Legion and the sea

The small pale girl with blood on her hands darted into the shadows, watching and wary. She’d tried to cut out Denenthorn’s eyes. He’d been foolish to unbind her in the first place, but he’d allowed Pontifex to bait him into it. She knew Denenthorn’s wrath was legendary so she crouched, waiting and listening for the rustle of wings, Nareth’s blade dancing in her hand.

A shimmering in the air alerted the girl that someone was coming. She quickly padded into the alleyway, staring into the darkness as Legion appeared, first as an impression of a transparent outline, then drifting slowly into opacity. Legion gazed gently at the girl, Her eyes wandering from the girl’s face to the blade at her neck. A whisper of many voices echoed on the air as She stepped forward to place a hand upon the girl’s shoulder, "We are here to take you with Us."

A shiver swept through the girl at Legion's touch. "They're trying to find me,” she whispered. “I don't want to be bound again." Her voice pleads. The blade at the girl’s neck is hungry, and she wants to feed it, but she also doesn't want to be found. "It's hungry." She taps the blade’s edge urgently with her fingertip.

Without a word, Legion leads the girl by the shoulder through the dim streets, out towards the shoreline, to the edge of the floating platform overlooking the sea. The girl can feel the boards bobbing lightly under her feet to the lapping of the tide. Legion trades the hand on the girl’s shoulder with Her other hand, facing the girl out to sea. The girl looks out silently over the water.

Placing Her freed hand between the girl’s shoulder blades, palm adhering with something rather like a static pop, a feeling like the attraction of many begins to conduct through that touch, and plumes out into the girl’s chest. Legion’s whispers come affectionately from inside the girl. "Look out to sea, Our jewel."

The girl blinks, and then eyes adjusting to the twilight, she takes in the hazy sky, the stars. Though it is a night with no moon she sees clearly over the water.

Legion draws nearer to press Her front into the side of the girl’s back, and Her chin over her shoulder. She draws Her palm down the bare portions of the girl’s back, dragging the feel of static with it. The voices slide around inside the girl, branching out and in and around like endorphins. "The sea is the world remembered,” Legion begins, “The world as it is...and the world yet to be...all in song...all in never ceasing rise and fall." Her hand drifts idly down further, finally resting on the curve of the girl’s hips.

The girl listens to the lapping water, smells the sickly sweet salt marsh mingled with toxic fumes. Finally she relaxes against Legion's arm, whispering, "Her heart is out there. I can feel it beating."

Legion maneuvers the girl into the cradle of Her looped arm, encouraging her back into Her strong embrace, and rocking her gently to the sounds of the sea. "Her heart means nothing,” She says. “Her heart is a grain of sand upon the ocean floor. We are here as on the event horizon of all time, the rise and fall of civilizations, the birth and death of billions, all have their place in the song..."

Legion coaxes the girl to give her weight to Her, and hang weightless in Her arms, floating free above the advancing water. The girl takes a deep shuddering breath, then leans, trusting, into Legion's arms. She drifts, weightlessly, eyes gazing out to sea, mesmerized by Legion's words. She can see civilizations birthed and dying as she floats; she can hear the song.

Legion's cheek presses into the girl’s, Her jaw sliding over her shoulder soft as clouds, till the corner of Her mouth is against the girl’s cheek. The words continue in a quilt of rhythms, rolling towards the girl’s consciousness, mesmerizing, like the surface rolling across girl’s sight, and running under the edge of her field of view, every wave surely lapping into her. "The song is in you, Our Jewel...the song of creation, when sung in its complete harmony, can raise the light from out of void, and make creation out of nothing it all." Legion's hand is upon the girl’s lower stomach, laying Her palm and fingers sprawled upon it's skin "We have put a piece of it inside you...inside your womb...and you will be it's flower bloomed..."

The girl’s eyes half close as her fingers trace the tops of Legion's hands. She feels wrapped in warmth, peace. She sees the void washing over her, then a little point of light like a star, growing, sparkles radiating outward, filling the nothingness.

But the blade does not sleep.

A roll of the dice

Joah sits alone perched atop the bed in her room. Her boots and stockings are piled on the floor; her legs are tucked beneath her. She still wears the black and crimson dress she had on earlier when talking with Aunt Beast. She is weary from lack of sleep, yet rest eludes her. “There was a knight, and a lady bright, and three little babes had she,” she sings softly to herself, rocking.

Her fingers absently twine through the two chains around her neck, each bearing distinct ornaments: a small silver cross inlaid with onyx, a violently used razor from an earlier century. She gazes through the window at the bleak, early Toxian sun fighting its way through the perpetual haze that hangs over the city. “Choose, choose,” she murmurs. Blood. Heart. Soul. She sees the seal of the Book in her mind’s eye: Humanity, the Elder Ones, and the Watchers. Which is the path to Nareth? Omega says dead and lost forever. Legion says . . . just dead.

Joah traces the outline of the blade. Without thinking, she slides it along the curve of her thumb, leaving a bright sliver of red. “I roll the dice,” Aunt Beast had said. “Choose. The blade glances off mine skin. The blade flies from Artemisia's hand. The blade glows red. Choose.” Joah closes her eyes and sees Nareth’s blade, her sigil, flying through the air, lightly caught by Artemisia as she whirls and dances to the pipes only one touched by Labyrinth can hear. Without thinking, Joah begins to hum, her song conforming itself to the same tune.

She had chosen. The blade glows red. Joah runs her thumb along the edge of the blade again, feeling a thrill of bright, wet pain. “It is done,” Aunt Beast had proclaimed. “So many roads . . . undone.” She’d closed her hand as the dice vanished. “He will come to you, Joah. He came unto me. The prophecy . . . it says . . . he will slay thee . . . to aid me. The Beaumont Constantine. You will betray me. And the Sire of Nareth will slay the Final Vessel.” Joah wipes her bloody thumb on her skirt and wraps her arms around herself. She knows every decision limits the future. This decision has not yet been made, but the question has been asked. Many things seem to converge then fall apart. Aunt Beast has given her a weapon: Paradox.

Nareth’s blade grows hungry.

The dreaming

Joah wakes suddenly from her narrow bed, sitting upright in the darkened upper regions of the Library. The crescent moon streams through the window, barely illuminating the sparsely furnished room. Just by looking at her quilt, she realizes she's had another night of tossing and turning and inexplicable dreams: the covers lie heaped on the floor, the cotton sheets in a crumple. She thinks, "Maybe I should read," and as the thought crosses her mind, a small candle holder and the stub of a lit candle appear on her writing table. Still lost in the dreaming and the waking, she seems oblivious to what she's done. She rises and walks lightly to the little wooden table, bare feet graceful on the cool floor, her thin cotton chemise moving softly with each step. Her gaze wanders from the book she'd been reading earlier to a small ebony writing box banded with brass. Running her fingertips along the edge of the box and then lifting the lid, she takes out a sheet of opaque ivory vellum and a gold, eyedrop-filled pen. She settles on a small, three-legged stool as her mind wanders hours back to Abi's dream, of being with Abi in her dream in the Tainted Earth, floating above the ground, dream dancing with the Magician. The memory is otherwordly and soothing, the effects of a magical place. She closes her eyes and watches Omega floating and drifting, her skirts swirling as she rises and falls. Grr had seemed . . . free . . . dreaming on the air wtih joy. But she remembers the frown that creased his countenance only a short time before as he sat by the fire and said in a quiet, distracted voice, "I try not to dream." Joah knows about the dreaming, and about trying not to dream. She licks the nib of her pen and puts it to paper. "Brother," she begins, "Perhaps this will speak to your spirit." In her neat and old fashioned script, she writes the words of an old poem. She debates for a moment, then simply signs her name. Folding the vellum in half, she tucks it into an envelope instead of tying it. "Grr," she writes on the front, then treads silently down the stairs, placing the envelope on Omega's desk.

"Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep-while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?"

Girl talk

I stepped into the Library hearing the sound of cheery conversation and seeing a crew sitting at the Lady’s desk. My head was pounding, and I wanted nothing more than to lie down, but I had work to do. I nodded a greeting at Athanaric Criss, Bridgette Plunkett and Blueray Darkes as I walked by, then sought a cushion by the fire, pulled out my small tablet and pencil stub and began to write. I found it hard to focus between the pain in my temples and the buzzing conversation that seemed to be flowing through a wide and puzzling variety of topics: why any woman would do what a man told her to do, the dangers of riding a bike alone, and the sociological merits of artists versus scientists. Athanaric – A – wandered off to work on his research. I turned my attention once more to my tablet and settled in.

Suddenly Brit exclaimed, "I got a new shiny bullet!" Apparently, she’d been most distressed that someone had taken her other one. I could almost see Blue blink in astonishment, and – believe me – astonishing Blue is something of a feat in itself. Brit began rummaging through her pack. "It's pretty and shiny and, look!" I looked up from my writing and peeked behind the spiral staircase to see. "It fits in my pocket with my lipstick."

Blue grinned ruefully, "Brit, shiny as it is, those things are dangerous when fired from a gun. Bloody well hurt too." Having been shot in the leg, Blue knew. She began explaining about being shot, which, of course, genuinely troubled Brit until Blue reassured her. “It’s perfectly healed up,” she said. “Even the scar is gone. That’s when I changed races."

Brit lifted her pack, putting the bullet away. "I don't have a gun,” she said with a lisp. “And they don't hurt if you don't have a gun. Guns shoot them. I could throw it, but I don't think that would really hurt anyone." I looked up again; Brit was nodding to herself, pretty sure of what she was saying. "Besides!” she perked up, “It used to be Ethan's. And that makes it extra special."

Blue giggled leaning back in her chair, "Might leave a mark if you threw it at a forehead or something.” Blue clearly found Brit, her bullet, and her love and admiration for Ethan, rather endearing.

Brit suddenly dropped her pack and let out a small, soft, “Oh.” Her entire tone and demeanor changed. Brit is often slow to process what she’s heard, and she takes the words of others quite seriously and literally. It was beginning to dawn on her what Blue had meant about changing races. Brit was remembering. "I did not know you died,” she said. “Sorry. I would have come to the funeral."

Brit was gradually becoming accustomed, as was I, to people dying and resurrecting as something else. But the sadness of the change . . . my thoughts began drifting in different directions, thinking of Larissa, wondering about Nareth, trying to feel whether she was lost to us for good. My focus was brought back to the moment when Brit perked up and laughed, telling Blue, “But your hair is way prettier now!” To say that Brit sees the silver lining in every cloud is a bit of an understatement.

Blue waved a hand in the air, “I wouldn't worry about not coming to my funeral, Brit. I died twice in a sense and didn't have a funeral for either of them." She grinned. "I do like my hair, though.”

I smiled to myself at the conversation. I love Brit and Blue, two polar opposites of innocence and experience, but each strong and loyal and perceptive to the core. I looked down at my tablet and began, once again, my attempt to write, trying to piece together what had been happening to me of late. The headaches were coming more frequently, as well as the remembrances of smoke and steel smelting, of alarms and flashing lights. I sighed wanting no more of my own contemplation but was unable to filter the images from my thoughts. I heard a third voice at the door and realized that Picket McDonnell had strolled in, greeting her sister, Blue, and introducing herself to Brit. And because Brit is in love – truly, deeply in love – the talk turned as it so often does in her presence to beloveds and marriage. Brit’s first question of Picket was her usual: "Do you have a Beloved?"

I folded my tablet, tucked it and my pencil in a pocket in my skirt and stood before the fire, stretching. Perhaps the best distraction would be simply to be with others. I picked up a cushion and wandered over to the table to see Picket flashing her wedding ring and talking about her husband, a vampire named Alzreal, whom she pronounced very sexy, although Blue muttered something under her breath about him being annoying as hell. Though she was smiling, Picket looked terrible.

Brit was beaming happily and launched into a fairy-tale description of her wedding pulling out an album of her photos and handing them to Picket. If I believed in happily ever afters, Brit and Ethan’s love would be the proof of it. But there is nothing absolute in life. No loves that last forever. I tossed the cushion on the floor and sat between Blue and Brit, waving hello to all three who smiled in return. I needed to be away from my thoughts; the cheerful banter was a light breeze to me, helping the pictures in my mind drift away.

Blue laughed, “I couldn't make it to Brit's wedding but I got photos. Picket's took so long I ended up sleeping on the church floor.” She gave a mock-serious pout, "You got any idea how bad it is to wake up in a church? I had at least two angels crowding around me until I was awake enough to move".

Picket snickered about Bruno being a windbag, then pulled out a small wedding album from her pocket and tossed it to Brit. Picket grinned as Brit began perusing the photos, but her smile contained a grimace of pain. I wondered what was troubling her. Nevertheless, we all took turns looking through photographs of Brit’s and Ethan’s wedding. Blue, my best and favorite drinking companion pulled a small flask of vodka from her pocket and passed it to me. I tipped the flask and took several fiery sips. “I love weddings,” I said, taking another sip and handing the flask back to Blue. “So much better than funerals – although the liquor at a wake. . . ."

Picket giggled, “Yeah, but you have open bars at weddings.”

I smiled as Blue’s thoughts scattered their way toward me. She was wishing she’d had a funeral for either one of her deaths, thinking it would have been nice to lay there with everyone telling her corpse how they loved or hated her. Then she’d have risen and whacked them all about their heads for being mean to a dead person. That’s just one of the reasons I love Blue. Cute . . . and evil.

"Too many weddings recently,” Blue said aloud. “I got two more to go to soon.” She handed the bottle to Picket, who promptly waved it off holding her stomach and complaining of feeling sick.

“I think someone slipped something in my drink the other day,” Picket explained. I watched as Blue’s mirthful expression turned serious with concern.

Brit looked Picket up and down then blurted out, "Are you pregnant?"

I burst out laughing. "I . . . I don't think demons can get pregnant," Picket stammered.

Blue smirked, “It’s possible.”

“Nisha got pregnant,” Brit agreed. “And Lorne . . . um. . . ." Brit paused trying to remember what she’d been told. “Lorne spawned with Larissa. Only Larissa gave birth to his baby. Or it was her baby and his spawn." She blinked. “I'm not sure how that goes.”

Picket McDonnell shook her head. "Damn it! Someone should have told me this earlier. I am not used to this because I was a vampire and there is no chance in getting preggo when you are dead," she muttered.

Brit nodded. “Ethan says vampires do not have babies without some kind of unholy act.”

Blue began laughing, “When was the last time you and Alz did anything?”

Picket blinked at Blue, “Like . . . um . . . every day.”

Brit patiently explained to Blue, "Beloveds do things all of the time."

I began to study Picket carefully, "Do you mind if I take your hand?" I asked. She shook her head “no” and proffered her hand, which I took in both of mine. Pushing gently toward her, I probed for new life, new thoughts, and a second heartbeat. There was none. I looked up and smiled at her. "It appears you aren't with spawn. Or child. I'm not sure how that works either, Brit."

Picket sighed slightly. "Good – cause I might eat my own baby like cats do,” she said morosely.

“I don’t have a beloved,” Blue mused. “I just have warm bodies who share my bed.”

Brit looked at Blue with great seriousness. “Everyone needs a Beloved, Blue,” she said.

I smiled to myself at the talk of lovers and beloveds, but turned my focus back to Picket. "You are sick, though.” I pushed a bit toward her mind with my own. In her memories, I could see a vampire, slipping something into a goblet in the Haven. "I think it was the drink."

Picket frowned grumble, "Damn KA.”

I nodded. "I can help you, if you like. It troubles you now, but if you leave it unattended it will worsen."

Picket grimaced as a fresh wave of nausea hit her. “Yes, please,” she replied.

I still held Picket’s hand in my own two, but I dropped my left hand to my lap, palm up. I breathed deeply, sending a pulse of my essence through Picket, washing over her, pulling the poison away from her. It was worse than I’d at first thought. The KA’d meant to kill Picket, not just sicken her. Oily black residue formed on the fingertips of my open hand as I took the poison within me. I crumpled a little, holding my own stomach in pain. Picket gasped slightly as the sickness moved from her body, shivering as it crawled from her like a thousand little spiders.

I could feel Brit’s eyes on me, watching. She looked from Picket to me and back again to us both. Nibbling her lower lip, she lisped, “You took that inside of you. . . .”

Picket asked quietly, “Are you gonna be ok?”

“You think it’s that stuff that Sal gave to Bruno?” Blue wondered. “He said its bad for demons.”

I nodded, “It seems to be very bad for demons,” and wrapped my arms tightly around my stomach. “I’ll be fine. It will just take a little while.” Picket was frowning and watching me closely. There was really nothing I could do to reassure her that the poison and its effects would fade.

“So,” Blue muttered, “Whatever Sally has been dishing out is a rather bad thing indeed. Think we need words with him?”

"You both should speak with him," I replied, knowing full well that Blue's method of talking would mostly likely involve some physical persuasion of the violent sort. Blue’s expression of concern morphed into a wicked grin. Picket’s mouth widened into a dark smile showing a row of very white, perfectly sharp teeth.

Abruptly, Blue stood up, handed Brit a box of plushy kitties, and then turned to Picket, “Lets head to the church. Take it easy, Joah.” Picket nodded to Blue and with military sternness, they headed out the door of the Library.

Brit was obviously distressed that I was in pain. Pulling her legs into her chair and resting her chin on her knees, she gave me a confused and worried look. I stood unsteadily, leaning on Omega's desk. "I think I'd better lie down a bit. Brit, do you mind helping me to the sofa?"

She took my arm and braced me as I walked. “I don't think you should risk yourself like this, Joah.” She tucked a pillow on the couch, helped me settle and began looking around for my teakettle, which she laid on the embers of the fire.

“I’m a shaman, Brit. This is how I heal when other methods won’t work. There is always some risk, but so far, all the injuries I have taken have faded with time.” To be honest, I’d only recently realized this fact. It alarmed me. At first, after awakening in the City, I’d thought that any injury, any poison I took within my body healed. But I’d had time to think about the Earth from the Garden. I’d taken it in quite by accident the night Omega’s Chylde had come into existence. It remained within me, burning clearly, cleanly. And the plague I had taken from Sirenpetal – the swirling blackness I had inadvertently unleashed from her – I had found that small pock scars from its effects yet remained along the base of my ribs.

Brit said nothing for a moment as she lifted the handle of the kettle with her skirt and pulled it from the embers. "And what happens when it is so great that it cannot have time to heal?" she lisped. It was a question I’d pondered deeply, knowing there is a great difference between fading and healing.

“I think that if an injury were too severe,” I began, “If I somehow misgauged it, that it might not have time to fade. I don't seem to have the ability to heal myself.” Another cramp shot through me. “I can only take the pains of another. Then wait.”

Brit began talking about two Omegan doctors whom she thought would have treated me. They were twins: River and Rain. Doctors who healed with hands and with their magicks, scholarly curanderas, I suppose. I wondered again at the number of doctors who’d once resided within the walls of the Library, all mysteriously gone. Even Dominic Salving – I hadn’t seen him in weeks. Now his return seemed temporary at best. Although Brit thought Drs. River and Rain could have helped me, I suspected not. Whatever was going on inside me, magick had not been effective against it. Not even Mirah, with her great skill, had been able to touch the headaches and the pock scars.

Pouring the hot water into a teacup, and setting the kettle to one side, Brit made the tea and brought it to me. I thanked her and began to sip, but nearly spilled the whole thing as another I felt another cramp go through me. I held the teacup out to Brit, “Perhaps I should just try to sleep." I was afraid to lean over and set it on the floor.

Brit watched me with wide eyes. Knowing Brit, I suppose she was wondering whether those I help would return the favor if they could. I didn’t know at the time that Picket would more than return the favor in a few days. Picket would save my life. Taking the teacup, Brit held it for a moment and simply said, "Okay . . . rest. . . . . "

I closed my eyes, sank deep into the pillow and tried to sleep.

The plant gathering expedition

I sat by the fire in the Library, picking brambles from my stockings while Lyra waited impatiently by the stairs. Rellis strolled in greeting us and asked, “Anything of interest happening?"

“We’ve been out collecting plants,” Lyra replied. She tapped her foot with impatience, “Joah, can you help me unload these? I need to get them out of the sack and ready to press. There are some samples for Rellis to analyze, too.”

"I'm just taking a bit of a rest," I replied, plucking a bit of grass from the lacings in my boot. "Hold on a second, Lyra. I want to pull this off."

“I can't believe you even wore that to collect plants.” Lyra rolled her eyes at my black silk dress, my torn stockings, and my heeled boots. “Not very practical.”

I continued plucking grass and weeds from my stockings and the top of my boots. "I know . . . rather foolish of me, I think."

Rellis’s ears began twitching at the word “plant.” “Any I can look at now?” he asked.

Lyra opened her pack and started to show Rellis what we had found. But when I finished tossing the weeds in my hand into the fire, I looked up and saw a new woman in the Library. She had wandered over to the desk with a large pile of books and appeared to be asleep. “Just a moment, Lyra,” I said as I walked toward the woman.

Lyra continued showing plants to Rellis. “We will have to use a few references to identify some of these I think. I'll leave it to you to study them and determine their properties, if any.”

Rellis furrowed his brow in concentration. "I already have my note book. I’ve never seen some of these before.” He began pulling out a few rather more cautiously than usual.

“Hopefully, none of them are poisonous,” Lyra grinned. “I guess we'll find out.”

Thinking of some of Rellis’s earlier mishaps in the lab, I glanced back at him and Lyra. "Let's not take anything out until we get to the lab, please." Both nodded a silent yes and began putting plants back into the pack. Lyra pulled out the extra bottle of water she’d brought for me and laughed about my being unused to hiking around, while Rellis murmured an apology about being a bit to eager to delve in.

I then turned my attention to the woman, who indeed was sleeping face down in a handwritten book. I tapped her on the shoulder and she raised her head groggily, ink stains on her cheeks. Her name was Ares Mizin and she was looking for books on protective magicks. I pointed her to the far right corner of the stacks, then returned to Rellis and Lyra and headed upstairs.

Lyra walked straight to the crates at the back of the lab, asking Rellis if he’d found an identification guide yet. She slipped off her pack and muttered something about needing a few more tables upstairs, as she lifted two plant presses from one of the boxes and hauled out a drying oven from another. She set everything the floor. “Would you like to do the honors, Joah?” she asked.

I nodded and pulled the plastic bag out of Lyra’s backpack as she arranged the presses. "Perhaps we should have used individual bags," I said, looking and the snarled mass of greenery within. Meanwhile, Rellis wandered over to the stacks upstairs and began combing the shelves for plant references.

Lyra shrugged, “This is the way I've always done it. Let’s get these pressed and into the drying oven before they mold.” Lyra took off her backpack and laid it next to the wall. “Ready, Joah?”

I nodded. We certainly didn’t want the plants to mold in the Toxian air; we wouldn’t be able to preserve their morphological integrity if they did. I opened the bag and pulled out a dark green vine with small clusters of individual purplish-black berries. I laid the vine upon the table and glanced at the presses, “How many plants do we have room for, Lyra?”

“We can stack several plants in each press, I think," she replied. As I reached in the bag to grab another plant, an odd thing happened: a puff of what appeared to be tiny pink achenes attached to tufts of fine hairs wafted from it. Then Lyra reached in the bag and pulled out a tangle of samples all at once. Pink flew everywhere. “What’s that?” I coughed. We hadn’t collected anything with pink buds or flowers or clocks.

Lyra choked a little, waving the floating particles away. “I’m not sure, probably pollen,” she said. "Have you ever done this before Joah?”

“I have,” I replied, “But the traditional way: either bundling and hanging the plants upside down to dry or using blotter paper and books.” I glanced at wooden frames of the plant pressed, wondering how to tighten their woven straps. “Well, let’s separate the samples and give some of each to Rellis.”

Rellis had begun sneezing as the pink cloud drifted through the room. "What is that?" he muttered, trying to clear his nose of pink particles.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Lyra said as she ran over to get a stack of newspapers from the small desk in the corner. She began untangling and placing plants between two sheets of newsprint, then laying the package between two blotters.

Rellis sneezed again as he started grabbing books from the shelves and setting them down on the lab table. He took a small glass phial and stirring rod from the lab table drawer, knelt down on the floor and began to push the pink particles into it.

Lyra continued placing plants, while I assisted. “We’ll stack them all, put the press on either side of the stack and tighten it,” she explained. “Then they’ll need to go into the drying oven.”

I wondered aloud whether we should use the drying oven or let the plants dry more slowly, when Lyra suddenly dropped an entire assemblage to the floor. “What *is* this pink stuff?” she mused, tracing her fingers in the air, then catching a tiny achene and rolling it between her thumb and index finger.

Rellis sneezed again and growled, "Joah, please get this stuff out of the air. It’s really starting to bother me for some reason."

“This wasn't there before was it?” Lyra drifted her hand upward, pointing at something behind her that didn’t appear to be there. She breathed deeply and sighed, as though her sense of smell had just grown keener.

I coughed again, trying to clear my throat. Lyra walked toward me, a sleepy smile on her face, plants forgotten on the floor. Stopping just inches away, she began caressing my arm, “That is such a pretty dress, Joah.”

I looked down at my dress and brushed a few of the pink achenes away. "That stuff's all over me," I sighed, but the particles felt silky and I found I was longing to smell their scent.

Lyra touched my face and ran the back of her hand down my cheek, “Yes, it is all over you,” she murmured, stroking softly. I tilted my cheek towards Lyra’s hand as she began twirling the fingers of her other hand around my hair, purring. Her tail swished back and forth.

I began to feel very warm. I’d quite forgotten about the plants, breathing in the wonderful aroma. My lips brushed Lyra’s, "Thank you for the compliment,” I said in a low voice as I began stroking the soft fur on her face.

Still playing with my hair, Lyra glanced over at Rellis, whose eyes had begun to widen as he muttered something about a releaser pheromone. “Have you found that book, handsome?" she said dreamily.

Rellis appeared to be trying to gain some composure "Please try to control yourself, Lyra." Clearly, he was trying hard to do the same.

“Control myself?” Lyra asked with a sparkly laugh. “What is there to control? I feel . . . good.”

I stretched and ran my hands down my sides, "Mmm . . . I do, too," I sighed contentedly.

“Maybe we can just press these plants later,” Lyra purred as she began running her fingers through her own hair, enjoying the sensation. I nodded, thinking of tail snugs by the fire.

“Try to keep sane here, Lyra,” Rellis interjected. "It’s something about the plants . . . making you. . . . “ He stopped suddenly and grinned. “Umm . . . you don't look bad," he said, making an odd grunting noise.

Lyra laughed again. “I don't know what you are talking about, Rellis. You fuddy dud!” Lyra walked over to the chairs in the seating area, plopped down in one and began running her hands over the fabric. “Mmm, this chair is soft,” she murmured.

I walked over to Rellis, put my arms around him and began stroking his ruff. "Must find," he began, and then almost purring to himself he relaxed. "Well . . . maybe later," he trailed off.

Lyra rested her head against the chair rubbing her face against it. I smiled warmly at Rellis. “Calm down. Everything is just fine." I leaned over and kissed him on the snout. "See, I told you so."

Rellis chuckled as he nodded. "Guess so—I don't even remember what I was stressing about. Let’s head down."

And we did.

Speaker for the dead

Lorne asked me where I had been.

How to describe it? I’d been out of the city. Ferried away to a place where ruin walks more strongly than in Toxia, as hard as that is to imagine. I speak for the dead. When I am summoned, I must go. I cannot refuse the call, nor can my presence be refused once I am sent. They call me from their dreams.

But there were so many dead this time. So much loss. So much chaos. Over and over I researched, I talked to the survivors, I spoke trying to describe each life and give meaning to the way it was lived. I neither justify nor judge. I try to give meaning to the flaws, the misdeeds, and the intentions gone awry.

Some think me a priestess, though I am not. I mark the span. I tell their lives. I cannot help but reveal their secrets, the mysteries of each intricately woven together with the others by deception, guilt, and love. Thirty-two stones. Thirty-two tolls of the bell. I traced the Tree of Sephiroth around my neck, with the tips of my fingers, marking the Path for each one, Malcuth to Kaether Elyson.

The heat rippled off of the crumbling houses as the people left quietly and the cicadas buzzed in the trees, an electric hum permeating the air.

I speak for the dead.

Rellis's box

I was sitting in the Haven, talking with Nicholette and Regg when I heard someone shout, “I don’t see any Omegans here.” Looking toward the door, I realized that it was Gomi Graves, with Frew and a Cyber woman I did not recognize. He sought consultation with the Institute over the T.A.R.D. sentry in the South City. We met in the Library to discuss the matter, and as the Cybers were leaving, Rellis arrived.

He seemed distracted. I wondered what new potion he’d been working on. I knew that Rellis had recently moved from the Library’s lab to his own little one hoping to cause less damage to the Library itself, and perhaps hoping to spend less coin on broken equipment and glassware. He sighed and sat down, then asked for an update, gesturing toward where the Cybers had been.

I looked up from my perch by the fire, finished my notes and tucked my notepad and pencil back into my skirt. "The Cybers? They were trying to find out whether anyone Library had been working on upgrading the T.A.R.D. sentry in south Toxia. It's the robot sentry designed to fight the monsters down there. I don't know if can fight the new beasts, though."

Rellis nodded. "I was down there when the wild tree attacked. I was eager to study it, but I thought it better to stay away.”

I smoothed my skirt, plucking at a stray thread. "Could you tell me what happened, Rellis? I've been out of the city a while, speaking for the dead." I felt weary with the weight of it. "Much seems to have occurred while I was away. Since when do trees in Toxia attack?

Rellis sighed deeply again. Wild trees seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind. “Well, Zillinger is dead. Executed. He killed Aurelia.” He folded his hands in his lap. “New monsters have appeared in South Toxia. . . .”

I knew that Rellis had had a troubling relationship with the slaver. “I heard about Zillinger.”

Rellis shrugged. "Well, he is dead now, no need to worry about him anymore." Pulling out a note card from his robe, Rellis suddenly changed the topic. "I have a few more potions that I made . . . but I am not sure if I should hand them out. Please look at this if you will."

I took the report and began to read it as I meditated. I wondered why Rellis was so eager to turn the talk away from Zillinger. But my thoughts were quickly diverted as I glanced over the Rellis’s notes for a highly unstable, explosive potion. "Unstable?" I frowned. "Rellis, have you made any of this up?"

Rellis shifted uneasily in his chair. "Most of the potions I make I keep in a box upstairs. This box is magical. It holds an infinite amount. I make most of these failed potions by accident. There are only a few of them now but more can be made if needed. There are a few others, although they are not much better." Both of his ears folded back as he turned his head to hide his shame about making such things.

"Even a magic box might not be able to hold an unstable explosive, Rellis.” I shook my head in consternation. “What if it reacts with other potions in the box? I think we need Mirah's help to ward it. "

Rellis nodded a bit as he sighed. "This is true and I agree. I set some wards myself already but I can only do so much."

“Wards to protect the box from someone getting into it are good, Rellis. But this potion is unstable. Someone could cause an explosion here by merely trying to take the box. Or it might go off on its own. I'll try to contact Mirah. You should too, I think.”

I suddenly stopped meditating and stood. "Please show me where you have hidden it."

Rellis shook his head yes, stood and headed for the stairs. I followed him to the bookcase by the wall, in back of the laboratory equipment. "In here?" I asked.

I watched as Rellis moved behind the bookshelf, pulling a seemingly small and almost book-sized box from behind it. "Here it is," he replied.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I examined the box. "I'd rather you hold it since you are familiar with the wards you've placed on it. Please turn it slowly so that I may see it."

"This box has all but a few of my potions inside of it, ranging in the thousands," Rellis explained, softly setting the box down on a nearby stack of crates. He slid his claw across the top of the box and lifted the lid a slightly. Only four phials were visible.

"It must be larger on the inside than on the outside.” Seeing only four phials confused me. “How did you make this box, Rellis? Or was it made for you?””

"It’s not exactly larger," he smiled. “The holds are magic. Call the name of the potion, specify the slot it is in and it will appear."

I peered into the box, wondering about the potentially unstable potions contained within. “Rellis, if I have need of the box, what must I do to use it?”

Rellis ran his claw around the top of the lid. "That is the tricky part. First, you must know the language only shamans know. For our luck you are one, so that part is okay. Second, you must know the potions that are inside the box. After that getting them is no problem."

I began hoping that Rellis’s description of "thousands" of potions was a figurative, not literal, statement on his part. "Tell me the words, please. For safety, Rellis, someone other than you needs to be able to access that box. If anything happened to you. . . .”

Rellis’s ears began twitching. "Ma’am, this is my life’s work. There are literally thousands of potions in this box. But I know a way to make this a little easier. I’ll need time to work with the box to fix it."

"Then fix it, Rellis," I said curtly, worried about the unstable, explosive potion inside. "Are there other failed potions in there?”

Rellis nodded. “"There are a number of failed phials, ranging from explosives to poisons." He continued, “I can change the command to go with the effect of the potion dose. That way if you need a healing potion you can say ‘healing potion’ and it will appear. The only problem is strength and such. I will need to work with it." He scratched the back of his head as he studied the box.

"I see." I pursed my lips. "Then I'll need a list from you of the 'failed' potions-what they do, why they are dangerous." I studied Rellis carefully. “But there may be another way if you are willing.”

Ears continuing to twitch, Rellis looked thoughtful. "And that is?"

I said nothing, but began to push toward Rellis, fingering the cross at my neck. Black beads of sweat began to form at my fingertips. Rellis flinched a bit, his eyes widening as he murmured, “Oh.” He whispered, “Well . . . it would make my life easier." He gulped a bit as he tried to smile.

“I can take that memory, Rellis, leaving a copy as it were. I won't touch anything else. Not any of your other memories, though I will see them.” Something had happened to me after taking the Holy Water Mirah brought from Notre Dame des Eaux Sanctifiees My palm had burned with the bit of Eden’s earth, till the bright fire spread up my arm and throughout my body. I felt stronger; I could reach farther, and hear more. I could see others’ memories, hold them, and take them away.

I increased the push, spreading warmth toward Rellis. "I would feed, too. It should only make you feel . . . relaxed. I won't still you."

Rellis nodded slowly. He sighed, "Well, this would be the easy way. I am sad to say that some of the information I have you will not like. But it is the only way." He breathed deeply and began relaxing from the touch. "Do as you will."

I nodded and began reaching deep into Rellis, sorting through the dreams and memories in his mind. My eyes closed as the droplets fell from my fingers. I could see him working over beakers and phials, plants and animals cut and splayed before him. "Crippling acids . . . more explosives," I whispered, then stopped, my eyes flying open. "A soul stealer?" I frowned, wondering to what good purpose such a potion could be brought.

"Was working with demon blood," Rellis muttered.

My eyes narrowed as I resumed my probe, drinking in Rellis's vitae quietly. "Potions for blindness, paralysis . . . you have more in common with me than you know. " I pushed inward a bit more.


Rellis flinched, then chuckled weakly, "Really, I did not know that. . . .” He began to relax as I filled his mind and spirit with my being, drawing gently.

Memories, friends, his life, my life. His thoughts one with mine. I stopped short and suddenly pulled away, withdrawing from Rellis with a cold snap as I sawing him handing a potion to one thought dead. "He's alive,” I said, shocked. "You're helping him." I spat at the floor. "The slaver. I do not believe this.”

Rellis staggered beneath the cold slap in his spirit and began growling. "If you look again you will see why I help him."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Seal the box and replace it. Then I will look," I ordered.

"Very well." Rellis closed the box. "Just to say I am not happy at the moment." He moved to the bookshelf again. I watched him steadily, my arms folded, as he put away the box. Smiling slyly to himself, he pulled out a small phial the size of his paw and clenched his hand around it so it seemed that he was balling his fist. "There. It is put back."

Without warning, I pushed in again. “You believe him to be demon possessed.” I withdrew, a bit more gently this time. “"Your compassion is misplaced, Rellis."

Rellis still flinched and growled. "Yes, he is possessed. I have seen the demon himself. So has Aurelia. Her spirit still wanders these lands and helps us both."

“I trusted Aurelia,” I replied after a moment. “I will trust you. But I caution you, be very careful. Some are possessed and some invite.”

Rellis nodded, loosening his paw to show the small phial inside. "Guess I will not need this, then." He slipped it into his robe.

I smiled without mirth as I eyed the phial in Rellis's hand. "A blinding potion?" I had taken a bit of his thoughts with me.

Rellis nodded as he smiled. "Was not planning to stand here defenseless.”

I took a step backward and appraised him. “You have nothing to fear from me, Rellis. But I should warn you: whether I see with my eyes or not is of no consequence.”

Straightening, Rellis asked, “Are you going to inform the rest of Omegans? Get me banned?" Both ears folded back and as he looked at me with a strong face.

“I will not say anything at present to anyone but Omega.” I paused. "Do you agree to this, Rellis?”

Tilting his head he sighed, "So it is up to her. Very well. I will still get my research to you, but know this: even if banned I will continue my research."

“I will do my utmost to ensure that you are not banned, Rellis,” I replied. “I understand your reasons.”

Rellis spoke softly, "Let’s hope that it helps." His ears lay flat, as he sighed and walked away from both the box and me. He sat down in chair by the corner windows and began to write. “I will have those potions to you by the end of tonight."

Nodding, I returned downstairs.