic memory-cushions. “This will do.” Qulan positioned herself with her back to the fireplace. “Sit, please, Aatred.”

Aatred sat on one of the cushions, sweeping his light gray longcoat out from under him. Faron sat next to him on the floor. Syphir stood to the side, his expression uncharacteristically grave.

“Faron, please shift with me.”

The shades' fur rippled, and their black forms expanded like candle smoke, resolving into huge, wolflike creatures, their silver horns each the size of a drifter's gladius. Both their eyes glowed blue. Qulan, almost completely obscuring the fireplace behind her, looked down at Aatred. She exhaled through her nose, as if caught in a sudden sensation. “Yes... there it is again. Aatred V'sii, if you were not Syphir's pupil I would not have sensed it, but now I must warn you: your doom is approaching.”

“Qulan, what are you doing! The future is--”
Qulan swung her head toward Syphir. “I will not betray his future. Such knowledge would ruin him and steal any choice he may have had. But I must guide his steps, or there will come a time in which he is forever lost to despair.”
Syphir subsided. Aatred swallowed when Qulan swung her gaze back onto him. Faron was still as a statue.

“Aatred, you must not fear what I tell you, or that fate will be unavoidable. Before this coming year has ended, there will come a moment in which all hope seems lost--all hope for your happiness, all hope for your future. Before this moment passes, you must have found the keys that will show you the way. I cannot tell you what they are, or you will break from your path and the result will be the same, only by a different course. Instead, I will give you a Mysterion of three riddles, three questions you must answer before you can know what to do when the moment comes.” She turned her head to look at Aatred's shade. “Faron, help your companion remember these words, and seek the answers when he cannot.”

Qulan closed her eyes for a moment and centered herself. When she opened them, her eyes were bright, and it was clear that she was seeing more than any of them ever could.
“These are your three signs.
“What rains from the highest reaches of the sky--that which enkindles a hope in all who see it?
“What calls from the deepest shadows of the wind--that which guides the lost to a place of rest?
“What warms the mortal heart and the immortal soul--that which restores the former state of purity?
“The answers will lead you to the Mysterion. When that time comes, remember the signs, and you will know what to do.”

Aatred thought he had the answer to one. “I think I know what rains from the highest reaches of the sky: a falling star. Is that the answer?”
“If I tell you the answers, your chance for hope will be lost. Trust in your own wisdom.” With that she reverted to her smaller form, the inky wisps of her ethereal mass slowly funneling as if into a dog-shaped black hole. Qulan lay on the granite floor and rested her head over her forelegs. “Remember the signs,” she said wearily. “You'll be alright.”

Aatred stood as Faron shifted back and Syphir moved from the shadows. The ancient Caligoan said, “I'll stay with her. Qulan's ability rarely ventures through time, especially into the realm of fate.” He looked over at his shade and then back at Aatred. “Mysterions are elusive. They can never be discovered except through riddles, but once unlocked, their meaning will change everything. I've done this with her before. Do not fret as time draws on. It is designed to happen over a period, so that you do not stray from your path. The best thing you can do is put this out of your mind--all but the three riddles.”
“I remember them, Aatred,” Faron assured.
Syphir clasped Aatred's shoulder. “I know I always say this, but I truly mean it: the two of you are my favorite students. I want you to remember, when the day comes: never give up. Let your life flow naturally until then, but keep these things in your heart, so that when the answers come, you will know.” He tried to smile. “For what it's worth, I think you were...” he stopped himself.
“Yes? Think I was what?”
Syphir patted him on the back. “You'll be alright.” He walked over and sat next to Qulan, turning his attention to her. “You'll have to show yourselves out. Try not to think too hard about things. We'll be here if you need us later.”

When Aatred and Faron came back through the house, Aatred put up a hand to shield his eyes on reentering misty glow of open daylight. “What are we going to do,” he asked his shade.
Faron thought for a moment. “I think Qulan gave us what we needed and told us what we had to hear.” He looked up at his companion. “I think we are supposed to do whatever we feel we should.”
Aatred brought his hand down, petting around his shade's silver horns. “Let's go the Arts complex. That might distract our thoughts and help us settle.”
The bownyte perked up. “I'm with you.”

The Art Societies of Vectra enjoyed huge, beautiful buildings crafted of all-natural materials, inside and outside. Domes, spires and towers disappeared up into the mist as Aatred and Faron traversed dew-laden lawns and breathed the mountain air. Just as they were about to turn a corner around one of the buildings, someone appeared suddenly into view and, unable to stop fast enough, toppled into Aatred and onto the ground, spilling packs of artwork and supplies.
Aatred turned over on the grass, trying to see what happened. All at once a column of wispy black smoke solidified into a leaping grimalkin. The shade yowled through silver fangs and fixed glowing blue eyes on Aatred. Faron shifted and growled in threatening response, which only put the grimalkin further on edge.
“Ayana, stop!”

Aatred turned his head at the sound of the young female's voice. She appeared to be in her early-twenties. Her long, dark hair had gone all to one side of her face as she leaned up on one elbow. She wore a mix of natural and synthetic fashions in bright earth tones that, next to Aatred's black clothes and light gray longcoat, made her look like a summer morning as colorous as those sometimes seen on horizons beneath the mist.

“I'm so sorry,” she said. Her grimalkin had somewhat relaxed her stance but refused to shift back to her smaller form, still glowering at Aatred and Faron. Aatred went to help the woman up, but the grimalkin hissed and said, “One more move and I'll rend a tear in you the size of--”
“It's alright, Ayana.” She let Aatred give her a hand up. “Thank you,” she said. “I'm sorry, it's my fault. We're new here.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I don't think so. I feel okay.”
“Here,” he bent to help pick up her things.
“Oh. Thank you, um...”
“Aatred.” He handed her one of her glasslight art-pads. “Aatred V'sii.”
“Thank you.”
They gathered her supplies and replaced everything that had fallen out of her packs and carrying cases. “Thanks again,” she said as she started back toward the building's entrance. Her grimalkin had remained shifted and stuck close by her side.
“Wait,” said Aatred, “what's your name?”
“Ilaris!” she called back. “I'll see you around?”
Aatred nodded slightly upward as the distance increased, only able just then to utter a small sound in reply.

He could feel his world changing shape as he watched her go. Faron appeared at his side, having reverted to his smaller form.

“Faron, I think I know the answer to the second riddle. What calls from the deepest shadows of the wind? That which guides the lost to a place of rest: ...a light in the storm.”
Faron was watching the graceful stride of the vanishing grimalkin. “I think you are right.”

~ ~ ~
Caligo, April 16th, 1477 A.D.
~ ~ ~

“Happy birth-day!!” Aatred hugged Ilaris's shoulders, holding a flute of liquor that was kept chill via nanotech. Ilaris looked especially beautiful tonight, he thought, her hair loosely tied and hanging across one shoulder. He ran his fingers through it where her neck joined her back, and kissed her forehead. Ilaris brought up her own flute and they clinked the glasses softly together before taking a sip of the sweet, biting brew. Her arm around his waist, Ilaris used her other hand still holding the glass to guide his chin down to hers. The glass was as cold against Aatred's cheek as Ilaris's lips were warm upon his own.
“I love this,” she said, “just the two of us.”
“And I love you.” He kissed her again.

Flames crackled in the hearth of Aatred's sedentary in Vectra. A loud purr could be heard where Ayana, in a form scarcely twice the size of a house cat, was nestled in the encompassing shape of a superbly content Faron, their heads resting at the same level on the warm floor.

“Twenty-four,” Ilaris mused. “Your shade can manipulate water and moisture, but Ayana doesn't have her ability yet. I wonder what it will be.”
“They say it is whatever best fits your truest desire. For my mentor, Syphir, it must have been discovery. For me, it was a fascination with the innate grace and life-spark of water.”
“Then Ayana will probably become some instinctive tracker or come to possess some cognizant understanding of lovers, because all I want is to be with you.” She smiled and nestled her head in the hollow between his jaw and shoulder. “I just wish I knew. It's not often a shade has no ability at all at this age, even if it hasn't yet settled permanently.”
Aatred smiled at the irony. “If there's one thing I know how to do, it is wait. I had to wait two hundred years to find you.” He shifted in such a way that she looked up into his eyes, and he said, “It was worth it.”

The following day was damp with the previous night's rain. Ilaris had a day off from her art studies, and Aatred and she had planned to take a trail along the mountainside to one of the kindled springs, naturally occurring fountains of warm water, where people--especially couples--liked to spend intimate time together.

Hours after they arrived, Aatred lounged in the steaming pool with Ilaris resting against his side, her bare shoulders smooth and beautiful above the surface of the water. Her eyes were closed. She was so soft. He could smell her moistened hair along with the fragrant steam of the spring-water.

Unbidden the third sign arose from Aatred's memory, and he knew he had found the answer to its riddle.
What warms the mortal heart and the immortal soul? That which restores the former state of purity. A kindled spring.
The thought made his heart thrill. Yes, he knew he was right. Feeling the cool air on his shoulders and neck, watching Faron impress Ayana by making the water rise and dance, feeling the warmth of the water and of Ilaris's presence, Aatred knew: nothing could bring them apart. Not even fate.

~ ~ ~
Caligo, September 16th, 1477 A.D.
~ ~ ~

Ilaris sat on a rocky ledge east of Vectra. Sunset made the mists glow. The fog was thin today, and Ilaris could just make out the colors of the sea down below, the line of the horizon far away. On her glasslight pad she drew with a large stylus, capturing the scene before her as she waited for Aatred to return from the bottom of the cliff where, due to the narrow space, they had accidentally dropped all of their things--foodstuffs as well as various equipment.

A sudden sound from behind her--a high-pitched mechanical charge--made her shoulders tense. She knew that sound, though she had not heard it in months, not since she left the city. It was the sound of a pulse rifle.

“Stand up, girl, slowly,” said a gruff voice. “And no suspicious business from your shade,” he ordered, more firmly, as Ayana completed her transformation.

Ilaris slowly set her pad on the hard ground and stood, her hands away from her body, and carefully turned around. Two men and two shades, a grimalkin and an inklaw, barred the path back from the promontory. There was not one but two long-barreled rifles aimed in her direction. Ilaris dared not move.

“Give us everything,” said the first man. “Identification, valuables, everything. Just put it all in this bag and toss it back over.” He tossed a sizable black bag at her feet.
“Don't make us shoot you,” said the other man. “We can always just take it. Spare yourself the pain and cooperate.”
“Why are you doing this,” Ilaris asked in a strong voice. She was afraid, but she knew she would be alright as long as Ayana was safe.
“That isn't your business. Hand over the stuff.”
Ilaris backed up a step, but moved no further. She never put up with people like this in the city. She always managed to escape or fight her way out. If she had to, she could grab her things and jump. Besides, Aatred might make it back in time. “No,” she called to them. “You think I'll just let you have it your way?”

“Fine.”

In that instant, Ilaris knew she had underestimated the two men. Her eyes grew wide as she felt a burning impact above her heart, shattering her collarbone and ripping through her shoulder. Only then did she hear the muted sound of the shot that felled her to the ground. She cried out as her bloodied shoulder hit against rough rock.
A growl echoed up from below, but the two men had no time to pay it heed; Ayana had gone wild and charged them in blind rage. She tackled the closest one to the ground--rending his throat with her claws and sinking her fangs into his chest--before either the men or their shades could react. Then she felt her head clubbed and her side and back clawed savagely. Before the second man realized what he was doing, he followed his strike by leveling the rifle and firing straight into Ayana's fallen shape. The shot tore a hideous hole in her chest that gushed a pool of black-red blood.

Dumbstruck, the man took in his friend, the girl, her shade, comprehending what he'd done: full, actual murder. His breathing quickened. He dropped the rifle, cried out, and ran.

Ilaris lay where she had fallen, coughing blood, struggling to breathe. She could feel her connection to her shade weakening. “Ayana...” she breathed.

Thunder rolled in. Rain began to fall.
Ilaris coughed. She felt mortality growing near. She was cold. She knew she was going to die.

Sounds in the foliage nearby brought her consolation. She would get to say goodbye.

“Ilaris! NO!!”

She felt herself being gathered up in Aatred's arms. She cared nothing for the pain.

Thunder crashed.

~ ~ ~

Aatred felt his heart rend as Ilaris's last breath finally expired. Her final farewell echoed everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever dreamed: to be with her forever, and she with him. Now that dream was lost Hope was lost. Everything was lost. He screamed out at the black fog, consumed with despair. “Why has the fire died!!” He shouted his lament at the roiling air, his mouth open in a grieving scream between words. “Why does the flame of life die as embers in the rain of death!!” The words were spat from his heart. “Damn you, fate!! Could this not have been averted!! Why her!!”

Abruptly the cries, both Faron's howling and Aatred's scream, stopped. Aatred wrenched his head around and they looked at each other, their eyes wide with desperate hope, as they together realized: “The Mysterion!”
The words shouted in Aatred's mind. Embers of rain. And suddenly, all of it made sense.

A Falling Star.
A Light in the Storm.
A Kindled Spring.

A Wish from the Heart. 'I wish I could be with you... for... orev... er.'
A Hope Amid Despair. 'Ayana doesn't have her ability yet. I wonder what it will be.'
Renewal Despite Opposition. 'You can know what to do when the time comes.'

Aatred knelt, holding his deceased lover, astonished. “It was her!”

He hurriedly laid Ilaris's body on the hard ground and rushed toward Ayana's black, steaming carcase, even as Faron began to nudge the body up along the coarse rock. Aatred gathered hold of the grimalkin and together he and his shade brought her to the cliff and laid her next to Ilaris. On all fours, both Aatred and Faron desperately bent over them both. They knew their spirits were departing.

Panting, Aatred called out to them. “Ilaris! Ayana! It's not too late! Don't you see, you have it in you--you had it all along! Please... come back to us. Don't let our dreams die. Ayana! Ilaris! Ilaris Viloquens! Come back! Reclaim your life!!”

Faron's eyes glowed. Neither he nor Aatred noticed the massive columns of black cloud reeling and spiraling above them. The light from the bownyte's eyes grew bright as stars. A thunderous growl split the air, echoed off the surface of the sea below.

Moisture gathered over the bodies of the dead, welling up, cleansing, restoring.

Lightning struck.

Aatred and Faron leaped back, startled by the intense light and heat directly before them.
When they looked back, a light was growing in Ayana's dead eyes. The black wisps of her form solidified around her wound, closing the gap. Suddenly her voice appeared in her throat, a wordless call from a wild heart.

“Ayana!” Faron buried his muzzle in her neck.
“Faron...” Ayana's voice broke with joy. “I'm complete! I am a true shade...”

Aatred looked at Ilaris's still form, not daring to blink, despite the rain.

When her mutilated flesh began to knit together, tears sprang to his eyes. He bent over her face, her eyes closed yet in death.
“Ilaris...”
The tense moment of need stretched into infinity. Nearby, the shades' eyes closed for joy, letting fall the shroud of night. Rain pounded Aatred's wheat-colored hair as the air went dark.

In the blackness, for all the noise of the storm, Aatred heard with all his heart the rush of air that filled Ilaris's first new breath.
“My love... Ilaris...”
“Aatred...” She reached her arms around his neck in the dark and brought her mouth to his. Her second breath came only when their kiss finally ended. In the raining night, she looked up into his eyes.

“Aatred... I came back.”

~ ~ ~

The truest wish of the lover's heart,
As black as the deep, as white as a flame,
Like the jeweler's craft or the poet's art,
Is filled with a life
And carries a light
As wondrous and bright as the embers of rain.

The streets were filled with the bodies of the dead: burnt, torn apart, or just deathly still. The buildings lining the street were in flames, those that had not crumbled completely into mounds of smoking rubble. The sky was a dirty gray, yet it seemed almost washed with red. The grinding of machinery echoed through the air, drowning out the muted cries of the few people alive, hiding amidst the rubble of their former homes. Jets streaked across the sky, sonic booms temporarily beating back the sound of machine devastation. The jets shot toward the center of focus in the city, a tower of gleaming metal surrounded by exposed metallic ribs and hundreds of jutting arms. Each of the arms was spinning, loosing beams of energy or devastating explosives at targets across the city. One arm swung toward the jets and their subsequent explosion lit the sky. The bombs dropped by the jets only seconds before their death erupted mere feet from the machine; a blinding flash of blue swallowed the fiery explosion before it could touch the gleaming metal.

Soldiers in urban battle-dress uniforms marched into the streets, flanked by thickly armored tanks hovering over the debris littering the ground. Their cannons moved toward the machine. The retort of their fire echoed across the city and caused several more buildings to collapse. Several soldiers kneeled, shouldering heavy missile launchers. They fired in unison with the tanks behind them. More explosions were swallowed by blue energy. The machine swiveled several of its arms toward the new arrivals. The streets shook under the thundering firepower; the soldiers nearest the explosion disintegrated, tanks exploded, and the street was transformed into a gaping crater.

The machine stopped swiveling and its ribs pushed outward. Flame dripped from its spine, a tower of gleaming metal untouched by the onslaught of the helpless defenders of the city, and the machine seemed to grow taller. It was not the first time it had grown, and it would not be the last. New arms, and new armament, folded outward from the cylindrical torso. A far-off jet spiraled toward the city as an energy beam from the machine, now stronger and smarter, clipped one of the jets wings. The explosion of its impact marked the site of Capitol Hill, though its dome had long since collapsed.

“How does it grow?”

Norman turned away from the screens displaying the madness. The man who had spoken was a general of the United States military, what was left of it. Norman shrugged his shoulders. “How should I know? If I knew that, the thing wouldn’t be here trampling across our capitol. Instead of asking useless questions, why don’t you focus on your job: pummeling that contraption until its parts are spread across the four corners of the U.S.!” Norman’s irritation had grown as the weeks passed by. The general saluted sharply and turned away from him. It wasn’t the general’s fault, of course, but Norman didn’t care. That machine… that Pandora’s Box he had opened, it had ruined everything. And now it wasn’t even the only one. Somehow it had duplicated itself, many times over, and the thing was still growing. The rumors Blue Trinity had followed to chase the thing down did not even hint at its true capabilities.

Norman frowned at the screens, one showing the devastation at Capitol Hill, another displaying the shattered ruins of Manhattan Island in New York, where now the tallest structure still standing was one of the machines. Yet another screen showed the west coast, where battle raged in the city of Los Angeles. Norman had no solid evidence of what was controlling them, though he had some ideas. He had hoped to avoid it, this option of last resort.

“General,” Norman called out over his shoulder.
“Sir?”
“Call the President. It is time we put Caligo at the bottom of the ocean.”

---

Galalym’s tongue had barely pulled away from the surface of the child’s face before the flash was over. She stood there, standing over the infant and panting heavily. The infant reached up and grabbed at her whiskers, but she hardly noticed.

“What’s wrong?” The question echoed through her head, rather than the fog and trees that were thick around her. It came through her telepathic link with Joci. Her counterpart, the other half of her soul, walked up to her and placed a hand on her broad, sleek back. Her black fur ruffled at the touch and she felt a muscle in her back spasm slightly. The shock of the viewing was still fresh in her mind, though she still felt ashamed at reacting so to Joci’s touch. “What’s wrong?” Joci asked again, this time out loud. More figures appeared through the fog, at first just silhouettes until they were close enough for her to see details.

“We have doomed ourselves…” Galalym said quietly. The infant lying on the ground was a few feet from a dead woman wearing the uniform of Blue Trinity. They had not known the woman was with a child during the attack, nor could she guess why the woman had brought it out here in the first place. “What have we done?”

“It is just a soulless child,” Joci said. Galalym had not meant for him to hear her. Her tail lashed wildly at his words. “It was doomed anyway.”

“Not the child!” Galalym snapped. Her fur was standing on end and her throat emitted a low growl. She was too angry to care who she had snapped at. She was angry with everyone, with all of Caligo. She was angry with the Gods for not destroying that abomination when they had the chance. Joci jumped back from her, but an understanding look suddenly entered his eyes.

“What did you see, Galalym? I saw you lick the child’s face. You saw its future. Tell me what you saw.” Galalym had developed the power early on in her life, a result of Joci’s anxiety about the future. He always wanted to know what would happen, what the unintended consequences of his actions would be. It had been a pleasant surprise when she learned she could finally offer Joci the answers to some of those questions. She needed only touch the object in question and a vision of its future would pass before her eyes. It only took a moment in time, no matter how long the vision seemed.

“The death of the world,” Galalym said. “I saw the death of the world, and the doom of Caligo. This child, he is at the heart of it.”

“The child?” Joci said. He looked shocked, and Galalym did not blame him. She wished she could share her vision with him. For that matter, she wished she could share it with all of Caligo. That “Pandora’s Box” that Blue Trinity had opened had been a plague for Caligoans, a source of constant division and the reason for their ancient punishment. It was a punishment the world would soon share. “What do we do with it then?” Joci looked at the child more intently. “It is only an infant…” Galalym saw the pity in Joci’s eyes, and she was not surprised to see it. What unintended consequence would result from them… interfering? “Do we kill it?”

“Can you, Joci? I can’t.” Unintended consequences aside, it was against her nature. Her heart went out to the child whose innocence had not yet been shattered. But was that a legitimate reason to spare it? Galalym looked at the rest of the group, the other Caligoans that had helped eradicate the Blue Trinity outpost. “Will any of you kill this child?” Her question was met with its own mute echo from the dense fog, creeping in more densely with the fading light.

“I will,” said a man at last. He stepped forward with a pistol in his hand. He walked up to the child and Galalym backed away reluctantly. The man pointed the gun down at the infant, crying now that the Bownyte had disappeared from view. He stared for a few long moments, and then thumbed the safety off. Galaym stared intently, and she did not miss the slight tremble in his hand. His finger pressed against the trigger of the pistol, but not hard enough to make it fire. With a loud sigh, the man lowered the pistol. He wiped his brow and then turned away. There was regret on his face, though for his failure or the child’s future Galalym wasn’t sure. No one else stepped forward.

“Let’s just leave it here,” another man said. “Death will claim it soon enough.”

“No. We will take the child,” Joci said. He looked at everyone standing there, as if declaring the punishment for their failure. “We will take him and care for him; we will teach him our ways. With luck,” he said, staring into Galalym’s eyes, “we might avert the disaster you have seen.” Galalym smiled, though it was a sad smile. What she had seen could be the unintended consequence of their weakness, their inability to kill the innocent babe. But Galalym was not a ruthless machine. Now, Galalym was a mother.

Ryona Noel wrote:Fate, I was wondering, do those who voted get to explain why they voted? Obviously this doesn't apply to the participants. I'm just curious because, in the last two contests, it was nice to see the reasoning behind the choices.