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The Vision of Escaflowne: A Return to Gaea
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Part Five -- Iris


And thus thy memory is to me
     Like some enchanted far-off isle
In some tumultuous sea --
Some ocean throbbing far and free
     With storms -- but where meanwhile
Serenest skies continually
Joust o'er that one bright Island smile.
                         Edgar Allen Poe

*****

     Ren didn't know whether Van-sama's departure had woken him up
or if he now only felt Van-sama's absence because he was awake.
Either way the king was gone, leaving Ren's world too empty and
black and ugly for him to care about anything but that central truth.

     The beds here were as hard as they were at home, but here the
rooms were built out of stone instead of wood. Everything was too
dark. Ren stared at the dark ceiling of the dark quarters, thinking
about how the rest of his life would be this murky without the light
and sparkle that Van-sama left in his wake, that gathered on
everything the king touched. He bit his lip hard, to keep from crying. 

     Ren barely ever cried. He had stopped after finding out that it
always made Otousan use the poker and use it harder and longer if
Ren kept crying. Ren didn't want to give Otousan an excuse. 

     Because Otousan and Okaasan and the Nurse had really been
beating him for asking Okaasan why she was streaked with grey today
or what had turned Oniisan a dirty, pussy shade. They never ever
talked about it when Ren said things like that, not even to tell him that
they were punishing him for it. All Ren knew was that the colors
around people and animals and plants were bad and he was bad for
talking about them. 

     Ren had been a stupid little kid -- he'd thought everyone could see
the colors too. When he had gotten bigger, he had figured out that
no one else could see the colors and it scared them that he could. So
he stopped talking about them, but that didn't make the colors
themselves go away, didn't make them any less flat and ugly. Ren
remembered home as snarling faces and bad smells and muddy browns
and yellows, and then he would make himself think about something
else.

     Being a page was much nicer than being a son. He liked the castle.
There were usually three meals every day, and he was big enough to
bully his way into an empty pallet most nights. The other pages and
the squires, streaked with vibrant reds and oranges, were fun. The
instructors were nice enough to hit them for real reasons, and had
fascinating swirling greens and golds. Some had dark splotches and
streaks in the corners.

     But, best of all, everything on the palace grounds, nearly
everything in Fanelia, was dusted with something so special and pretty
it didn't even need a set color. It glittered a rainbow, sharp and bright
and beautiful like light glowing through the stained glass windows of a
cathedral he had once seen in Asturia or the jewels Okaasan had
sometimes worn around her throat or on her ears.  

     But the jewels and even the windows were only like the color 
because all of them changed depending on how you looked at them. 
They were indifferent and flat and empty, and the color glittered 
because it was too strong to be contained by even the stuff it was 
made from. It wasn't a color as much as it was a light.

     And the best thing about the light was that everybody else could
see it as well although they didn't know they could. But maybe the
*absolute* best thing was that was so pretty it made them want to be
pretty too. Around it, they acted patient and helpful and kind. People
always thought about things before they did them when they were near
that color

     Ren had thought that the color was just the color of Fanelian
Valley itself until the first time he had seen Van-sama. The king gave
off the light like he was the center of a flame. Ren loved him more
than he had ever loved anything in his whole life.

     Still, sometimes Ren thought that the king's light was just a little
dimmer than had used to be, bit by bit like it was going down a set of
stairs. And a few weeks ago Van-sama and his sparkle had started
fading in earnest. 

     Then that purply lady had come, and Van-sama had left with 
her when she went back. She took away all the miracles Ren knew of, 
all the potential for miracles. 

    He supposed he should hate her for that.  Except, when she
first came, Van-sama had flared so brilliantly, Ren had barely been able
to see him behind the glare and, although it was tinged purple, the
lady's
color was the only other one Ren had ever seen that glittered like that. 
Besides, up until he started disappearing, Van-sama's light at the
very, very center had been the exact same color.

     But Van-sama was still gone, even if he couldn't make himself hate
that women. The world was ugly again, and it would be ugly forever.
Ren heard himself whimper before he could make himself stop.

     "Ren-kun?"

     That Celena lady was sitting on a rocking chair next to the sickbed.
Her hair and clothes were a little messy, as if she had been there for a
while. But who would stay to watch him sleep? 

     Ren sat up straight, blushing that he had acted so weak in front of
someone but covering it with a scowl. He didn't know whether it was
a bad or good thing that she was the only person who had seen him act
this way at all, let alone twice. He liked Celena-san, though. She was
nice and pretty, with shiny hair and pearly blues and gold in constant
languid motion.
     
     "Oh good, Ren-kun, you're up," she was saying. "How do you
feel?"

     Ren shrugged, not meeting her eyes. They all cared about how you
felt until you told them.

     She reached behind her chair carefully to a little stuffed plush dog 
and place it on his lap. "I got this for you. I broke my leg when I was a
little younger than you are now, and I know how boring a bed-rest can
be."

     The dog stared at him with empty, button eyes. It didn't have color.
It was a flat nothing of an object. He had no interest in the toy, but
Ren gathered it to his chest and thanked her because she wanted him
to like it. He didn't think anyone had ever given him something before
just so he would like it.   
    Celena smiled. She had a nice smile. "So, how are you feeling?"

     It was the second time she had asked that. She meant something
bigger than what she was saying. He had been crying yesterday so his
voice had been garbled, but had she heard him say too much? Worms
were crawling in his stomach.

     "How did you break your leg?" he asked.

     "My brother and I were up in a tree picking apples. I fell out."

     "Did it hurt?"

     "A lot. Especially when the doctor set it. But, Ren." she leaned
forward to hold his hand. Her fingers were smooth and cool.
"Sometimes things have to hurt for a little while in order for them to
feel better."

     She took a deep breath. "Ren... is Van still here?"

     He looked down at the dog in his lap. They didn't want to know
once you told them. But maybe... just once...

     "I'm not asking you how you know," Celena assured him. "That's
not the important thing. But it would help everyone, especially Van, if
you tell me. Do you know that Van left, Ren?" 

     And Ren nodded, a tiny dewdrop of a nod.

     "Do you know where he is?"

     Ren shook his head vigorously, still staring pointedly at the dog.

     Celena sighed a small sigh. Ren's stomach tightened painfully for a
moment, but she only bent down and kissed him lightly on the
forehead. "Thank you very much, Ren. That's all I wanted to know."

     She was still there when he fell back asleep.

*******

     There was something about the column of light that had been
innately soothing. Even the first time, bewildering as it had been,
Hitomi had felt only a cool and articulate calm while she had risen.
Something about the pillar felt secure, like being carried by the
strength of everyone who loved her.
     
     This sudden flash of movement, however, felt like diving through a
mirror, falling onto the shards. They were only suspended for a second
or two, but it felt like a second that had been split into atoms then
strung one after another into a single long line. When she found herself
again she was clinging to the front of Van's shirt in the center of the
university quad, at the exact spot she had found the penny. If Van
wasn't there she might have doubted the memory of having left. 
 
    Except Van was there. With one arm around her tight enough to
bruise, the other on the hilt of his sword, looking around him with
burning eyes, Van was *there*.

     The first thing Hitomi thought was that she was a terrible,
selfish person because the first thing she felt was undiluted joy.

     He was grabbing his sword in a way that made her think about
Freudian theories, and she buried her face in his chest to hide her
giggles. They were high and thin and hard to control; Hitomi was a
little hysterical. She felt Van's fingers in her hair, and peered up at him.
Looking down at her, his face was like a statue's that had seen the fall
of a thousand glorious civilizations. The laughter died in her throat.

     He let go of her, took a step forward and looked up and around at
the lawns, at the buildings, at the sky.

     "I'm on the Mystic Moon again, aren't I." It was an announcement,
not a question. His voice was oddly flat and quiet. Resigned.

     "Is the energist here?" The second she asked, Hitomi knew it
wasn't, but the words hovered in the heat of the air.

     He didn't answer for a long time. "No. I - it dropped. When we
were leaving."

     Hitomi slid her hand into his, squeezing. "But we still have the
pendant, right?"

   
     Van touched it without looking down. "Yeah."

     "Then everything's okay then, isn't it? We'll just go to my apartment
and use the pendant to send you back."

     Her tone rang cheerful and hollow in the heaviness of their mood. 
Because the solution couldn't possibly be that easy. The fact that he
came at all meant that something had shifted, that there had been some
substantial change in the pattern of things. They had no hope of
understanding what or how. They both felt guilty when they thought
about why.

     Lost in his own train of thought, Van asked abruptly. "How do
they get it like that?"

     "Get what like what?"

     "That," Van said, pointing to grass in front of him. "I know they
must have uprooted all the trees, but how did they get it to be all one
type of plant for so much space? And how'd they make it all the same
length?"

     "Oh." The question was inappropriate and a little confusing, but the
solidity of the answer helped ground her. "The gardeners use
pesticides and weed-killers to get rid of the stuff they don't
want, and there's a machine that cuts the grass."

     He looked lost as he worked it over. 

     Any half-hoped ideas she might have had about Van staying here
forever with her dissolved into fantasy then. She couldn't keep Van
like he was a pet. This was not where he belonged. He needed to go
home.

     She hugged him from behind, fingers lacing together at the front of
his stomach. "It'll be okay, Van. Somehow or other we'll make it
okay."

     He didn't answer, but she could feel his body relax and he put his
hands on top of hers. His shirt was rough against her cheek because,
Hitomi realized, it must be hand-woven.

     "We'll go to my apartment," she said again. "But first, let's get you
some clothes. I don't think you'll blend in right now."

     Van nodded, but his grip on her hands tightened almost painfully
when she tried to pull away. "Hitomi, it's not that I want... if I could,
I'd... I just have to go back. You know that, right?"

     The awful thing was that some small, howling part inside her
mourned in spite of that.

     "I know, Van," she said.

*****

     Celena walked to Allen's room with leaden feet. She supposed she
should connect some sort of metaphor to that - her feet were heavy
but not nearly as heavy as her heart, maybe. The truth was her heart
wasn't very heavy. Heaviness required sorrow, and all Celena felt was
frustrated, simmering anger and sparks of panic. She trudged only to
procrastinate; she wanted to delay this talk with her brother tiny
footstep by tiny footstep.

     Ren hadn't been wearing a shirt. When they had talked he had
pulled up the blanket to his chin. Asleep, he had kicked off the covers
and rolled over on his tummy, where she had seen his back  covered
with long, indented scars - a deliberate sort of scar. It made Celena
feel sick.

     The page was special, vital in the way Hitomi must have been vital.
But he must have been beaten so deeply into himself he was now
afraid to get out. He wouldn't be easy to help, wouldn't be easy to
receive help from.

     Celena glared balefully at her brother's door. It loomed, unabated.
She stuck out her tongue, then opened it just enough to poke her head
in. Allen was in a chair, his back to the door so Celena could see his
sun-swept hair in full fall down his back. But, speaking to him, facing
her-

     "Perione-san? Gadeth?"

     "Come in, Celena," Allen said without looking at her. "And shut
the door behind you."

     The three men had grave eyes and thin mouths. Perione was the
only one standing, his long thin body straight as sight but still visibly
trembling. Celena looked at the light dappling the table Gadeth was
resting his elbows on.

     She said quietly, "I take it Van isn't with you."

     None of them answered. It would have been trite.

     "What are the details?"

     Gadeth started, "Just before we docked, he told me that if a man
claiming to be his advisor asked to come with us we should let him,
and get back to Daedalius like our asses were on fire." He shook his
head, angry at the situation and how he'd played his part in it. "I didn't
even have time to ask him about it before they left."

     "Then he had a talk with Perione," Allen said, infinitely weary.
"Apparently, before he joined Hitomi in the graveyard Van took him
aside and ordered him to leave them alone, and he hadn't come back
in an hour's time Perione should grab something with the royal insignia
and take Van's place on the 'Crusade'."

     "Van-sama also gave me a letter, Celena-san," Perione spoke for
the first time. His face and voice were ash. "With the specific
instructions that you are the only one who could see it." He held out a
plain white envelope, the wax sealed with a thumb-print.

     Celena tried to open it as delicately as possible, feeling the weight
of six eyes on her. There was a single piece of paper inside, covered
with Van's childish, roundly neat print. She read silently.

I hope you won't have to get this letter, but I think you might.
Give me two days to try to fix this on my own, then do whatever you
have to do.
Someone who knows about this stuff is going to come and help. 
Make sure Allen doesn't pick fights with him.
You were right, but don't gloat about it.
                                   His Majesty,
                                   Van Slanzar de Fanel

     "That little sneaky jerk!" she cried indignantly, startling the other
members of the room. "We were his backup plan the whole time!"

******

     Sakamoto Sekio woke up on his kitchen floor with a crick in his
neck, an open newspaper covering his face and someone knocking on
his door. All but the last were perfectly normal conditions in which he
greeted the average day, and Sekio pulled the newspaper (foreign
affairs section) off irritably to check his watch. Sure enough, it was
before two in the afternoon, and anyone who knew him would not
reasonably expect him to be up. He rolled over on his side,
planning to go back to sleep. There were perhaps five people in the
world that he would get out of bed or off the floor for, and in all
probability--  

     Two knocks, a beat, three knocks, and then what sounded
suspiciously like someone had kicked the door.

     "Goddamn it," Sekio muttered, struggling to his feet. "Why'd she
pick now of all times to remember the secret code knock."

     He had planned to fling open the door in a properly irate fashion,
but it refused to give way. Experimentally, he let go. Hitomi's head
poked in through the tiniest sliver of an opening.

     "Hey, Sekio," she almost whispered. "Can I come in?"

     "Hey, Hitomi," he whispered back. "Sure."

     She smiled a little and looked over her shoulder once before
stepping inside and kicking off her shoes, closing the door behind her.
Sekio leaned back against the wall.

     "So what's up?" 

     She breathed in deeply. "Sekio, I'm going to ask you for a favor,
and it's going to seem strange but please don't ask any questions."

     "Okay," he said. "What is it?"

     She had to take another deep breath before she could blurt out.
"Can I borrow a shirt and some pants and... well, probably not shoes
but maybe a pair of boxers? Right now." 
 
    Sekio looked at her. Hitomi looked at him.

     "Hitomi," he started gently.

     "I asked you not to ask any questions!" she pleaded.

     "Hitomi," he said again. "I know it's been a while since you've done
this kind of stuff, but you really need to work on your approach if
you're hitting on me. And if you're building some sort dummy, just
*tell* me."

     The color was high in her cheeks. "I'm not hitting on you!"

     "So is the dummy going to be made out of paper-mache or cloth?"

     "Sekio, please just help me out here."

     He crossed his arms. "You know I live to serve you, Hitomi, but
something's up. Why do you need my clothes?"

     The Gods of Dramatic Timing deemed that there shall be a knock
on the door.

     Hitomi's eyes grew unfathomably wide and panicked as she flitted
to the door before Sekio had full time to register the sound.

     There were whispers. He could hear Hitomi speaking, but not her
exact words, and another deeper, huskier voice. Sekio crept a little
closer, not particularly concerned because Hitomi with her steadfast
intuition and patience could handle situations that would send most
other people fleeing to harbinger. He was simply curious.

     The voices were still only sounds, now blending and weaving
together, rising with what might be tension. Something was off about
the man's. It was too harsh, with too many hard consonants, but too
lyrical at the same time. Finally, Hitomi sighed a very resigned sigh
and opened the door fully.

     To the police or to his parents, Sekio would have been forced to
describe the man standing in the doorway as about his own age, but an
idea as abstract and manmade as the passage of time could not effect
this person. There was something feral and plain in his eyes and his
stance that stood at odds with his weary dignity, which Sekio could
sense but not explain how or why. His clothing, even the sword on his
waist, was only secondary evidence of the stranger's abnormality.

     Seeing him, the man's eyes grew narrow and hard. He stepped
closer to Hitomi, who had shut the door before she had came back
inside, and gestured to Sekio with his head, saying something in what
could have been a mix of Japanese and Portuguese, but wasn't.

     Looking embarrassed and hopeless, Hitomi turned back towards
him but spoke to the man. "This is Sekio. He's - he's courting another
friend of mine."

     "Courting?" Sekio echoed, but the other man had relaxed
considerably. If Sekio's limbs and major organs remained intact, he
didn't particularly care how people described him.

     Hitomi was hesitant in adding, "Sekio, this - this is Van. He doesn't
think it's safe to stand in the dorm hallway for five minutes because we
don't know if or when people will be coming." She glared at him; he
shrugged defensively. This fierce-looking, sword-welding warrior-type
person was justifying himself to all five feet four inches of Hitomi.
That he even could understand she *saying* something he should
justify was unsettling.

     "Is he a patient of yours or something?" Sekio was no stranger to
bizarre situations; he was usually able to go along with the flow. Still,
staring at the guy's sword, he supposed there were times when even
his odd brain would make a desperate grasp for normalcy.

     But Hitomi shook her head. "You know I'm not advanced enough
to have patients. Sekio, I'll explain everything later, but right now he
really need to have-"

     "Clothes," Sekio finished, walking backwards to where his futon
was unraveling, propped up in the corner. "Yeah, sure. I'll get some."

     Relief washed over her face like a waterfall. "You're the best,
Sekio."

     He picked out a few things that were folded if not exactly clean.
"The best what?"

     "If you don't know, then I guess you aren't really the best." It was
an old word-play of theirs, said this time out of habit and without
enthusiasm.

     Sekio handed the clothing to Hitomi, who gave them to Van,
gesturing to the tiny kitchen and saying, "You can change in there.
Thanks for doing this."

     Van didn't exactly smile at her, but everything about him softened.
He gave Sekio another mildly suspicious look as he went inside and
shut the door. 

     They were both silent for a minute, as he had expected Hitomi to
immediately start apologizing or explaining, and she had probably been
expecting him to rain down accusations on her head.

     Finally, Sekio said, "Charming guy. Where do you find these
people? Honestly, if you bring one more deadbeat home..."

     It made her smile in spite of herself, a thin smile curved gently like
a crescent moon. He was good at making her smile.

     "Does he really understand what we're saying?"

     Hitomi nodded, expression oddly unreadable. "He asked me the
same thing about you. He understands what I'm saying, but I don't
think he can understand anyone else. I don't know why," she added
before Sekio could ask. "I'll explain everything later, honestly I will,
but everything's really confusing right now and *I'm* not sure what
exactly's going on. And it's late." She glanced at the clock. "Really
late."

     "Fine, fine," Sekio said with a wave of his hand. "But you're going
to tell me later, and you're going to tell me *everything*."

     She changed the subject. "I think we need something to carry the,
um, sword home in. Can I-"

     "Sure. Duffel bag type stuff is in the top of the closet."

     She nodded again and started looking. From the corner room, Van
said something, loud and slightly halting.

     "The buttons go in the front," Hitomi called back.

     He spoke again even more hesitantly.

     "Those buttons too."

     She was still rummaging through the closet when Van came out
dressed in one of Sekio's infinite number of old flannel shirts and an
even older pair of jeans. The effect was not truly assimilating but it
was serviceable; like hiding a wolf among a pack of dogs. Seeing only
Sekio in his direct line of vision, he asked, heavily accented but
understandable, "Hitomi?"

     Wordlessly, Sekio pointed. Van's eyes darted in the general
direction (frantically, Sekio thought. Van was scared.) He sank into
himself, smiling an unconscious half-smile when he saw her again.
Hitomi glanced at him, blushed and went back to the shelf.

     And Sekio saw the clear, infant blue tip of the reason why Hitomi
always preferred to spend Saturday nights with a book rather than
with a date. He looked at Van with new respect. 
 
    He was shorter than Sekio had first thought, just wiry and jarring
enough to give the impression of height. He was toying with the cuff
of his shirt sleeve now, examining the weave. Sekio didn't know how
closely he was scrutinizing until Van gave him a baleful look out of the
corner of his eye and said something in unmistakable tones of, 'Take a
picture, it'll last longer.' Van looked like he could beat him into a pulp
despite his superior height. Sekio looked away.

     Ignorant of the exchange, Hitomi came back smiling, a long, bright
blue tote-bag over her shoulder. Sekio had gotten it in an airport years
ago, although he was fuzzy as to the legality of his ownership. She
explained things to Van, who reluctantly unbuckled his sheath. He
handed it to her very carefully. Hitomi looked startled packing it even
as she tried  not to look startled, as if she had been entrusted with
something wonderful and valuable that she wanted but didn't think she
deserved. 

     Van said something in a quiet curious way that gave Hitomi pause.
"I think there are machines that weave the cloth so the stitches are
small and even."

     It was like listening to one half of a telephone conversation. "I
don't have one."  "I buy my clothes after they've been made." "Most
people here do." "Because we *all* can afford to, mostly, I guess."

     "He's asking about economic systems?" Sekio finally was
compelled to say.

     Hitomi shrugged awkwardly with a even more awkward little
laugh. "What are you gonna do, huh?" She hugged him and thanked
him again in goodbye. "You come and get your stuff tomorrow."

     "I'm planning on it."

     She tapped Van on the shoulder and gestured that they should
leave. Van nodded but stayed where he was, looking over Sekio,
coolly appraising. He nodded once; Sekio didn't know whether it was
an indication of thanks or farewell or approval. And they were gone.

     Although it was the normal state of his dorm room, Sekio suddenly
found the chaos surrounding him to be profoundly appropriate. 

******

     Such as things stood, they had a few advantages. Van had helped
them in his way by giving them time. If anything were to go wrong, he
had known it would go wrong quickly and take a great deal of
planning to repair. It was somewhat unlike him to think ahead like
that, and Celena couldn't help having a grubby respect for Van's
newfound consideration.

     Their other asset was also a bid for time, but it was inadvertent and
perplexing, and it made them uneasy. Early that morning, Sarine -- or
so they had been told -- had sent the court into a flurry be requesting
immediate permission from her father to visit her mother's grave.

     Purposefully avoiding the thick of things, Celena and Allen only
knew the outline of the story. Sarine's mother (nameless to the
Asturians except for that title) had been a princess of one of the
thousand tiny islands off of the northern tip of the main continent.
Apparently, it was the tradition there for royalty, no matter how
distant, to give birth to a firstborn baby in their own childhood bed.
The Queen's trip to her homeland had been too long and cold while
she had been carrying a greater weight than her delicate frame could
bear.

    Sarine had lived through her mother's death, nursed by a stranger
during her funeral. Now the princess returned once or twice a year,
whenever she saw fit, to pay her respects.

     Her noisy, breathless and utterly mystifying departure had eclipsed
Van's and Hitomi's earlier one that day. It would be hours until anyone
else important enough to demand an explanation would even notice
that the king had not come back.

     "It'd be nice," Celena mused, twirling a dandelion between her
fingers. "If we had some course of action to execute during all this
time."

     The garden, tangled dense with vines and rocks, was the only place
secluded enough for them to feel safe in on this enemy ground. Gadeth
had gone to securely dock 'The Crusade', leaving her and Perione and
Allen to sit in the shade of a fountain shaped like a dolphin.
Algae-tinted water burbled out of its mouth and air-hole into a
surrounding pool. It obstructed any passerby's direct view of them,
and its trickling muffled their conversation. The group did indeed have
a remarkable amount of advantages, given the situation, and all of
them were draining away in the stale silence. 
  
    There was probably some ingenious plan of action gleaming on the
one shelf too high to reach. After an initial round of gathering facts
and making suggestions, they were all too sullen and scared to try to
find it. There was something utterly hopeless about having so much
time without any opportunities to use it, like trying to escape from a
long marble corridor that had no doors. 

     And Celena was suddenly disgusted by the affair and everyone
involved: spineless Perione and Allen with his blind pride and
whatever part of Van that was selfish enough to leave them in
this desperation.

     "Stuff this," she decided, scooting forward. "I'm getting lunch."

     "Celena!" Allen objected. It was the first thing he had said with
emotion all day. "I hardly think this is the time--"

     "We're not doing anything useful with our time, Oniisama," she
snapped. "I'm hungry, and I want to do at least one productive thing
today."

     Allen started to answer; then his mouth simply hung open. Celena
sensed that he was looking past her, and so was Perione. Although the
day was hot, she had been comfortable in the shade, but now she
almost felt chilly and the world shifted darker, as if the shadow she
stood in was being overlapped by another shadow. She turned around.

     Her first impression was swallowed in brown. Celena took a step
back and looked up. The man was about her brother's age although he
was taller and had broader shoulders. He was made of all brown tones
blending together, from his rumpled cloak to the bristles on his chin to
his large, friendly eyes to his hair, bound up sloppily to show he was
attractive despite his scorn for such things.

     "While I admire your practicality," he told her in a chocolate voice.
"It's half past four in the afternoon."

     "So it'll be tea then," Celena said. "Hello. Who are you?"

     Allen, who had been opening and closing his mouth like a baby
bird, managed to spit out intending but unable to continue, "You..."

     "Why, yes, it *is* me!" the man noted brightly. "Thank you, Allen.
If it wasn't for your keen powers of observation, I wouldn't have
picked up on that for *ages*. Saved me hours of trouble! And to
answer your question." He returned his attention to Celena, taking her
hand. "I'm known in these parts as Dryden Fassa." 

     "Dryden..." she repeated, the name snagging on a memory.
"Dryden... Oh. You're *that* Dryden."

     He sighed. "My reputation does nothing but proceed me. I'm
indeed that Dryden. I assume you are *that* Celena. A pleasure. Tell
me, do I live up to my celebrity? You outshine yours, and before now
I'd doubted anyone could be even that impressive."

     He brushed a kiss over her fingers and looked up at her, grinning a
generous, affable grin. Celena, to her complete mortification, could do
nothing but blush.

     Allen prudently stepped in front of her then, his hand on his hip and
his voice iron dropping on velvet. "What exactly do we owe your
presence to, Dryden? I had been under the impression that your
father's caravans are traveling the southern route."

     "And so they are! You're getting cleverer by the day. Alright, fine,"
he assented as Allen continued to glare. "I'm not supposed to be here.
In my defense I hadn't even planned on coming until either very late
last night or very early this morning, depending on how cheerfully you
want to look at the situation, when I received an urgent message from
the king of Fanelia himself."

     "What?"

     Dryden reached into his coat, pulling out a folded sheet of paper
between two long fingers. "Oh, it didn't say all that much, naturally,
but I got the impression that I should join your party right away. So
where are Fanelia and Hitomi? Then it'll be just like the good old days,
eh, Allen?"

     "Quite," Allen muttered, and folded his arms, almost but not quite
rolling his eyes. Her brother had a remarkable talent for erasing
unwanted memories, denying the existence of inconvenient ideas or
people, and Celena could practically see it whir and tick now as it
operated at full speed. "So sorry, Dryden, but I believe there's been a
mistake. There's very little here for you to do and..."

     Uninterested in Allen's attempts at subtle jabs, Dryden was
watching Celena in a gently thoughtful way. He turned a little pink
when she caught him at it. He had a nice open face, an intelligent face
which seemed to be able to recognize the absurdity of it all, and find it
highly amusing.

     "Well, in his note Van said he had sent away for help," Celena
offered, ignoring Allen and his betrayed eyes. "I guess he thought
Dryden might know what to do better than we do. And, Oniisama, we
really need all the help we can get."

     Silenced, Allen looked at her then looked away again and nodded
slowly. Allen could be petty, but he was not vindictive. He certainly
was not a fool. 

     She heard Perione -- who otherwise hadn't moved or spoken
since Dryden's arrival -- sigh, relaxed by the slight release of tension.

     Dryden's face elongated and narrowed when he was serious.
"So I take it my invitation wasn't exactly extended out of courtesy." 

     If Celena hadn't known any better she would have thought
Allen snorted slightly at that. She had never seen him act so outright
hostile to someone he disliked before. Stress had different effects on
different people, she supposed.

     "Not exactly," she said, elbowing her brother in ribs, subtly but
hard enough to make him wince. "But it's very sincere. Bad things
have happened, and worse things will soon if we don't find some way
to do something."

     Dryden laced his hands together to prop up his chin as he
listened to the three of them explain the story piecemeal, his gaze
becoming distant but sharp as he focused on the abstract.

     "Well," he said slowly, when they were done. "If you want my
opinion and there's no reason why you shouldn't, the only thing one
could do in this point in time would be to stall as no one else has
stalled before."

     "So your solution is to ignore the problem," Allen reviewed,
struggling to keep his face neutral when it wanted to look justified and
smug.

     Dryden snorted loudly and inelegantly, like a horse. "Are you
kidding? You can't solve a problem five seconds after learning about
it. Even *I* can't solve a problem five seconds after learning about it.
But I believe the technical definition for this sort of dilemma is 'a
doozy'. We're going to need a few days at the very least to fix this --
Hey there," he turned to Perione without sparing the time required for
a new breath. "You're Van's lackey, aren't you?"

     The advisor was taken aback. "Err... I..."

     "Close enough," Celena supplied.

     "Alright then. Just before whatever grand feast they've
prepared is served, you and I will officially visit the throne room.
Don't worry, you won't have to say much; your main job will be done
backstage. You know how to forge Van's signature, right? So-"

     Perione blanched. "Dryden-san! How... I mean, I never told..." 

     He had always been thin and pale, had grown significantly
thinner and paler since Van disappeared. Perhaps it was an effect of
the waning afternoon light, but now Perione skin had almost a
translucent quality, stretched tight over his bones.

     "Relax," Dryden told him. "I don't have any sordid documents
to back that up hidden in my lair. Any advisor worth anything knows
how to forge their employers signature, although I've never met one
who actually *uses* that talent. Is it just something to do when you
get bored? Perione's choice of hobbies aside, he and I will show up
with an official letter of authorization from Van, which conveniently
backs up our amusing little anecdotes of how there were technical
difficulties on the 'Crusade' --wind shear or something. We'll work
out the details later   and it couldn't make the trip to Daedalius
safely."

     Dryden was gesticulating rapidly with bright eyes, swept away
with genuine enthusiasm for the planning. He was in his element, and
his voice rang out as if echoing off cathedral walls.

     "It's already docked," Allen informed him.

     "Is it? Then be so kind as to hide it when we're done talking
here, please. Anyhow, things were looking quite snarly until I and my
vessels -- by complete coincidence, mind you -- landed near Fanelia. I
offered Van a lift, but he was too honorable to leave your men alone,
Allen. So he sent Perione here in his stead until the ship is repaired.
Didn't he, Perione?"

     "Yes?" Perione guessed, half-assuming it was a trick question.

     But Dryden patted his arm, a gentle, hollow comradery
between strangers. "With that passionate conviction on our side,
they'll have no choice but to believe us, my friend."

     "It could work," Celena said thoughtfully. "It actually might
work."

     There were times Allen wondered if truth had some specific
color or odor to it that only he was able to recognize. "Daelin is an
intelligent man. He would never believe a story like that. He's most
certainly assumed that Van might not return and that we will deny it
for as long as it remains plausible. He won't believe anything any
Asturian has to say for the next five colors."

     "Of course he won't believe us," Celena said with tattered
patience. "That's not the point. It's a lie, yes, but it's a complex lie
with two unknown and seemingly unrelated complications. If you're
really familiar with the situation it's an easy lie to see, but it's a hard
one to sell. He attacks Freid or any other country with that excuse,
and no one's going to be sympathetic. If it wants to break the treaty,
Daedalius would be rubble in five minutes if it didn't have backup.
Honestly, Oniisama."

     Dryden had flipped up the visors of his glasses during her
speech, clearly impressed. "Couldn't have said it better myself. Have
you ever considered becoming an auditor?"

     He knew it wasn't wise before he even said it, but Allen could
feel himself losing his grip of the situation. It panicked him. "Fine, it's
a brilliant plan. Just brilliant. Except for the simple matter of it being
completely useless. We still have no way of knowing where Van
is and certainly no way of knowing how to bring him home. Now our
ignorance will be tolerated for several more days than before."

     But Dryden simply grinned his unhinged grin, not as much a
response to Allen as it was out of gratitude for the general loveliness
of the world. "Ah, that's the segue I was looking for. One of the few
commercial advantages to being a scholar is developing the knack of
figuring things out. I think I'll be bothering you for quite some time
more, Allen."

     If he took any pleasure in Allen's silent but horrified reaction,
he was gracious enough not to show it in public. Dryden rose with
lazy grace, and held his hand out to Celena. "I was planning to start
researching right away. Milady, do you know of the existence and or
location of a nearby library?"

     There was something wistful in even Celena's widest smile, but
now it only accentuated something else that was new and bright
brewing in her eyes. She bounded to her feet. "Yes, certainly. I'll show
you the way. Oh yeah, only if Oniisama give his permission, but he
will, right, Oniisama? Right. Thanks, see you two at dinner!"

     They were off before Allen registered he was expected to react
to something, chatting so comfortably they could have been falling
back into old patterns of an old friendship.

     Watching them, Perione said softly to himself, "Van-sama does
have his moments of wisdom, doesn't he?"

******

     It was late, Hitomi had said, gesturing reflexively to a box
display glowing, green straight lines. And Van had nodded, not
because he understood what it was supposed to tell him, not even
because the sky was dark and summer-damp by the time they had
reached Hitomi's lodgings. They were both drained, confused, irritable
-- it would have been late if they had arrrived before midday.

     So it was only practical to wait until morning before they tried
to send Van back. It was odd how they both described it that way --
try instead of do; back instead of home.

     Hitomi was sleeping on the couch across the screen. She had
offered him her futon and he had agreed before either sensed how
fundamentally unnatural the arrangement was. They were both too
stubborn and too modest to suggest changing rooms; and so she gone
to hers and he had gone to his, separated forever by the authority of a
paper divider. 

     He wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. Van lay flat on his back
on the futon, his arms behind his head, staring at a tiny red light flash
on and off to a rhythm he couldn't quite figure out. It had made Van
uneasy at first, partly because it was strange and almost hostilely
bright and partly because he had no idea what it was supposed to do.
A lot of things here were like that -- empty, aggressive lights and flat,
impatient sounds that went on and off seemingly by individual
preference. His five years with Hitomi had given him a sketch of what
life was like on her planet, but it had been so rough compared to the
real thing.

     The Mystic Moon smelled funny. Most new places did, but this
one was the strangest Van could remember. The oddness sprung from
the complete lack of smell, the absence of any and all the overriding
odors. It reminded him of the brief time he had once spent in
Millerna's operating room just before she had a surgery. Every speck
of dirt and sweat and humanity had been thoroughly scoured off the
walls, until the room was so pristinely alien it was almost threatening.
Sterilized -- he thought that was what Millerna had named it. 

     He heard Hitomi shift in her sleep across the ocean of the
screen. He must have annoyed her today with his stream of questions
and demands that they be answered thoroughly, especially since she
could often only give him vague, uncertain explanations. To rely on all
the machines that the people here did, to trust them so completely
without even knowing how they worked was frightening and cold.
They surrendered their freedom for the sake of convenience. They
didn't seem to mind or even miss the loss. 

     Still, he had seen only very little here. All he really understood
was that the people on this planet had somehow managed to tame it.
This was a place that transcended most illness. This was a world
which had defeated the night. Maybe security that consistent and
strong was worth accepting the constant, lifeless movement here. 

     Van would never lose the dark, wild energy that had been
organized out of this place. He would die before considering the
sacrifice. But Hitomi must have made it: she wouldn't live anywhere
else but the Mystic Moon. He did not have the right to judge this
world.

     He heard Hitomi shift again. The noise went on for longer this
time.

     He liked the room where she lived. Most of the gleaming
metallic things (which disturbed him because they were *not* strange,
because they rustled something in the attic of his mind) were piled in a
corner where he didn't have to look at them. Most of what she owned
-- books and clothes and the smoothest disshes he had ever seen -- had
been stacked into piles on virtually every surface, as if the person who
made them would have been organized if they had the time. That fit
Hitomi, and it made him smile although it hurt somewhere deeper
down.

     There were just so many *things* here; a lifetime of papers
and cups and trinkets, because this was where Hitomi lived her life.
This was her home.

     "Van?"

     And that was her, only a silhouette of flat-black against the
softer night-black until his eyes fully adjusted to the dark, wearing
only a long, long collared, button-down shirt. The screen had been
folded and placed up against the wall. Hitomi had always been able to
see that sometimes a paper screen was nothing more than a paper
screen more quickly than he could. 

     Van propped himself up on his elbows, suddenly very
conscious that he was only that guy's strange undergarment.

     Seeing the movement, Hitomi tilted her head. "Could you not
sleep either?"

     "Not really."

     She fidgeted, scratching the back of her calf with her other
foot. "Would you mind, I mean... Do you want to not fall asleep
together?"

     Something bitter and wonderful had lodged itself in the back of
his throat. She always had that effect on him.

     "Yeah," he said, sitting up. "Come in, I mean."

     She padded across the floor and sat cross-legged by the futon,
picking at the carpet.

     "Hi," Van said.

     Her smile looked like a ghost's smile. "Hey. Are you
comfortable?"

     "Yeah."

     Silences in the dark are slower than regular ones.

     And then Hitomi blurted out, sad and angry and embarrassed
with something raw lining the edge. "Van, I'm really sorry I brought
you here. I'm so sorry, Van."

     Van sat up straighter, closer to her. "What are you talking
about?"

     She swallowed. "I didn't want to stay, but I didn't want you to
go. I made you... I'm sorry, Van. I didn't mean to, you know,
intellectually. But I did want it, and I'm sorry."

      What was the point of destiny, what sort of justice was in the
world if a person this breathtaking would say and feel those things
about him? Stained, weak, unworthy him. There couldn't be a fate
then, and Van was glad.

     Physical touching was getting less awkward with practice, and
Van wrapped his arms around Hitomi and drew her close with a
soldier's kind of grace.

     "I didn't want to leave you either," he said into her hair. "It's
not all your fault. I'm sorry too."

     Her initial surprise felt jerky against his chest before her
tension melted. Hitomi was soft and firm and smooth. She smelled like
beauty would, if beauty had a smell.

     After a time, she said quietly, "I've been thinking about some
things since whatever happened to us happened. I was so lonely
without you, Van. I felt... dead. I can't remember ever being that
lonely before. But that's just memory, and I had five years where I
was never lonely to compare it to, which I hadn't had before, you
know? And we were really lucky, in a way. Most people spend their
whole lives in their own heads. I loved having you there, but it felt sort
of like... like-"

     "Cheating," Van remembered. "It never made sense. We never
knew why we were like that. It always felt sort of like - like living on
borrowed time."

     Her breathes were warm and even across his chest. She wrapped
an arm around his shoulder, and her skin felt tender and smooth
against his. "Yes, it wasn't tangible or anything, it never exactly felt
real. And it wasn't as if we were so happy like that, it was just the only
thing we had. So maybe all of what's happening now is just a transition
period or something. Maybe all this hassle is just to get us to a place
where we, um... we fit."

     "We fit now," Van said. "We've always fit. We just need to
find a space that fits *us*." 

     She looked up at him, hesitantly traced the line of his cheek.
Van could never forget her eyes at that moment -- swirled by the dark, 
big and trembling with something almost holy. "Van... I... just the
way I handled tonight was so stupid when- I... I don't want to be
alone tonight, Van."

      Van couldn't breathe, but somehow he was able to lift her
hand to kiss it and say, "I don't, either."

     They learned that there are many versions of intimacy. Although
most are strangely dissimilar, all are equally sweet.

End Part Five