Scribble Me This, Scribble Me That

Looking back on the best days of my life

2007-07-30T22:57:16Z

I'm not doing so well, Addy.

Remember last time when I called you, cried to you, because my world was ending? It's different this time. My world has ended. Or at least that's what it feels like.

I'll be okay. I was okay last time, after a while. Eventually I'll stop remembering every little thing that ever made me smile. Eventually I'll stop running sentences once said through my mind on repeat. Eventually I'll be able to look at a bird again without breaking down into something so pathetic that I hate myself.

Eventually.

I woke up this morning and those few seconds before reality set in were the happiest seconds of my day. I did alright this morning. I got up, and dressed, and made my lunch, and left the house functioning normally. During the drive the radio did its best to tear me down. "The Grace" was playing when I got in. I didn't cry, though. And when I hit the highway "Time Won't Let Me Go" started playing, and I noticed the words for all the wrong reasons. I have a new theme song, Addy.

I didn't cry all morning. I sat in meetings and spoke and smiled and laughed when I was supposed to. I drank my coffee and did my paperwork until I couldn't take it anymore. All I could think of working on my laptop was of every other morning, even the bad ones, and I didn't want to think about those. So I left the office and drove as far out as I could, to the river, and I then I sat on the rocks with my feet and the water and tried very hard to pretend that my life was going to be okay again.

When I started driving again, the tears set in. Just little bouts, not very long. I tried not to cry. I cry too much. The rest of the day followed the same pattern. Lose myself in surroundings, in phone calls, in random thoughts of absurdity, then find myself again and cry. I cried twice at work, and once on the way home. When I got out of my car here at the house the first thing I saw was a robin. And that set me off again, because I thought about the Robin and the Bear, and what it would have meant to me to have seen them in the flesh (haha!). And ever since then, I haven't been able to stop leaking from the eyes.

If I had balls, Addy, I'd write this down on paper and send it to you. Or better yet, I'd call you up and ask you to tell me that I'll be okay, like you did last time. But this isn't last time. This is years later, and I've been no good friend to you, and I deserve what I'm getting this time. I know you told me you'd always listen, but Addy, I can't even think about it all without being ashamed. I've fucked up so badly here. I've abandoned you and now I want to talk to you again for purely selfish reasons. At least I can recognize how wrong that is of me.

I write this here because it's dead to everyone but me. I write it here because I lost my notebook. I write it here because I can pretend that while I write, I'm talking to him on MSN. And I can pretend the past month of my life never happened the way it did, and that I wasn't so fucking inconsiderate it hurts to think about, and that we'll live happily ever after.

But on second thought, I'm not so good at pretending.

I hurt so much. I think it's worse this time. There's just a hole where my stomach used to be. I'm not hungry, I'm not thirsty; even coffee didn't bother me today. I'm numb, but when I think of what I've done it hurts and I wish I could just go to sleep and dream about the way it all used to be. I dreamt of that last night. I dreamt we were happy again, that I hadn't killed it, and that I still had somebody to love.

Maybe I'll call you, Addy. Maybe I'll beg you to forgive me and then beg you to tell me one more time that I'll be okay. I'm in the middle of regrets right now, all of them so bad, but I wish I'd treated you better, too. You were a better friend than anyone ever has been to me. I'm sorry.

shiz

2007-06-11T15:11:24Z

The creature didn’t frighten her, not really. Ofelia watched as it began to move, placing one strange, hunched limb in front of the other tentatively as though it had forgotten how to walk. One stilted step it took, and then another, and with each step taken after that it seemed as though it was growing familiar with the movements once again. Taking notice of her awed quiescence, it turned its strange head to her and regarded her in similar silence.

“Who are you?” She asked finally, her voice thin and reedy; it echoed off the cavern walls and resonated around them both.

The creature let out a long sigh. “I am old,” it told her in a voice both deep and sonorous which held a raspy edge that spoke of a long time without use. It was also undeniably the voice of a male. “I am so old that only the wind remembers my name.”

His face was not a human face. It was wide and round, the nose flattened and the broad forehead marked with strange spiral ridges. His eyes were large and almond shaped, without iris or pupil, and they were a luminous pale blue in the darkness as they watched her intently. His ears were almost bovine in nature, protruding straight out from the sides of his head. Two great ram-like horns rose from his head and curled under. His hair, falling from beneath the horns, was lank and long, hanging in bright green tangles and reminding Ofelia of some of the mosses she had seen on her travels through the nearby forest. The creature endured her scrutiny in without a word, blinking as it peered intently back at her.

“What are you?” She finally asked.

He smiled, revealing even white teeth—the teeth of an animal, not of man. “I am the mountain. I am the river.” He began to walk again on his strange legs; they were very similar, she realized suddenly, to the hind limbs of a goat. His gait, which should have been awkward and ungainly, was strangely graceful as he circled the pillar between them. He continued, “I am the earth and the air and the trees. I am the guardian of this gate. I am the loyal servant of His Royal Highness. But, under all of those,” and here he paused, standing still now and facing her, “I am a faun.”

“A faun?” Ofelia echoed. She had never heard of such a thing.

“Yes,” he told her, nodding; this close she could see his skin was pitted like that of an ancient tree, and that bits of bark and leaves were tangled in the lengths of his hair. “And I have been waiting for you here for a very long time.”

“Why me?”

The faun smiled again and took a step towards her. He was very tall, and now loomed over her; she had to crane her neck back in order to stare up at him. He bent suddenly, reaching out and cradling her face between his hands; his touch was cool, soft and alarming.

“You are a princess,” he told her. His breath smelled of damp earth, and he carried with him other scents as well—that of fresh rain, of wildflowers, of grass, of the wind at night as it wove through the leaves of the forest. He stroked her cheek with one long, spindly thumb, its nail dark and hard as onyx. “You are our princess. Your father bade us wait here for you. He knew you would return someday.”

“I-I am Ofelia,” she stammered; he was strange, and he was close, and he spoke of things she did not know. “My father was a tailor—”

“Hrrgh!”

Startled at the noise, Ofelia jerked free of the faun and stumbled back a step. He made no move to follow, instead waving his hand before him in a blatantly negative gesture; his ears twitched with his agitation. “You are not of them—your father is the King of the Underworld. Up here, in this world, it was the moon that bore you. Look at the skin of your shoulder and you will see the proof.” Ofelia’s hand strayed up to touch said shoulder as he spoke, her eyes widening even further. How had he known? “You are the Princess Moanna, and you have come to return home.”

This is my home, she started to say, but the words never left her mouth as she realized them for a lie. So instead she shook her head mutely as she remembered the words he’d just said to her, the words she’d heard in almost every one of her daydreams, and wondered when she would awaken.

“No dream,” he told her, shaking his head; a large black beetle fell from within the tangle of his hair, and his ears shook again. He stepped towards her again, holding out his hands imploringly. “This is truth, Highness.”

solain @ 2007-05-09T13:19:00

2007-05-09T19:21:42Z

The first thing I notice as I begin to walk is the scent on the air. It’s one the things I miss most when I’m not here, and it’s something I’ll remember for the rest of my life. I breathe deep and savor it; it’s trite, but I like the smell of the rain heavy on the breeze, and I like the way the air itself smells fresh and new. The scent quite basically is that of spring, and when people ask me what it’s like I can never fully explain.

My dog ambles along beside me, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she crosses in front of me to lead the way. We proceed down the driveway thus; occasionally she pauses to wait for me, and when I catch up with her I rub my knuckles over her head affectionately. She’s a mixed breed—it’s apparent she has German Shephard somewhere in her bloodlines—but I think she has a certain beauty to her. Her eyes are the most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen in an animal; they are a rich shade of mahogany, and they emote better than most human eyes. After a moment of petting I begin to walk again, and she trots off to lead the way once more.

We near the end of the driveway and I cut through the barnyard; the title is deceiving because there is no barn, but we’ve called it that for as long as I can remember. The ground here is wet still, saturated from the torrential downpour we had last week. The grass is a vibrant, healthy green, and I try to tread only on the new shoots as I pick my way through puddles and great rifts of mud left by Dad’s tractor. Piles of huge logs are situated throughout the barnyard, and off to the north sits his lumber mill. Behind the mill there is a clearing with a large brushpile in the center; once upon a time that clearing was forest. All that remains of it now are the logs I am making my way around.

I come to the east fence and easily slip through; one wire is down and there is a huge gap between the remaining three. As I stoop to get through I feel a warning twinge in my knee, but I choose to ignore it. Once through the fence I am standing on the lease road that cuts north and then west, into the thick forest behind the house. The road is dirt only; the oil company that made the lease didn’t feel the need to spend money on gravel for traction. Therefore whenever it rains, the road becomes something of a slick mud trap. Because of the rain a few days earlier, tracks left in the mud are blatant and clear. As I walk up the road I notice the deep trenches left by moose and the lighter, less obvious prints left by deer. Here and there canine prints crisscross the road and I can’t tell whether they belong to my dog or to the coyotes that call this quarter home.

I notice then the plants that are growing in and along the road. I recognize almost all of them, and none of them are especially beneficial. The fact that they are growing here where the soil is poor is a testament to their tenacity. I smile faintly as I recall the prediction my father made earlier this evening half in jest—when all the useful vegetation on the planet has died, we can sit and stare at the pretty weeds as we die of starvation.

As I round the bend I see a plant I’m not familiar with growing near the water flowing through the culvert. I’m immediately excited to an absurd degree, and I veer off the road and down into the ditch while taking my camera out of the pocket where I was carrying it. The plant is already in bloom, I marvel—this early in spring that’s almost unheard of. It’s a few inches tall, and the flowers that it sports are yellow and remind me somewhat of that of a daisy. Turning on my camera I fall to an awkward crouch but immediately stand up again as pain shoots through my knee. I kneel gingerly after a moment and lift my camera only to find that the battery has died. Disappointed, I study the strange plant a moment longer before rising and continuing on my way.

My knee is aching now, and I can feel something grinding inside it with each step I take. It has been bothering me for the past week; I thought perhaps the increased humidity and moisture in the air was affecting it. Now that the weather has been warm and sunny, however, I’m beginning to wonder if maybe my past injury hasn’t taken a turn for the worse. Yesterday and today I’ve walked with a limp because I can’t straighten my knee, and today I had to climb stairs at an angle because I can’t bend it much, either. I decide not to think about the implications of those facts and instead continue with my walk.

I’ve reached the lease. It’s a huge cleared area in the middle of what was once aspen forest. They leveled the area in an impressive display of landscaping, but I find it to be nothing but an eyesore. In the middle of the clearing is the well, a mass of pipes coming up from the ground and joining to a small metal shack. Technically to be on the lease I should be wearing all my PPE—Personal Protective Equipment—but this well is sweet and therefore is considerably safer than a sour well. My dog is well ahead of me, circling the well in a wide arc with her nose to the ground. Before me, separating me from the lease itself is a large stream in the road, etched into the dirt by the excess of rain a few days past. It is still running strong, and so it is with a deep breath I make a cautious attempt to step over the water and avoid the mud. I fail. I step in mud, slide sideways, and immediately right myself with a muttered curse. I then continue on my way, one shoe considerably heavier as it is now caked in mud.

I stop to remove the mud with a stick and then throw it to the side before I begin on my circuit around the well. I stop on the north side and climb the embankment covered in the remnants of trees that had been mulched. Below me, to the north, spreads out the forest which almost entirely engulfs this quarter section of land. It is early enough in the spring that there is no foliage, but here and there I can see a hint of green. In two weeks, maybe three, the leaves will be out entirely.

The smell of rain is stronger now, and looking to the west, over the tops of the trees, I see that clouds are amassing, dark and heavy with moisture. The wind has picked up, too, and the long sleeved jacket I’m wearing isn’t heavy enough to block out the chill. I make my way back down the embankment and begin the walk back up the road, crossing the stream at a different point with more success than my last attempt. It doesn’t take me long to reach the driveway, and by the time I’m on the gravel my knee is aching fiercely. As I near the house, I see that my mother is in the riding arena working with her horse. I stop to watch.

She has Ransom hooked up to the Passoa longe harness, and I study him as she sets him through his paces. He is an appaloosa, black with a white blanket and the trademark sparse tail. I’m not much for appaloosas in general, but Ransom has a very pretty head, fine boned and delicately built with large, dark and gentle eyes. As he breaks into a brisk trot, circling my mother with direction from the training whip she trails behind him, I find that when he moves he obtains a certain kind of grace I never saw in him before. With his head drawn in and his strides fully extended, he has all the appearance of a dressage warmblood.

“How’s he look?” My mother calls to me.

“Good.” I tell her. After a few moments she directs Ransom into a canter, urging him on softly and praising him as he does what he’s told. Once upon a time, I muse, it would have been me in the training ring and my mother watching from the outside. But that was then, and this is now, and I watch a while longer before I begin to walk again.

I reach the house less than a minute later and climb the steps to the door, wincing as my knee protests the action. The sky is dark now, and the smell of rain is sharp on the air. Before I go inside, I lean down to scratch my dog behind the ears. She watches me with her beautiful eyes and I hug her close, digging my fingers into her tawny fur and squeezing gently. She tries to lick me as I pull away but I manage to avoid it, petting her one last time before I turn, open the door, and step inside.

I miss the scent of spring immediately. But I have work tomorrow, and need to go to bed. And there is always tomorrow night to walk again.

HK 07, rewritten.

2006-05-16T17:43:44Z

.X.

In the far eastern reaches of Aquarius, a massive temple constructed entirely of glossy black stone lay sprawled over an impressive distance. Though the thick, round pillars lining the entrance stairwell and the large square obelisks at the top hinted at ancient civilizations, the structure—which was in fact the House of Ya Mordül—had been constructed at the time of the appearance of the Fallen, which was only three centuries past. Despite its relatively recent construction, Ya Mordül still had something of a feel of ages to it, as though it harboured the memories and whispers of generations long past. It was also in appearance a very foreboding place, extending out from the main part in three huge wings. It had been built high on what had at one point been the bank of a river which time and the abuses of man had long since erased from existence, and thus could be seen from most parts of Aquarius. A fortified wall had been constructed about the temple, the architecture both ingenious and complicated, giving birth to slender, branched parapets rising from walls topped with spirals of razor wire. There was no gate, per se, merely an opening with guard parapets on either side. From that opening rose the staircase, which was wide at the base but slowly tapered the closer it got to the House entrance. Like the other Houses, the domain of Ya Mordül stretched outwards into the actual city of Aquarius; the districts in immediate proximity of the House had been deserted in the early years of the House wars and only the hardiest, most stubborn of souls persisted in living there. Some of the empty buildings were converted into House armories and outposts, but a majority of them remained empty shells of what they once were. These areas were patrolled constantly for enemy incursions and often became places of heated violence.

Ya Mordül was governed by a duo known as the Sopheriels, a brother and sister pair of identical twins. Mehayye, the male, was the eldest, and his sister was known as Memeth. There was a great deal of enigma and intrigue surrounding the Sopheriels; seldom did they show themselves, even to the population of their House; instead they sent forth a select few they chose as trusted advisors. Mystery was something that enshrouded Ya Mordül as a whole, for less than the other Houses did they make their presence known throughout the city, and this was partially by the decree of the Sopheriels.

Mehayye was more vocal than his sister, and thus was most often the one who voiced the commands. While undeniably intelligent, Mehayye was a dreamer, constantly devising schemes through which Aquarius may meet the glory of the Fallen’s former home. Very few of these schemes came to fruition, and those that did often never made it past the first few stages or were vetoed by the other twin. Memeth was the more pragmatic of the two, a woman seldom given to speaking. Her focus was entirely on the eradication of the other Houses, and it had been since first she set foot in Aquarius. Silent, brilliant, and extremely clever, Memeth was for the most part content to let her brother do the ruling of Ya Mordül. The twins rarely fought; when it came to an issue they disagreed on, Mehayye would almost always give in to his sister’s decisions. Like two sides of the same coin they were; while most in-House thought it was Mehayye who ultimately made the decisions, few knew the extent of Memeth’s true influence in the governing of Ya Mordül.

Three floors below the main level of Ya Mordül was the library. It was a vast, cavernous room; the walls were rough and jagged, carved from the same odd, glossy black stone that the temple was built of. The bookshelves were aligned in a semicircular pattern, forming an arc around an open area with four tables and accompanying chairs. Braziers set into carved niches burned brightly, casting dancing shadows across the smooth floor. There was an air of timelessness within the library, as though all things stopped there and were only resumed upon leaving. Very few were allowed within the library; those who were had to receive the consent of the Sopheriels.

It was to the library now that Mehayye went in search of his sister. It was only accessible by a long, winding staircase that descended for what seemed like miles into the ground. Like the library itself, the staircase was lit by braziers; the light from the fire cast Mehayye’s shadow in flickering relief as he walked. His footsteps echoed hollowly, loudly, announcing his presence to whomever waited amongst the books below. Soon enough the arched doorway to the library appeared; as he crossed the threshold his first thought was that the room beyond was empty. It was only after a second, searching glance that he located his sister. She was sitting at a corner table, head bowed as she read from a thick tome that lay open before her. A rather substantial pile of books rose up beside the one she was reading, a testament to her time in the library. Mehayye cleared his throat, but Memeth did not look up. With an inaudible sigh he crossed the floor and took the chair facing his sister.

“Memeth,” he said, and when she didn’t respond he said at a slightly louder volume, “Memeth!”
She raised her head, blinking, and then her dark eyes focused on him. It was very much like looking in a mirror; her dusky features—large brown eyes, angular cheekbones and wide, sensuous lips—were identical to his own. The only difference in their appearances was their hair; Memeth wore her thick, burnished mahogany strands cropped short to her skull while her brother’s hair was worn in waves that fell about his shoulders.

She regarded him without expression, saying in her distinctively husky voice, “Yes?”

“What are you doing down here?” Mehayye asked, picking up the top book on the pile and reading the title. It was in a language he didn’t recognize, and he set it back down gently as not to create dust. His sister didn’t answer; her eyes had fallen again to the lines on the page before her. “It’s been hours,” he persisted.

“I am aware of the time, brother,” she said, looking up again. A small line appeared between her brows. “Is there a reason you’re here?”

Mehayye stared at her with a mixture of incredulity and irritation. “You know why I’m here.”
She held his gaze, her eyes as empty and unreadable as the stone of the walls around them. “There is no need for concern, Mehayye.”

“How can you say that?” He demanded, coming to his feet and slamming his hands down hard on the table. “How can you tell me not to worry when even now, outside of this House, there are—”

“I am aware of the situation.” Memeth had not moved in the wake of her brother’s outburst. Her tone had not altered and was as it always was—devoid of inflection and blank. “Things are well in hand.”

Mehayye shook his head. “Not this time, sister. We’ve let it go too far.”

“Mehayye. All is going as it should. We have planned for this.”

“You have planned. I have simply sat by and watched everything you do.”

Memeth focused her attention again on the book, turning the page. “That was your choice, brother. Is there anything else you wished to discuss with me?”

Mehayye stared at his sister for long moments, fighting angrily with the desire to rip the book from her command her attention. Instead he shook his head once more and turned wordlessly, knowing she would debate the issue no more. It had been a futile, foolish thing, coming down here and expecting she would listen. All the years she had spend scheming, creating, researching—her plans, all of them, had come to fruition, and he knew nothing else mattered to her. Lost in thoughts both angry and worried, Mehayye strode back to the stairs but abruptly halted in his tracks, surprised to find someone standing in the doorway.

“Sinclair.” He said then by way of greeting.

The man in the door bowed his head in deference, the upper half of his face lost to the shadow of his hat. “Lord Mehayye,” he said quietly.

“I suppose you,” Mehayye said curtly, “think things are well in hand, as well?”

Sinclair regarded the eldest Sopheriel without expression. From where she sat still reading, Memeth said, “Sinclair does not reveal his opinions. Not even to me.” She raised her head then with a considering look. “It is his only shortcoming.”

Sinclair said nothing; with a sigh Mehayye brushed past him, heading back up the stairs. For long minutes the only sound in the library was the soft crackling of the brazier flames. Sinclair held Memeth’s gaze, his eyes as implacable as her own. Finally she beckoned him nearer and he complied, crossing the floor to take the chair Mehayye had recently occupied and leaning his staff against the table. There was another long silence as Memeth’s attention returned again to the book. Sinclair waited patiently, and when Memeth spoke again she didn’t bother raising her eyes.

“Where have you been?”

“Halcyon Kept.” Sinclair removed his hat and set it beside the pile of books; strands of his hair previously held in place fell forwards, brushing against his shoulder.

“Observing?”

“Yes.”

Memeth turned a page. “And what have you to tell me?”

“I need more time. There’s more to this than I can discern simply from a few hours observation.”

She did look at him then, and though she showed no outward change in expression he instinctively knew she was irritated. “Time is a commodity, Sinclair, we no longer have the luxury of.”

Again, they regarded each other; this time there was an almost tangible tension in the air around them. “Have you forgotten,” Memeth said quietly, “what I know?”

Sinclair smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “You know I haven’t.”

“Then why this reluctance to do as I ask? This refusal? I am not your enemy, Sinclair; I should think you would know that by now.”

“You make that hard to distinguish at times,” he said, and continued quickly before she could reply, “I will have all you wish to know soon. Within the next three days.”

He picked up his hat and but instead of placing it on his head held it near his chest; standing, he turned without further comment. He had almost reached the stairs when she spoke again. “Your growing disaffection for me, for this House … it has not gone unnoticed.”

He hesitated only a moment before continuing, his footsteps upon the stairs loud and echoing.

.X.

HK 05, rewritten.

2006-05-15T19:03:52Z

.X.

Izah had arrived back at the rendezvous point only several minutes after Mae and the captive. She’d noticed immediately that Liam was missing; one look at Mae’s wide, haunted eyes was enough to inform her that Liam was dead. Their first priority was to get out of Irydthion territory, back into the main city where an armored transport was waiting for them, and so they moved quickly, carefully, until they were free of the House boundaries. Once in the transport and headed back to Halcyon Kept Mae related all she’d seen in a voice that was wavered from the strain of both controlling the captive and losing Liam. Izah and the rest listened grimly, and when Mae trailed off, closing her eyes tiredly, Xerxes detailed to his captain all his team had encountered.

“Sovereign,” he told her, removing the magazine from his crossbow in order to check how many bolts remained. The rumble of the transport engines engulfed them, forced them to speak louder than normal. He continued, “We saw several of them running hell-bent back to the main city. And not long after that the bombs went off.”

“Did you engage them?” Izah asked.

“Not them, but those pursuing them. There were only three. It was nothing,” he said with a solemn glance at Mae where she leaned against the transport wall, the Irydthion captive sitting beside her, “compared to what Mae went through.”

Izah nodded and transferred her gaze to the Diviner. Liam’s death, she knew, weighed heavily upon Mae; Izah herself was experiencing a hard knot of grief that had settled in her stomach upon learning of her third-in-command’s demise. “Mae,” she asked over the loud hum of the transport, “How much longer can you hold him?”

“Not much longer,” the Diviner replied, not bothering to open her eyes. Her face was lined and pinched, showing clearly the amount of concentration she was exerting in order to continue subduing the one seated next to her. Izah then studied the captive; his eyes were trained on the floor in front of him, blankly staring, but the way his fists were so tightly clenched in his lap and his quick, labored breathing betrayed the struggle he was in actuality putting up against Mae’s hold on his mind.

Her eyes passed over the rest of her group—Silas and Fawn sitting opposite Mae; Silas’ face was solemn and Fawn’s was anguished, though she tried to hide it. Both of them had been close friends with Liam. With a heavy sigh Izah leaned back, letting her head rest against the transport wall. They’d done what they’d meant to accomplish, yes, but at what cost? In her six years as Captain she’d lost four people under her command; it was never an easy thing to deal with.

“What about you, boss?” Xerxes’ voice pulled her mind out of the depressing depths it was wandering into, and she turned her head to look at him seated at her side. “What did you find after you left the others?”

For only a moment she hesitated. “ … I entered a building when they were chasing me, made it up to the fifth floor and took care of them there. But then another one appeared—not from Irydthion. From Ya Mordül.”

Xerxes frowned. “Did you fight?”

“No. He didn’t attack. Just talked.”

“Why,” her second in command wondered aloud, “would Ya Mordül be in Irydthion?”

“I asked him. He wouldn’t say. He wasn’t …” she stopped suddenly, unable to find the word she wanted.

Xerxes waited a moment before prompting, “Wasn’t what?”

“He was unusual. Never made a move against me but I got the distinct impression that if he’d wanted to, he very easily could have taken me out.”

Xerxes raised an eyebrow. “Not to point out your differences, Captain, but you’re not exactly easy prey.”

Izah closed her eyes, letting her head fall back again. “I know. But I know what I felt—that man is dangerous.”

Silence fell in the transport, interrupted only by the heavy, fast breathing of the captive. Each wandered in their own thoughts and those thoughts were dark, depressing, and ominous. The change Iofiel spoke of—could this be it? The appearance of the strange creatures Mae and Liam had encountered, the fact that the enigmatic and somewhat reclusive House of Ya Mordül had sent an operative so deep into Irydthion territory … were these the changes he had heralded?

Change, Izah mused darkly as the transport drew close to Halcyon Kept, was something she was fast becoming sure that she did not want to see.

.X.

Upon their arrival at Halcyon Kept Izah and the four under her command were met by Quinn upon disembarking from the transport. As the large van-like vehicle rumbled away, leaving them on the steps of the Hall, Quinn looked them over with a quick, critical eye and immediately asked, “Where’s Liam?”

Nobody answered for a moment. Quinn trained his steely brown eyes on Izah, and she told him softly, “Liam has fallen.”

Quinn closed his eyes briefly. “Tell me,” he said when he opened them again, “everything that happened. All of it.”

Izah complied, giving him a quick, abbreviated version. When she’d finished he looked at Mae, looking weary and insubstantial and needing support from Silas to stand. “Come inside, and we’ll get someone to take this one,” he indicated the Irydthion man with one finger, “to a holding cell.”

They did as he told them, and once they were inside the Hall’s courtyard Quinn called for two guards. As they attached handcuffs to the captive Mae released her hold over him; he surged forward as free will was returned to him, only to have the guards sharply grab his arms. He twisted around in their grasp, fixing Mae with a glare; the loathing and hatred in that one look was almost enough to bleed by.

“Bitch!” He shouted, face livid, “Fucking bitch! I’ll kill you, I’ll rip you apar—” His diatribe was interrupted as one of the guards kicked his legs out from beneath him, and he fell heavily to the ground. As the other guard administered several well-placed kicks, Quinn beckoned Izah and her team to follow him. They entered the North tower elevator one by one; Mae paid no attention to the man cursing her vehemently as the guards proceeded to beat him into submission.

“The Triumvirate will want to hear this,” Quinn said to Izah as the elevator carried them upwards. Izah nodded tiredly; she’d already suspected as much. A short time later the elevator chimed, and Quinn led them out into the council chambers. The room was empty, and the lights flickered on as they entered. Quinn said, “Sit. I’ll get them here as soon as I can so you can call it a night.”

He strode out of the chambers and headed down the hall to the left of the elevator. Izah sank into one of the chairs around the large oval table, beckoning for the others to do the same. Silas aided Mae in sitting; once the Diviner was settled in the chair she let her head fall back and her eyes close, unable to counter her weariness any longer. Xerxes sat beside Izah, tipping back in the chair and propping his booted feet up on the polished surface of the table. Silas and Fawn took seats opposite their captain and commander. Izah’s gazed out the large window that revealed Aquarius in its night time glory and ran through the evening’s disastrous events, unable to shake the feeling of foreboding that had settled over her when she’d rejoined her team back in Irydthion. It wasn’t just the creatures that had slain Liam—her encounter with Sinclair had shaken her badly and she didn’t know why. To her left Xerxes sighed; she cast him a glance to find his expression solemn and saddened. Catching her glance, he said quietly, “This was a clusterfuck, hey?” When Izah nodded mutely, he continued, “The Triumvirate—what do you think they’ll do?”

“I don’t know,” was all Izah said. Xerxes didn’t reply, and the room fell into silence once more. Long minutes later approaching footsteps could be heard from the corridor outside the council chambers; Izah swivelled in her chair to see Quinn, followed by Iofiel and the other two members of the triumvirate enter the room. At their entrance Izah and her team stood and bowed their heads in deference; a woman’s voice, a rich contralto, said, “Please be seated.”
They complied as one, and the Triumvirate moved to take the three chairs at the opposite end of the table. A sudden and palpable tension was heavy in the room; rarely did the triumvirate deign to appear together. Izah regarded them each in turn as they conversed quietly with Quinn, who had taken a seat beside Iofiel. Aside from Iofiel, the triumvirate consisted of Atrapatos and Yefefiah. Atrapatos was the eldest of the three, or so it was rumoured. She was a strikingly beautiful woman—Amazonian in build with strong facial features, vividly blue eyes and thick, honey blonde tresses she wore always in a braided coronet. Yefefiah was second eldest, a man of solid stature and a face that bore the faint wrinkles of one who perpetually smiles. His face was shadowed with the beginnings of a dark beard; hints of grey lay within his whiskers as they did in the short crop of his hair. Like Iofiel they wore the navy robes of their office, the silver House emblem embroidered on the right shoulder. As Quinn finished speaking the collective gazes of the Triumvirate settled upon Izah and her team, and the short silence then was poignant.

“Captain,” Iofiel said, “General Quinn has relayed to us what has befallen you and those under you command tonight, but we require more detailed descriptions, if you don’t mind.”
Izah nodded. Iofiel, leaning back slightly in his chair and folding his arms over his chest, regarded each of them in turn with his inscrutable, pale blue eyes. He continued slowly, “We understand that you have suffered a loss of not only a fellow soldier but of a friend, and we extend to you our sympathies. However, from what we have heard from the General, it seems that strange things, dangerous things, are afoot, and as such we need as much information as we can get. Captain, would you please tell to us what happened upon your arrival in Irydthion territory?”

Izah nodded again and took a deep silent breath before she began to speak. She related her orders and what had happened after she’d left Mae and Liam, detailing in full her encounter with the agent from Ya Mordül. When she’d finished, Mae began to talk, telling of what had she had encountered and of what had befallen Liam. And after the Diviner was done Xerxes told his piece, including the Sovereign he, Silas and Fawn had seen and the Irydthion guards they had dispatched. When Xerxes fell silent, Atrapatos was the first to speak.
“Do you think, Captain, that there is a relation between these creatures and the operative from Ya Mordül?”

Izah took a moment before replying, finding it hard to meet the intense gaze of the other woman. “I won’t disagree that finding them both within Irydthion land was a strange coincidence.”

“And this … Sinclair? … he said nothing of his reason for being there?”

“No. He said it was something he couldn’t disclose to a member of an enemy House.”

Yefefiah, sitting with his elbows on the table, hands steepled together before him, asked, “How many times have you encountered the members of Ya Mordül during your service, Captain?”

Izah was quiet a moment, thinking. “In the main city, maybe six or seven times. We see them often in the underlevel.”

The members of the Triumvirate shared a look with each other, and it was Atrapatos that spoke next. “Under normal circumstances, wouldn’t you have opened fire upon another House operative?”

Izah had been expecting this question. “Yes, my Lady, but under normal circumstances another House operative would have opened fire upon me as well. But he didn’t.”

“Curious.” Iofiel agreed, brushing back stray strands of his pale hair. “But to be dwelt on at another time.”

Yefefiah nodded, and fixed his brown eyes upon the Diviner. “Mae,” he said kindly, “I know you’re exhausted, but we have only a few questions for you and then you’ll be free to go.”
The Diviner nodded, dredging up a tired smile. Yefefiah continued, “This creature--did it seem to possess intelligence greater than that of an ordinary animal?”

Mae didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“You said it moved faster than anything you’d ever seen.” Atrapatos remarked, “Did you think there was Divinity involved?”

Mae shook her head. “No. Whatever abilities it possessed were fully its own. I sensed nothing of Divination about it.”

“That,” Yefefiah said softly and almost to himself, “is not a good thing.”

Atrapatos cast him an annoyed glance; it was such a swift gesture that Izah almost missed it. The blonde woman said nothing to him, however, and instead spoke to Xerxes. “Commander—you are certain the Sovereign were behind the bombing in Irydthion House?”

“Not entirely, but I’d say it’s a fair bet.”

“The Sovereign,” Yefefiah commented, “are growing braver.”

“Or more foolish,” Iofiel said. “I have no further questions for them. Do you?” He addressed the other members of the Triumvirate who in unison shook their heads. Iofiel turned to Izah and her team. “Thank you for your time. Despite the tragedy of losing Liam, you all did well tonight by bringing back a member of Irydthion. Sometime tomorrow we shall question him and see what we may discover about his House and its new activities; you shall be informed of what we learn. Again, thank you. You are dismissed.”

Izah and her team along with Quinn rose and bowed their heads once more in deferential acknowledgement before filing one after the other out of the room. Izah was the last into the elevator, and before the doors slid closed she glanced up to find Iofiel’s eyes upon her, a faint smile crossing his face.

.X.

“Are you growing soft, Yefefiah?” Atrapatos asked as the elevator doors closed. “Is that why you persist on making maudlin comments?”

“I hardly see how anything I’ve said tonight could be interpreted as maudlin.” Yefefiah said with an easy smile, rising from his seat and crossing the floor to stand before the window.

Atrapatos laughed, a rich sound with an underlying sharp edge. “I think it’s part of the image you wish to project—ever kind, ever caring. It’s sickening.”

“Kindness is not always weakness,” Iofiel said mildly, still in his seat.

“Yefefiah is not kind,” Atrapatos said, pushing herself out of her seat and fixing her hard blue eyes on Iofiel’s icy own. “It is a ruse he adopts, and it appears he has not only duped them with it, but you as well.”

“Has he?” Iofiel asked her with a faint, vaguely mocking smile. A moment later it was gone, and the youngest of the three shook his head. “You read too much into his actions, Atrapatos. Your suspicion borders on paranoia.”

From his position at the window, Yefefiah chuckled. He turned to face the other two. “I think he has a point. You’re always quick to condemn me for whatever I say or do, no matter my intentions.”

“You forget,” Atrapatos said, moving her glare from Iofiel to Yefefiah, “how long I have known you. And how well I know you.”

Yefefiah smiled. “I haven’t forgotten, nor am I likely to. And as much as your verbal jibes amuse me,” he said quickly as she opened her mouth to administer a rebuke, “we have other, more pressing matters to attend to, don’t you agree?”

Atrapatos held his gaze a moment longer, and the loathing in her eyes was clear. Watching the exchange with his hands clasped before him on the table, Iofiel said abruptly, “I do not think these new creatures are of Galizur’s hand.”

“Nor do I,” Yefefiah agreed, moving to the table and hopping up onto it. “His aversion to all things … unusual … would not allow it.”

“Perhaps they have nothing to do with the Houses,” Atrapatos said. “Perhaps they come from another source.”

“What other source?” Iofiel asked. “You heard Mae’s description. One winged, the face of an angel—”

“What are you implying?” Demanded the blonde woman.

“You know as well as I what they are,” Iofiel told her quietly. “They are the mere shadows of what we ourselves have within this very House.”

“Shadows of what we took from another.” Yefefiah remarked idly.

“After all these years, that still bothers you?” Atrapatos asked him with mocking incredulity.

“Morality was never an issue with you, was it, Atrapatos? Even before our arrival here, before we—”

“Silence, children!” Iofiel said loudly. Yefefiah and Atrapatos both fell silent, but now the hostility was evident on both sides. Iofiel continued, “Spar with each other another time. As I was saying, you cannot deny what has been confirmed tonight. The answer we need now is where these creatures come from.”

“And why they’re here.” Yefefiah said.

Iofiel nodded. “We agree that they come not from Irydthion then. Perhaps this is another attempt by the House of Kyle?”

Atrapatos snorted. “They are too firmly entrenched in the dissension among their Senate.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Maybe,” Iofiel mused, “this is Cambriel’s doing.”

“Or the Sopheriels,” Yefefiah added. “Memeth’s taste always did run to the bizarre and distasteful.”

“These were not meant to be bizarre.” Iofiel said.

“No,” Atrapatos said grimly, “They were meant to be a weapon. To use against us, obviously.”

“But us alone, or all other Houses?” Yefefiah wondered aloud. He slid down from the table and walked to the door to the chamber. He half turned at the threshold. “That is the most important question now. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m feeling rather tired. Are we convening here tomorrow to question the one from Irydthion?”

Iofiel nodded as Atrapatos did not deign to answer. “And afterwards,” the youngest of the three said by way of farewell, “perhaps we shall have enough to gain an answer to our question.”

“And if not?” Yefefiah asked.

Atrapatos answered him, and her smile was grim, “Then we must be prepared for the possibility that we may lose more of our number.”

Yefefiah stared at her for a moment before turning and entering the corridor outside. As his footfalls faded away, Atrapatos muttered. “Insufferable …”

“You both are,” Iofiel said with a smile as he stood. “You are like children. You have been like children since the day we became the Triumvirate. You will never change.”

“And you,” Atrapatos told him with a look that could only be called haughty, “are still as naïve as you were the day we fell.”

Iofiel’s only answer was another simple smile, and then he too was gone, striding into the hall with the rustle of his robes. Atrapatos turned her attention to the window, to the city beyond that had held so much promise once upon a time. She shook her head after a moment, a self deprecating smile curving her lips. Once upon a time was for fairytales. If only they’d known that then.

.X.

HK03, rewritten.

2006-05-11T21:37:54Z

.X.

Though Aquarius had three hospitals, Halcyon Kept boasted its own small medical clinic. It was a small, rectangular building located just west of the Hall, and it was to that destination that Izah headed early the next morning. Some members of the House were doctors and nurses, and worked both within the House and without; Hira was the only Sovereign doctor working under contract. As Izah entered through the clinic’s double doors, the young man at the front desk looked up from the computer he was working from.

“Morning, Captain,” he said cheerfully, “Hira’s with a patient at the moment, but she should be out soon.”

“Ah. And Xerxes …?”

“I think he’s still asleep. We had a healing Diviner in today, so I think he'll be able to be up and around soon. He’s in room 9, down the left hall. Go on in.” The man fluttered a hand in that direction before returning his attention to the computer, and Izah said her thanks before heading down the hall. After finding the appropriate door she knocked once, waited, and knocked again. There was no reply from within, so she pushed open the door. It was a single occupancy room; the lights were set on dim, and the bed was set in the center of the room. Xerxes was sleeping with his head turned away from the door, his breathing slow and steady and the only sound to be heard. Izah regarded him for a moment, debating leaving him be; he turned his head then, blinking slowly and focusing on her through bleary eyes. “G’morning, Cap’n.”

Izah smiled at him, crossing the floor to take the chair at the side of his bed. “How’s your leg?”

It was a moment before he answered, testing the offending limb by lifting it. Wincing slightly, he said, “Sore.”

“That’s to be expected.” She watched as he slowly sat upright. “I kind of thought Hira might have killed you after I left.”

Xerxes grinned sleepily. “I thought she might, too. It was worth it, though. She’s a pretty lady.”

“She’s also,” Izah remarked dryly, “older than you.”

“Age brings wisdom. And experience.” Running a hand through brown hair made wild by slumber, he changed the subject. “So? Anything new to tell me?”

Izah nodded before detailing to him the events of the night previous. She told him everything, even of her meeting with Iofiel. When she’d finished, Xerxes was scowling. He said, “Iofiel is a prick.”

Though she was inclined to agree, Izah said instead, “I’ve been thinking of how to go about gathering information on Irydthion.”

“And?”

“And I need to talk it over with Quinn first.” Izah smiled again as Xerxes began to protest, but she cut him off with a shake of her head. “I’ll be back to check on you later today.”

“Actually,” said a voice from the door, and Izah twisted her head around to see Hira standing half-in and half-out of the room, one hand holding the door open and the other gripping a clipboard, “He can leave today. As long as he takes it easy.” The last she said with heavy emphasis and an accompanying glare in Xerxes’ direction.

He held up both hands in a mock gesture of supplication, “I’ll be good.”

Izah contemplated only for a moment before she nodded. “Alright. But if you overdo it I’ll send you right back here.”

“Back to Hira’s loving arms?” He asked as he carefully manoeuvred down from the bed. The rude noise Hira made prompted him to laugh outright; Izah quickly hid her grin by ducking her head. A moment later movement caught her attention, and she looked up to find Xerxes pulling the hospital-issue shirt over his head.

“You could wait until we’re out of the room to undress,” Hira told him.

“But where,” he replied, turning as to give the doctor a full view of his naked, muscled torso, “is the fun in that?”

Hira opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then ruefully shook her head. She held the door for Izah, and as she let it close behind them both she said incredulously, “He’s getting worse.”

“No,” Izah corrected as they began to walk side by side back to the clinic entrance. “He’s just found a new lady to pursue.”

The look Hira gave her was one of mingled horror and amusement, but she refrained from saying anything further. As they reached the entrance she asked, “Are you going to need me today?”

“I don’t know. I’ve got to meet with Quinn once I leave here. I think you may be off the hook.”

Hira nodded. “Alright. If you--or any of your teams--need me, I’ll be here.” The young man at the front desk called out her name, and she gave Izah a wave before turning and approaching the desk. Izah pushed through the clinic door, and once outside she stood at the top of the stairs, staring out at the habitation block of Halcyon Kept.

Xerxes joined her not long after, dressed again in his traditional black duster, which had at one point fallen to his heels; after an incredible amount of wear and tear, however, the hem was now tattered, ragged, and hung above his ankles. Beneath the coat he wore a dark armored vest, light-weight and flexible enough not to hamper movement. Black pants tucked into tall black boots completed the ensemble, and as he stopped at the foot of the stairs, buckling his weapon holsters into place, Izah speculated on the fact that he was a very attractive man. It was his face, she knew, that drew most women--it was open, expressive, and totally mischevious, dominated by his large green eyes. His hair, many lengths with the longest reaching his shoulders, had a life of its own, and tended to fall into his face to obscure one eye. It wasn’t just his looks--Xerxes was extremely charismatic, and was well-liked by members of both sexes.

Once, years ago, when they hardly knew each other, Xerxes had made an attempt at seducing Izah. To say she hadn’t been tempted would be to lie; there was no room in her life at that time, however, for a lover, and so she’d gently refused him. Rather than persist, rather than become angry and spiteful, Xerxes had opted instead to become a friend. Izah was beyond thankful for that; she loved Xerxes as she would a brother, and she knew would never trust anyone the way she trusted him.

She watched him in silence until he’d finished adjusting his shoulder holster, and then she said, “Your crossbow is at my place. We can swing by and pick it up after we meet with Quinn.”

“Thanks for taking it,” he told her, reaching her side, and together they descended the stairs. He limped only slightly, reaching the bottom a second behind her; the healing Diviner had done a good job. As they made their way towards the Hall, he asked her, “This idea of yours- the one to do with Irydthion- will it involve me getting shot at?”

A smile flickered around Izah’s lips. “Most likely.”

.X.

The meeting with Quinn revealed that Iofiel had already spoken to the General of the Triumvirate’s concerns. Quinn had had a revelation that was along the same lines as Izah’s idea; capture an Irydthion operative and extract all relevant information that way. Which was ultimately how Izah, Xerxes, and four other members of the legion thus found themselves deep in enemy territory.

Irydthion was situated within the northeastern part of Aquarius, a massive stone fortress surrounded on all sides by an enormous granite wall. The bastion itself was separated from the main city by the river Romeda; the only way to gain access to Irydthion was to cross the wide, fast-flowing river, and this could only be accomplished by traversing the gigantic drawbridge-like structure known as the Maw. The Maw was guarded ferociously, as was the territory spanning for blocks around it. Izah and her party were now within the furthest reaches of Irydthion’s street territory; the Maw was directly to the east, and the roar of the Romeda, though distant, could still be heard over the night sounds of the city. During the meeting with Quinn it had been decided that once night fell, a small force would infiltrate Irydthion’s outer perimeters and find a member of Irydthion House. Because Irydthion had been largely inactive for many, many years, however, Izah was uncertain exactly what type of resistance to expect. Thus, she and those under her command had come almost literally armed to the teeth.

They’d been driven to a point almost a mile away, and had crossed Irydthion’s boundary on foot. They’d halted on a small side street, sheltered on both sides by high-rise buildings. Swiftly they’d begun to armor themselves, preparing for a confrontation with an enemy they’d never encountered before. Izah had brought her full arsenal--two semiautomatic handguns in hip holsters, the short-barrel shotgun riding against her thigh, a submachine pistol carried by a strap at her side, and a 36 inch sabre fastened to her back in a loose sheath. Fully suited, she watched as the rest finished; Xerxes was the first to finish, his crossbow cradled in both hands--before embarking on this mission they’d retrieved his weapon from her living quarters. She caught sight of a D-94 automatic rifle, riding in a carrier on his back, over his shoulder, and noted also that he had his semi-automatic pistol in a shoulder holster.

Xerxes looked up and caught her eye; he beckoned her over with a toss of his head. “I’m trying something new,” he told her, shifting the crossbow to one hand and removing from an inner pocket a small bolt. He held it up for her to examine; curious, she took it between two fingers and turned it over.

“Ball ammunition,” he told her. “Penetrates further, and through things like walls and armor.”

“New invention?” She asked him as she handed it back.

“Sort of. I’ve been playing around with it for a while.”

Izah turned to the rest of the team--Silas, Fawn, Liam and one of the three House Diviners, Mae. Diviners were both rare and the subject of much speculation within the world; shortly after the Aura Wars they had begun to appear in the cities, individuals who had strange powers, like the magic spoke of in the legends of old. Their powers varied greatly, never appearing the same in more than one person. They became widely sought after by the Houses as additions to militaristic might, but the separate Houses had different ways of recruiting them. Irydthion House, for example, did not so much recruit Diviners as it did abduct them, and then take from them their free will and their ability to emote. This process had appeared during the Aura Wars in the effort to create the perfect soldier. The result of these psychological and medical procedures were the Devoid--humans incapable of experiencing strong emotion, thus rendered so to keep them subservient to those who commanded them. Many viewed the Devoid as abominations or as things to be pitied. Halcyon Kept and the House of Kyle renounced the creation of the Devoid; while it was unknown whether Ya Mordül took part in such creation, they did have Devoid within their ranks. And Irydthion was a steady supporter--their laws stated that all House Diviners must be Devoid, for as a such they would be easier to control and lose the unpredictableness that was inherent to basic human nature.

Mae’s Divination powers were critical for this mission; she had the ability to exert her will over that of another, to subvert another human being into doing her bidding. It didn’t always work--incredibly strong willed individuals, for example, were more likely to resist her power, and her Divinity didn’t work at all on the Fallen. But it was worth a try--otherwise, short of attempting to kidnap a member of Irydthion House, which promised to be an unpleasant and extremely difficult task, they had no way of taking a prisoner alive.

The six under her command were all watching Izah expectantly, fully armed and ready, and so she said, “We’re going to split into two. Xerxes, you take Fawn and Silas and head north of here. Work in a circle, but don’t get too close to the Maw. Liam, Mae and I will go south and do the same thing. I want you guys to keep an eye out for any movement--any armories, any outposts, any troops on the move. We’ve got Mae, so we’ll take care of securing one of them. Keep radio contact to a minimum--we’re ghosts tonight, crew. Let’s do this unseen.”

Xerxes held up a fist and beckoned Silas and Fawn to follow him; the three of them eased out of the shadowed street and into the main one, moving with stealthy caution until they were lost again in shadows. Izah took a moment to adjust her earpiece, fiddling with the microphone attached to her collar, before sliding one of her semiautomatics out of its holster and flicking off the safety. “Tail us,” she said to Liam, and the bearded man nodded once, bringing his assault rifle up to bear. They began to move as one, fast and cautious; Mae, robed all in black, moved wraith-like behind Izah, and Liam in turn ran close behind the Diviner. They avoided the main streets; even though the chance of running into civilians this close to House territory was slim, the complications that could arise should they encounter someone was something to be avoided. They moved out from their original position in an arc, heading in the direction of the Maw. They’d been on the move for almost an hour when Izah swiftly brought up her hand in the motion to halt; pressing herself flat against the wall of the building she’d just come around, she indicated the street in front of her so that the other two would know what she’d found.

Liam eased around her, taking one swift glance, and when he slid against the wall beside her he nodded silently. Izah risked another quick look; there were two of them, two males, only thirty feet away. They were facing the open street, both of them carrying rifles in easy grips, and it seemed as though they were standing guard over the building behind them. Another glance revealed to Izah the archaic silver insignia of Irydthion House carved into the double doors they were guarding, and Izah knew then that the building was either an outpost or an armory. One of the guards erupted into sudden laughter that carried clearly, and Izah eased back behind the building, removing from a carrier on her belt a long, slender silencer. As the laughter of the guards died away she carefully and quietly attached the silencer to her handgun.

“Mae,” she said softly after she had finished, and the Diviner nodded her head before closing her eyes and breathing deep. Izah slipped down to a crouch, leaning foreward only a slight bit as to be able to see past the corner of the building. She kept her eyes trained on the two men, scarcely breathing for fear of giving their position away before Mae was able to exert her will over one of them. Long seconds passed with the only noise being the quiet voices of the Irydthion guards as they conversed with each other. Finally Mae’s eyes opened, and her pupils were dilated to fine pinpricks as a result of exerting her powers. When she spoke, her voice was almost silent. “Do it.”

Izah stepped out onto the street; one of the guards immediately caught sight of her, but before a warning cry could escape him she fired twice, the silenced shots barely more than a loud whisper. The guard staggered back into the wall of the armory, clutching his chest before sliding limply to the ground. The other guard remained where he was, staring directly ahead. Izah waited a moment to see if any attention has been attracted, and when all remained silent she turned to Mae, “Can you bring him over here?”

Mae nodded, bowing her head; Izah watched as the remaining guard began to move at a steady, wooden walk in their direction. He was a mere five feet from their position when the door to the building opened, prompting the appearance of three more from Irydthion House.

“Fuck,” Liam breathed; a heartbeat later shouts went up as the dead guard was discovered, and then the alarmed voices began calling out to their comrade that currently had no will of his own. As the guard-- under Mae’s volition--rounded the corner and came to a halt, Izah withdrew her other handgun before ordering tersely, “Take him back to the rendezvous. Radio Xerxes, tell him to meet you there. I’ll divert their attention.”

“Captain--" Liam protested, but Izah fiercely shook her head to belay whatever he would say. With a frustrated snarl he turned and began to run; Mae nodded briefly at Izah, her eyes still eerie, before swiftly following Liam, and the Irydthion guard ran at her side. Izah counted to ten, watching as they quickly reached the end of the street and were thus lost to her vision, before she spun around the corner of the building and opened fire.

She got off four rounds from both weapons before they were able to retaliate; the rapid-pulse thunder of automatic rifles exploded into the night as she reeled around and began to run. She headed west, away from Liam, Mae and the captive, away from the gatepoint where her teams would be meeting, hoping to draw her pursuers deeper into their own territory. Before her loomed a large office-type building; as she neared she fired two rounds at the large glass double doors, and as the glass shattered she leapt through, instinctively covering her head as she did so. She landed on all fours; a swift glance around the dark interior informed her that, like most buildings deep within House territory, this one had long ago been abandoned. She was in the process of rising and turning to stare out at the street she’d just fled from when the front windows shattered, and as she began to back steadily away she took aim at the dark, swiftly approaching shapes outside the building. This time, one of her shots struck home, and the Irydthion man nearest her position toppled over with a cry, clutching his chest. Izah bolted then, leaping over what had once been a front desk and racing down the dark hall behind it. Footsteps thudding loudly on the hard floor, Izah dove into a shadowed doorway as rifle fire burst out behind her. Pressing herself flat against the door, breathing fast, she shoved both handguns back into their holsters and withdrew instead the shotgun.

The voices of her pursuers were audible to her; they spoke in fast whispers, and though she couldn’t make out what they were saying she had a good idea what they were planning. She pumped a shell into the chamber and stepped into the hall only long enough to take one shot; they dove to the sides to avoid the fire, and she whipped around and began to run again.

There was a staircase at the end of the hall, and she hit it full tilt, taking the steps three at a time. The staircase was a square spiral, and as she reached the next floor she caught a glimpse of her pursuers over the railing. Each floor had a door, but she ignored them until she reached the fifth, kicking it open and darting through. This floor was a wide open space littered with cubicles; there was enough light coming through the windows that she could see clearly. Hearing the Irydthion men pounding up the stairs she ran down one aisle before veering into a cubicle and falling into a crouch; a moment later the door banged open again, admitting the men to the room.

Again they conversed in whispers, but Izah paid no mind. She eased upwards, leaning hard on the cubicle wall and sliding the barrel of the shotgun along the edge. The men were doing a sweeping search of each cubicle row; one was several rows over, and the other was in the row next to hers. His back was to her, but he was in the process of turning; carefully, silently Izah moved until she had the him in her sights; a breath later her finger tightened on the trigger and his head exploded in a vibrant spray of gore.

“Fuck!” Screamed the last surviving member of the trio, and immediately his bullets shredded the cubicle walls. Izah twisted and dropped to the ground, firing back blindly. The opposing gunfire stopped abruptly, and she got to her feet and began to run, keeping low to the ground. She curved back towards the door, her plan to retrace her steps and gain the streets again. She had almost made it to the door when she caught sight of her opponent; he reared up to her right, standing in an aisle, following her path through his crosshairs. She had less than an instant to choose a course of action, and as his finger tightened on the trigger she altered her course and threw herself at him. His rifle fired as she collided with him; the bullets bit harmlessly into the wall behind them both. As they hit the floor they began to grapple; Izah knocked the rifle from his hand and it skittered noisily away.

“Bitch,” the man grunted, trying to dislodge her as she straddled him. She gripped his sides tight with her knees and fought to wrap her hands around his throat. He caught at her hands with his own, tried to push her back; his eyes widened as slowly but surely she bore down, as it suddenly dawned on him that this was a woman with strength far greater than his own. As her fingers grazed his neck he bucked violently upwards, sending Izah tumbling back. She rolled away as he gathered himself and leapt at her, getting swiftly to her feet; he followed suit, and as he launched himself at her again met his charge with a powerful backhand. The blow sent him reeling away- he fell heavily to the ground, and for a moment she simply stared at his motionless form. Flexing her hand, which started to ache horribly from the force of the blow she’d delivered, she approached the man and nudged him roughly with the toe of her boot. He didn’t move. She knelt, rolling him onto his back, and placed two fingers on the pulse point in his neck even though she already knew what she’d find.

“Is he dead?”

Izah was on her feet in a flashing second, whirling to face the speaker. He stood in the entrance to the stairway, the door blocked from closing by his foot. In the light filtering in from the broken windows she could see him clearly--he was tall, slender, clad in a manner that was almost antiquated and which was the current fashion among the well-to-do; a well fitted ebony frock coat fell to his ankles, flaring slightly at the waist. Beneath the coat he wore a high collared, dark grey shirt, and black pants came over top of dark polished, heeled boots. He wore a black bowler’s hat, pulled down low; from beneath it spilled the lengths of his ebony hair, the strands very long and very straight. He was pale, something which stood out against the dark monotony of his clothing and he bore no House emblem that she could see, but there was something about him that made her instantly wary, and so she slowly slid one her automatics free of its holster.

He observed her action with a faint curving of the lips that could have been a smile, but other than that made no move. Izah, eyeing him warily, finally replied to his question. “Yes.”

“Impressive,” the stranger remarked, stepping into the room. The door clanged shut in his passage, the sound loud and harsh in the stillness. As he advanced Izah back-stepped; she brought her gun up to bear, cradling it in both hands and keeping it steadily trained on him. He stopped when he reached the body of the Irydthion guard, gazing down on it for long moments. When he raised his eyes to her again she saw that they were an ashen grey, standing out in strong contrast to his dark clothing. She also noticed then the long-barrelled shotgun he carried in a thigh holster; it was just visible beneath the edge of his coat. He said, “You broke his neck with only one blow.”

When Izah said nothing, he continued. “You must possess incredible strength to do such a thing--to kill a healthy man in his prime? One-handed, nonetheless?”

“Who are you?” Izah demanded.

Again, she saw the ghost of a smile flickering about his lips. “Sinclair,” he told her, inclining his head briefly in deference, a gesture that would have been polite had she not been fairly certain it was mocking. “And you,” he continued, “Who are you? Not of Irydthion House--you wear the emblem of Halcyon Kept. What would you be doing so deep in enemy territory, I wonder?”

Instead of answering, Izah asked a question of her own. “Are you of Irydthion?”

“Oh, no.” Sinclair said, and his smile finally manifested itself. “Not of Irydthion, nor the House of Kyle.”

“Ya Mordül,” Izah said in sudden realization. Sinclair nodded once. Frowning, Izah asked, “Why are you here?

“For reasons that I dare not disclose to one from Halcyon Kept.” he told her, and there was a rich undercurrent of amusement to his tone. With one gloved hand staff he indicated the fallen man at his feet. “I was on the street when I heard the gunfire. I was curious to know which House--other than my own--would dare trespass within Irydthion lands. However, I confess to being much more intrigued by what I’ve just witnessed. You never did answer my questions.”

“And I won’t.” Izah snapped. Tiring of the conversation, of the questions that vaguely hinted that he knew more than he revealed, she motioned with the handgun for him to move out of her way. For a moment he regarded her inscrutably; anxiety mounting, Izah tightened her hands around the gun. He moved aside then, stepping carefully over the body, and as Izah made her way cautiously past him, he spoke again.

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” he said, head tilted slightly to watch her as she passed, and again she heard the faint traces of mirth and of something indefinable yet undeniably threatening in his voice. “But I’m afraid you never gave me your name …”

“Izah,” she told him, and immediately wished she hadn’t. He bowed his head in acknowledgement; she reached the staircase door and, transferring the gun to one hand and keeping it trained still on him, opened the door and slipped through. Once on the stairs she began to run, leaping down them two at a time and keeping the gun free in case Sinclair chose to pursue. When she reached the first floor she paused, quieting her breathing to discern whether he was following; only silence met her ears. Far from being reassured, Izah began to move anyways, quickly retracing her steps and making her way back to the streets. As she exited the building, she spared the body of the first guard she’d killed only a glance before casting a swift, searching glance about to ascertain nobody was around. A moment later she was running, heading down the street and into the shadows, unaware that from a fifth floor window, Sinclair was watching her departure.

.X.

Challenge fic, April 13/06--done with Sabe.

2006-04-13T21:23:33Z

.X.

It was a normal morning up until the elevator.

Reno was late—which was normal—and had come hurtling through the double doors of ShinRa, Inc. as though there was an army chasing him. Which wasn’t far from the truth, really; these days Rufus was a little more irate than he normally was and had taken it upon himself to finding each and every flaw within the Turks and ranting about it, and Reno’s penchant for never being on time was something he deemed rant worthy. Especially as Reno himself had only been working for ShinRa—and been a Turk—for a little over a month. And so it was with a deft ease Reno wove through the morning exodus of ShinRa employees on their way to work with an occasional opportunistic shove to get him ahead faster, and so it was he was arrived first in line to the glass door elevators. He pressed the button repeatedly, glancing back with a smirk at all those who were glaring at him, and when the elevator chimed and the door swung open, he stepped through quickly and then jabbed at the button that prompted the doors to close. Angry shouts went up among those outside as the doors slid together, and Reno’s smirk grew in size as he leaned back and waved to all those who could have joined him, if only he’d let them.

It was on the twenty-seventh floor that his smirk faded, because the elevator slowed to a halt. A little claustrophobic at the best of times, the real reason Reno had refused to let the other employees join him was because he didn’t like the cramped space of the elevator, and liked it even less when others where inside with him. Wondering if he could somehow prevent whoever it was on the twenty seventh floor from boarding, the Turk eyed the doors irritably. If only these people would realize that as a Turk, he had special rights—such as riding the elevator alone …

The door slid open, and Reno suddenly wished he was anywhere but in the elevator. As the General stepped into the small space with nary a glance in his direction, Reno began to feel the real stress of his claustrophobia. If there was ever a person that made the ever irreverent Reno nervous, it would be Sephiroth. If there was ever a person that made the sometimes arrogant Reno insignificant, it would be Sephiroth. If ever there were a person that scared the crap out of Reno, it would be Sephiroth.

Only a few more floors, Reno told himself, glancing sidelong at the man sharing the elevator with him. The General’s gaze was fixed on the glass doors before him, watching the floors as they sped quickly by. Reno took a deep breath and let it out slowly; it was ridiculous, really, to be afraid of Sephiroth; after all, he was like Reno in the employ of ShinRa … Sephiroth shifted his head slightly and caught Reno watching him.

“I … uh—I’m late.” Reno said, for some reason feeling the need to break the stillness and feeling unaccountably awkward under the weight of those glowing eyes.

Sephiroth stared at him with all the disinterest he would give a piece of gum stuck to his boot. When he shifted his gaze again, Reno sagged back against the elevator wall with a silent sigh. This was shaping up to be a bad day …

The elevator chose that moment to shudder violently before stopping with a lurch that threw Reno to the floor and Sephiroth into the doors. Gaining his feet quickly, Reno stared out the glass and realized they were stuck between to floors, and were no longer moving.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he said, and began to push any number of buttons with frantic desperation. When nothing happened other than the elevator beginning to chime repeatedly as though the doors were opening and closing, Reno closed his eyes and glanced at the General. Green eyes, narrowed and holding a distinctly displeased look to them, stared back.

Over the soft, repetitive chiming, Sephiroth said with no small amount of sarcasm in his voice, “Well done.”

Reno closed his eyes and leaned his head against the glass. He amended his earlier thought—this was shaping up to be a horrible day.

.X.

HK Prologue

2006-03-10T03:07:19Z

- Prologue -

In the time before the Aura Wars, much of the natural world had already been lost. Mankind had encroached over most bastions of wilderness; sprawling cities covered huge masses of land, and where one city would end another would immediately begin. Environment and preservation were no longer a concern—nations and countries existed only for war, only for survival when pitted against each other. It was inevitable that the global tensions and constant, irrational hatred between cities and states would come to a head. Coalitions were formed between the extremist nations and alliances were forged between cities until finally there was only one possible outcome: war of the largest magnitude.

Fighting began on all fronts; the poorest countries and cities, those that were ill prepared and ill equipped for war fell first beneath their rivals and neighbors and were either laid to waste or annexed into those that had conquered them. Highly advanced weaponry that had been tested in theory but never in actuality was used; entire city populations were wiped from existence by the mere drop of one bomb, but the structures all remained standing. Chemical warfare had progressed to the point were incendiary devices were a weapon of the past; now enemies could be subdued by deadly viruses that spread lightning fast, or by noxious gas that permeated the air in the blink of an eye. One year of the world at war became two which became three; by the third the war had become less a battle of petty supremacy between small portions of the world than a full-out rivalry between the East and the West. The long, relentless struggle became known as the Aura Wars, named so because of the respective glows of the wartime fires, bombs, and gunfire that could be seen at night no matter where in the world you were.

Towards the end of the third year, both sides (such as they were, broken states held together under militaristic dictatorships and martial law) began to falter in their vigor, for the past years of unrelenting war had taken a great toll on the available resources and the economy. It was the East that finally put an end to the war, concentrating the last and most potent of their armament in a final, desperate action on the largest city still standing in the West that served as the base for the Western military command. The city was Libra, and unable to withstand the onslaught the great city fell, thus heralding the end not only of the Aura Wars but of the makeshift alliances and conglomerates that had pieced themselves together during the course of fighting.

The people of the world suddenly found themselves faced with unexpected peace. The East, while triumphant, could no longer maintain their cohesion, and the dictatorship that had carried it somewhat successfully to the end of the war imploded not long after their victory. In the turmoil that followed the war both in the East and West power began to shift. Before the war the world was divided into nations, states, and countries. While most of these had dissipated in the midst and in the wake of the Aura Wars, many of the massive cities had survived. And so it was in the years that followed the cities began to declare themselves independent, sovereign nations unto themselves. Some of the largest, such as Pisces and Virgo, acted as protectorates for other smaller cities joined to them, whilst others—like Aries—took steps to ensure they had no rivals in the immediate vicinity, and either annexed or eradicated those that refused to be incorporated into their borders.

The end of the Aura Wars heralded something else as well—the arrival of the Fallen. There were hundreds of them, human in appearance but decidedly otherworldly, appearing at random through the world as though wished into existence. In some areas they were heralded as gods, as creatures divine, while in others they were perceived as threats and were either imprisoned and killed. In truth the Fallen were exiles. They were ambitious, arrogant, and from their realm of origin they were able to interact in part with the other world, were able in fact to influence humans through subtle thought and insinuations. The Aura Wars, though inevitable, had been escalated somewhat through the aid of the Fallen who despised the world and the state it had come to. Should mankind destroy itself, the earth would right itself again in time, free of the parasites that riddled it. And that was their true goal; aid mankind in destroying itself, and when the world was whole and pure again it would serve as a new home for them. The time it would take for the earth to return to a natural state—eons—was nothing for the Fallen, for they were immortal. The most ambitious among them desired their own realm, a realm they could govern as they saw fit, and the Aura Wars had provided to them the key to that dream.

But it was not to be. The Aura Wars ended in a manner they had not foreseen and mankind still existed; the actions of the Fallen had not gone unnoticed by others in their realm. Their actions were to their brethren atrocious—tampering with the other world in such a manner was simply not to be done; it was a cardinal rule. And so the Fallen, small in number, were given their punishment—exile to the world they had tried so hard to destroy. Cast from their home they found themselves suddenly in lands that had been torn apart by the war they had in some part instigated and encouraged, faced with populations ravaged and crippled by the fighting. So harsh and unforgiving was this place, so in disharmony and so unlike the home they had been exiled from, but that was not the entire extent of their punishment. In being cast out of their home realm, they had also lost their powers—great strength and speed and other abilities akin to magic, as well as their immunity to sickness and disease. Here in this world, they were vulnerable for the first time to something they had never before had cause to fear—death. Humans were now their equals in almost every way except one—the Fallen, while not immune to the illnesses that plagued mankind, still retained their incredible longevity. Such a shock was the loss of gifts inherent to them since their creation that some Fallen chose to end their existence immediately, fearing death but fearing lives as mortals even more. Others, incapable of dealing with the enormity of what had happened to them, fell victim to what humans in similar situations fell victim to as well—insanity. Some of the Fallen, especially those whose arrival on the earth had been heralded as a divine occurrence, took the opportunity to rise to power, exploiting the belief and faith of the humans that worshipped them. And some among the Fallen chose to deal with what had been dealt them, deciding to learn to survive in this new and frightening world. No matter what course of action they took presented with their new situation, one goal was constant between them all: they would return to their home realm.

The Fallen were not the only of their brethren to leave their home; others of their kind, belonging to a particular order known as the Guardians, chose to follow their exiled kin. There were eleven of them, and each of them stood as a Guardian for a city. The Zodiac cities had existed for thousands of years, had stood strong through all the chaos and turmoil mankind had wrought upon the world. When first life had been created on this world the Zodiac cities had been there, bastions built on holy land to symbolize purity, courage and wisdom. Where once upon a time the cities had been hallow, their origin and meaning had long since been lost in history, and they stood now only as huge populations of cities, of urban sprawl that had long since choked out the nature surrounding them. The Guardians were eleven in number, but had once been twelve; the absolute destruction of Libra at the end of the Aura Wars had taken as well the life of its Guardian, Zuriel. Unlike the other of their kind, the Guardians’ existences were tied directly to that of the city over which they watched; such was the price for the path they had chosen.

Not all Guardians chose to return to the city under their regard; those that did were concerned about the presence of the Fallen among mankind. Just because they had lost their essence of power did not make them any less ambitious or cunning. The Guardians that returned to the world had done so to keep careful surveillance on their exiled brethren. Unlike the Fallen, the Guardians retained their powers and immortality even having left their home realm, but were bound by oath and rule not to interfere directly with the Fallen. Some of the Guardians were content merely to observe, but others who were more concerned about the actions of the Fallen in their cities devised methods to ensure the Fallen were kept in check.

In the city of Aquarius, almost a century after the end of the Aura Wars, the Fallen had insinuated themselves firmly into positions of power. Aquarius, while not devastated by the war, had definitely been a casualty. From the ruins and rubble of its past self a new city grew, its economy self-sustaining because of rich deposits of ore found in the mountains bordering it, ore used in weapon research and production. Aquarius, upon declaring itself independent of other cities and nations, developed a democratic government, but other forms of rule were arising within the city itself. Houses had been created, small sections of the city declaring themselves sovereign from the others and vying constantly for superiority over the others. Behind the creation of the Houses were the Fallen, respectively searching for dominance over their rival kin that had also arrived in Aquarius. Almost one hundred years after the war only four Houses remained, and they had grown throughout the years to be massive sections of the city consisting of populations of hundreds and even thousands. The city around these Houses was for the most part merely wreckage—the House wars had continued so savagely and for so long that any area in the immediate vicinity of House territory had been abandoned and left in ruin. The city itself and her government tolerated the Houses, because they had grown such in power that there was no way to remove them or debilitate them without destroying more than half the city itself. The Houses remained independent of Aquarius itself, almost like small nations, and the city left them well enough alone.

The Fallen in Aquarius had reached prime positions of power, with entire militaristic factions at their command and vast resources and wealth to draw from. And each of the four Houses and the Fallen leading them strove always to dominate or eradicate the other, but they had all four of them grown so strong that it was almost an impossible task. Alliances had been made between them in the past but had always been broken; trust did not come easy to the Fallen when always they were planning and devising schemes to overcome the others. Different though their agendas were, there was one thing each of the House Fallen had in common—the continuous search for a way to return to their home realm and regain the powers they had once known. Some of the Houses, however, had other plans as well—destroy their rivals by any means necessary.

When first the Fallen had arrived in Aquarius, so to had the city’s Guardian, Cambriel. In the days immediately following the end of the Aura Wars and the arrival of the Fallen, Cambriel moved among the human populace and delivered a gift to certain individuals. There mere touch of his hand bestowed in the mortals some portion of his power, giving unto them abilities, always different, that could be called magic. Cambriel, an enigma even to others of his kind, had but one reason for doing so: the appearance of humans with such power in Aquarius would serve as a constant reminder to the Fallen in his city that he was present, and that he was watching. While he could not directly interfere, he would do his best to see that his city would not fall to the corruption and ambition of the Fallen. But Cambriel underestimated the Fallen, and so he could do nothing but watch as the Houses grew and fought until only four of them remained, too powerful and too long rooted to be usurped. And he watched as the humans he had gifted, since then termed Diviners, joined the Houses through either free will or forceful coercion, strengthening the overall might of the House. He watched as rebellious factions broke away from the Houses, calling themselves Sovereign, and he watched as they too grew in number and force. All the while he continued to do as he had for a century; he moved still among the mortal populace, delivering unto individuals his gift. Aquarius was now firmly mired in the politics and rivalries of the Houses of the Fallen, but time had a way of changing things, and Cambriel had nothing but time. Eventually all things would come to an end, but the Houses would destroy each other and perhaps in doing so would destroy Aquarius as well. Cambriel, bound by code and rules, could only observe as the city tied to his very essence was embroiled firmly in the struggle of the four separate factions led by the Fallen—Ya Mordül, Kyle, Irydthion and Halcyon Kept. As each House strived to find its way to absolute superiority, as each of the Fallen worked with complete dedication to find entrance once more into the realm that had been their home, one thing was absolutely certain—

Sooner or later, Aquarius would be awash in blood.

.X.