Beryl shifted restlessly in her chair and scowled at the walls with deep, unfocused frustration. Her relationship with the Demon Metallia was not nearly as satisfying as she had hoped, but now she was committed to it, and dared not examine her emotions too closely; the Demon's consciousness was always there, crouched just out of range of her perceptions -- watching.
Not that she feared punishment for a difference of opinion -- it was the loss of her ally she truly dreaded. Too much of her worldly power rested on the Demon's strength, and too much of her soul was in the Demon's trust -- she needed it to an extent that it might never need her; though she was its key to the "real" world, there could be others in time, and the more access Metallia gained, the more danger there was that others might become both attractive and available. To combat that Beryl had to offer more, and more again, to keep the Demon's loyalty -- a vicious circle that seemed to have no escape -- not that she really minded, given the benefits she derived in return... However it remained frustrating when their strategies did not coincide.
Although her plans were at last proceeding adequately on Earth, the Moon Kingdom and the loose alliance of worlds that it led remained a threat that was too close and powerful to dismiss lightly -- and there Metallia's intentions and Beryl's own were less than synchronized. To Beryl's mind, the conquest of Earth should be completed as efficiently as possible, so that her forces could be consolidated, and turned as one to face the new objective; but Metallia felt that something had to be done at once -- some blow struck -- that would destroy, or at least distract, the rulers of the Silver Millennium, while their own forces gathered strength uncontested.
Beryl rose, and began a slow, sensual stretch, taking a momentary pleasure in the action that would be prohibitively unseemly in front of her subjects... then scowled as extra bone spurs and altered joints grated uncomfortably. A thought flitted briefly across her mind that perhaps the side-effects of her exposure to Metallia's power were not so random as she was led to believe... but she dared not pursue it. Forcing her mind back to safer topics, she turned to the chamber door. The audience chamber where the conjuring would take place would begin to fill with the faithful soon -- best to arrive early and make any final protests in relative private.
Perhaps it was simple rebelliousness, but Metallia's plan -- though not without merit -- would require the temporary lessening of her local power base, and worse yet, require independent action on the part of Metallia's agents... a dangerous precedent at best. Not so much for Metallia of course, but that was in many ways the most dangerous precedent of all.
The corridors beyond her inner sanctum were deserted -- the low birth rate and the political intrigues among Arcadia's nobility that had led to Beryl's own ascension to the throne had left few members of the royal house available and, since her purge of the puppet government that the other kingdoms had tried to impose, the perpetual chill and heavy taint to the air that now clung to that wing of the palace had discouraged social climbers... Beryl's adapting physiology found those conditions increasingly pleasant however, and the isolation they promoted suited her temperament (had that always been true? Perhaps another question best left unasked). Her only real regret was not being able to land the young Prince as a consort; aside from any political advantages, a handsome -- and less ... disposable -- lover would have made her life more pleasant all around. The Guardian, Kunzite, was available for the taking of course, and a Prince of Atlantis... but for now he was much more useful as a hapless source of intelligence; in any event, he was far more concerned with his own dominance than his partner's gender -- a decided conflict with her own agenda.
The door to the audience chamber lay hidden behind her throne at the end of a short, but heavily warded, corridor leading almost directly from her sitting room -- a circumstance that was increasingly important to her as her legs stiffened and changed. As she entered, she made a quick survey of the cavernous hall, but could see only a few guards and some over-anxious supplicants huddled at the far end -- too nervous to approach even the empty chair. Good. Let them stay there for the time being, she had more important -- private -- business to transact.
She settled herself on the throne and scanned the gloomy recesses once more before concentrating on the orb held before her by the semblance of a stony many-taloned hand. The few inhabitants had withdrawn into the shadows as they noticed her presence, and now the only obvious motion was the visual swirling across the orb's mirrored surface. Carefully, she reached out, caressing the air about the sphere like a lover. After a moment her reflection grew to fill more of the visual surface and steadied into a windowlike image -- though oddly hazy and vaguely demonic.
"Mirror of your soul ... " the thought came unbidden, and for a moment some deep-buried remnant of humanity cringed, not so much from the thought itself, but the lack of concern it provoked. The mirror smiled evilly, as the same sneer reflected in Beryl's own face... «Metallia» ...
The answer was a sibilant whisper, just on the edge of conscious thought: «At your sservice My queen.»
«If the investiture of power is to go forward, it will be best done in the next few hours ...» If not, numerous preparations would need to be re-done, requiring days -- even weeks -- more time. And once begun, could not be simply suspended.
«Yessss....»
For a moment she hesitated -- she had hoped Metallia's agents might not be ready yet -- then plunged ahead, «This will weaken us -- our strength in the field -- considerably, and Arturo's armies are growing as the lesser kingdoms take his side more actively. I must ask you again to reconsider this course...»
«Your fearss are groundlesss -- I cast many shadowss.»
«Yet few as deep or strong as this. Is it prudent to scatter your energy so, when our enemies still press us so closely? When victory could so easily be grasped by either side?»
«There are other factorss here -- dominion over the Earth alone will not suffice for long -- the other worldss cannot allow it while the Moon Queen will not share power. Nor iss victory here so easy as a ssimple military action -- a decisive, direct conflict would sscatter Our enemies' forcess requiring much time and resourcess to fully neutralize. No. They must be handled in a more ssubtle manner.»
«If they defeat us, our subtlety will hardly matter.» For a long moment Beryl examined the misty image -- an impression of smugness spread like the silence which remained the Demon's only response. «That fool Kunzite reports that the Prince's Guardians are to be made the Generals of Arturo's forces -- they've thwarted our interests before, and you know the charm he's under will not be enough to have him truly betray his oaths or men, so what guarantee is there that they won't do the same again?»
The reflection that might have been Beryl jerked, and rippled as though its surface had been stirred. «Guardianssss...»
«If our enemy can match or counter your agents in the field, our army may be overmatched. If your agents can't be made stronger, we could lose.»
«Mere humanss are too ssoft an anchor for the depth of my shadow. Still, there are wayss -- perhaps now it iss time to take Our full revenge for the petty interference these ssoon-to-be-Generalss have provided... A ssuitable revenge, for ssubtle times... But Our other planss must proceed.»
And that was that, Beryl knew; Metallia was apparently prepared and would not be swayed further, although hopefully whatever "revenge" it envisioned would prove helpful to the cause. Certainly it was correct about using humans for vessels of power -- one of her earliest campaigns had used the same shadow infused in her strongest, most loyal Marshal (and lover), and on the eve of battle the dark energy had consumed him and run wild, decimating her household guard and scattering her hand-picked troops; that debacle had cost her dearly, leaving her hard pressed to maintain her own rule -- and terribly dependent on Metallia's support. She had had to rebuild from hiding, in virtual exile within her own country while petty sycophants despoiled her capital and curried favour with foreign lords. Even now, for all the demon's power, the final outcome hung in the balance.
«Very well.» Her acceptance was grudging at best, but there was little choice. «Your chosen agents are available?»
«Yesss. Sseven are called -- one seventh part of the darknesss should be containable -- even by a human. Now, the ceremony must begin.» With that, the image grew less distinct -- dim, and once again convex and distant.
As the presence within the orb quiesced, she became aware of the room once more -- courtiers and officials now packed the shadows, trying to avoid gaining her (and Metallia's) attention unnecessarily ... It was time.
Reluctantly she reached forward and retrieved a short sceptre concealed in the bas relief of the orb's dais. The shaft was topped by a much smaller sphere which glowed faintly in the reflected light of it's larger companion. Seeing her actions, the assembled crowd moved forward almost as one, to the edge of the illuminated area about the throne -- though still unwilling to come fully out of the protective darkness.
Slowly she rose, holding the sceptre before her like a torch. "Let the first supplicant come forth!"
Her voice echoed powerfully in the cavernous hall, ringing with authority and quieting a soft murmur from her audience. For a moment they seemed to hesitate, then a hooded figure stepped forward into the open space before her. Beryl ran her eyes up the impressively tall form for a moment, then continued, "Show thy true self, and give us cause that this gift of power should be thine!"
Technically, this was part of the ritual -- though mostly for show -- but in this instance Metallia had drawn agents through her own will, so Beryl had no intention of allowing it to be relegated to mere formality ... these could ultimately be competitors for her own position.
With no hesitation the man before her pushed back the hood of the cloak and stared back at her; his age was indeterminate, though he gave the impression of youthful vigour, and his bearing was military.
"I am Ion McGannin, Marshall-emeritus of the Armies of Jupiter," he looked about as though expecting a reaction, then smiled, "I come to you for the power to lead my people to their rightful place -- as your ally, of course." The smile was ambiguous -- not exactly a sneer, but not friendly either.
Beryl certainly had little interest in interplanetary politics, but even so, the name did sound familiar. Something like a meteoric rise through the ranks, and subsequent, equally sudden, lose of favour came to mind. Casually she grasped the head of the sceptre as the question formed in her mind.
«Why this one? What do we gain with this grant of power?»
«A talented and natural competitor, this one -- the youngest ever to hold the rank of which he speaks.» The shadow voice that whispered in her mind seemed far clearer and more immediate than Metallia's -- almost straining to embrace the figure standing before her. «At the time of the Jovian famine, he pressed for war, despite Arturo's relief, citing issues of debt and patriotism. While endearing him to some elements of the Jovian populace, the clan McCloud found this ... inflammatory, and assigned another to his position. Now he discreetly supports and coordinates a number of subversive factions, both among the common people, and within the ruling clans ...»
«So he gains the power to more actively pursue his political ambitions ... but does that help us? Enough to justify this? I'd hardly trust him.»
«Ambitions yes -- much like your own -- but also revenge, on Arturo -- for thwarting his plans -- and the McClouds who turned on him. He will make his game of war, and draw the eyes of the rulers of the Silver Millennium -- from Us -- to the giant at their backs. For that no trust is needed -- and when the time comes, that which must be done, will be...»
Beryl could feel the demonic smugness as an almost physical presence. She fought hard to take the sarcastic edge off her thoughts -- «So Jupiter will fall to him this fortnight, and he will march his conquering army to our aid?»
«Hardly -- he will create turmoil and a threat, a mere distraction. But it will turn the eyes of the Jovians away from Us, and in the long term it will prepare them to accept Us and resupply Our troops -- those that survive.»
Inwardly she sighed; if Metallia's strategy worked, it could be worth the price, but she was still far from convinced that it would. Still, there was nothing for it if no glaring problems showed themselves soon.
Reaching forward with her sceptre, she touched its crystal knob to the sphere in front of her. An almost tangible darkness pulsed into the crystal until it glowed with a mind-wrenching blackness -- as though the rod held a window into the emptiness of interstellar space. Raising it slightly, she pointed at McGannin intoning, "Stand forth then O pilgrim and receive our blessing."
As the Jovian stepped forward a stream of inky blackness leapt from the wand, penetrating his chest. For a moment he staggered stiffly, as though suddenly handed an unexpected weight, then straightened and stood unmoving as the contact ended.
For a timeless moment nothing happened, then he seemed to fade out, as though hidden in the shadow of some huge unseen object -- his features blistering and melting together. In another instant he stepped forward transformed -- larger, his face and body crusted with heavy armour. For a moment he examined his surroundings, until his eye found the ornate sword-handle of a courtier by a pillar on the fringe of the crowd. With the swiftness of thought, the sword flew from its scabbard, across the hall and into his waiting hand.
The once-human thing turned the blade over and studied it, exuding an air of satisfaction that could no longer be read directly on the rigid mask of its face. Abruptly it shrank into itself, becoming McGannin once more although his eyes remained cloaked in new-found shadow. Casually he dropped the sword which fell, not to the floor, but back across the room to imbed itself in the pillar next to its owner's head.
Now his grin of satisfaction was plainly visible, though it held no warmth at all; without further comment, he drew his cloak about him like a shroud, and with barely a nod in Beryl's direction seemed to melt into the suddenly restive crowd... Good riddance, she thought, if only he weren't taking so much with him that was so dearly needed elsewhere...
"Let the next supplicant stand forth," she cried, hating it. But there was little choice now, if there ever had been.
The man who strode forward this time seemed more reserved, more mature, but if anything even more intense than his predecessor, and his answer to the ritual challenge was a shock.
"I am the Toclase, acolyte of the faith of Aprosë ... I come to you for aid against the infidels who beset us both."
«What!? Is the man insane? A Venerian I assume from the accent and... dress .. ?»
«What is sanity? The Aprosëans are followers of a militant sect of the monks of the Mirror -- a severe lot, tempered by the wilderness and often ridiculed by their countrymen. Their faith often leads them to 'correct' the actions of others, which leads to conflict, and persecution more often than not... This is their spiritual leader and warrior priest. [The Toclase is a large and powerful Venerian winged beast.] He wishes to re-establish the State based on the moral values he found in the Mirror's depths.»
«And in what conceivable manner is that compatible with us?»
There was a momentary hesitation -- the mental equivalent of a shrug. «We have no values of Our own ... so for now his will do. And in the meantime, lending him the power to make some gains in his struggle will alarm and distract the Venerians considerably.»
And there it was of course -- the pattern; being neither blind nor stupid, Beryl resigned herself to it and once again performed her link in the transfer.
This time there was little physical evidence of the transformation. The Toclase' head hung down for a moment, as in meditation. But when he lifted it and spoke, the darkness was upon him. "Thank you." And with that his cloak spread like wings (or became them?) -- in another instant he was gone.
Watching from above, Beryl was struck by the realization, «they weren't here -- not really.»
«They are at places of power near their objectives. From there a temporary portal can be created to this place. It is not an easy thing given the distances, but the time and the risk of discovery involved in physical travel are too great for that to be allowed.»
Instantaneous transport wasn't a new concept for her, but most anything of that nature that she was aware of was limited in size and distance, and to locations familiar to the controller -- the exception being the Great Gate. It seemed unlikely that Metallia's resources were powerful enough to really move people about like that, and its answer had been a bit ambiguous -- probably the link was minimal, with the presence an illusion which the demon hoped to use to impress and overawe her and her followers. Still, she had to admit that even that was impressive ...
There was no point to doubts or regrets by then anyway, so she shrugged it off and called for the next -- another surprise -- a youngster seeming hardly into his teens. As Beryl stared he squirmed uneasily, appearing almost ready to bolt from the room, then gathering strength from some inner reserve, he returned her stare and blurted out, "I am Bonbu, apprentice cartographer at the Great Library. I was offered ..., I came because I ... need ..." but as he fell silent in confusion, the shadows whispered silently to her with the voice only she could hear.
«Young he may be, but that makes him corruptible, and he is still a Mercurian, though of humble origins. He aspires to great knowledge, and the hand of a Princess -- and for Our price he shall have them.»
Mercurians were notoriously hard to corrupt. Reading between the lines, Beryl smiled graciously, knowing that the only Princess he was likely to have an interest in was designated a Senshi-in-training to the Royal court of the Moon. If things went well, he'd have her hand -- and perhaps a few other body parts as well... «But couldn't a more powerful agent simply go to Mercury? How can this child aid us?»
«No. There is a certain balance that must be maintained in this, wills to break, and powers to be gained -- only a Mercurian could take this particular darkness and remain fit for Our use.»
«As you wish then,» she felt she was moving out of her depth now, as things moved rapidly beyond her control. With a brief gesture, the transfer was done; as she watched, the boy's body blurred and rounded, seeming to swirl with visual abstractions -- reflexively she blinked, and heard her own voice ask, "Watcher-of-the-Way, will the Moon Kingdom be destroyed?"
The space where the boy had stood twisted and assumed a more humanoid shape, adorned and composed of tools and devices for measuring time and space, then in a surprisingly normal voice, "Yes, the Kingdom of the Moon will be utterly destroyed, and the Silver Millennium ended ..."
With that, the phenomenon also ended and the young boy ran into the darkness. Somehow, she knew that the answer he gave was more than mere prophesy -- yet something remained unsaid, and the encounter left her more uncertain than before.
Looking around at the shadows of her subjects in the gloom, she realized that they too must find this ritual profoundly disturbing. However, stopping now would only expose her own weakness and uncertainty, something that her reign could not survive for long. Get it over with quickly, before anything more weakened her resolve ...
The next pilgrim was almost as much of a surprise as the boy -- a young woman seemingly not many years older than he had been, dressed in the gown-like robes typical of the Moon Kingdom. In her presence, the gloom of the chamber seemed to retreat a bit -- hovering closer to the shadows, away from the light of youth and anticipation. «The Power then, is destined to go to children? How can this one aid us?»
«Our objective is not -- necessarily -- open combat. When a suitable ally of strength is not available, one of location may suffice if We add a strong presence of Our own. Disruption and delay is all We require of these agents now, although if more can be accomplished ...»
"I am L'ne Leni, assistant to the Royal Illuminator of the Silver Millennium," she glanced about her -- in shy defiance, or perhaps to avoid meeting Beryl's gaze, "I offer to see your side of this conflict chronicled in an unbiased light, for which I want only my due."
Beryl gazed at her neutrally, waiting for some flash of enlightenment from the darkness. Although the girl fit the pattern Metallia seemed to have set, she couldn't help being impressed that the demon could have drawn on someone within the Moon's Royal Court -- no matter how minor.
«Though acclaimed as a major talent by many, she feels unrecognized and undervalued, and lacks both the assertiveness to advance herself as she desires and the faith to wait for it to come to her with time. Her place is pivotal for the conclusion of Our plan.»
And is undoubtedly fooling herself about her place in the scheme of things more than she lets herself know, Beryl thought. Again she raised the scepter and let the dark energy flow into its recipient, but this time the reaction was truly dramatic.
With a shriek of agony the girl dropped, writhing, to the floor. Swanlike wings erupted from her back, but only added to the confused thrashing, as waves of shadow washed over her seemingly at random.
«Is she dying?» If that was the case, and this one was indeed a pivotal element, then this was all a waste of effort.
«Not as you mean it.» The voice practically hummed with gleeful anticipation. «Not what we need.»
Gradually her struggles slowed and the scene grew calmer. Then, the wings unfurled fully -- appearing to stiffen momentarily -- then drooped as she rose to her feet. Now the wings looked dull and shrunken, her dress hung from her body as though draped from a tree branch, and even her flesh and hair had lost some quality and now seem dull and lifeless. This time her gaze about the room was perfunctory -- her eyes unfocused. Then almost casually, she drifted up from the floor and disappeared into the darkness of the upper reaches.
«And now it iss time for Our revenge to be given form...» Suddenly, Metallia's presence was unmistakable -- almost tangible; the sceptre in Beryl's hands seemed to grow heavier even as the thought intruded on her conscious mind. "Let the next supplicant appear before Us."
She heard her voice call out the words, but was uncertain if they had come from her mouth or the air about her, and even as the words echoed, a tall young woman strode forward from the shadows.
This one was an Earth human she realized, and her memory stirred uncomfortably -- she had seen her before, recently -- if only in passing. The odd stance, stiff expression, something was striking a cord of recognition... And then she had it -- Arturo's court -- the night things had gone so badly -- this one had been there, aloof among the minor nobility...
«It mussst be done -- now.» Beryl's arms weren't forced to move, but they were definitely guided. Her shoulders seemed to ache from the pressure as the sceptre rose. She could almost touch the demon's eagerness -- infectious, she thought as her blood pounded... a sudden wave of demonic amusement swept her onward as black energy swirled forth -- and then it was done. Already the woman was gone -- becoming one with the shadows that now filled her...
Beryl sat quietly for a moment struggling to maintain her composure. As always she was both drained and aroused by such close contact with Metallia; she was covered in a cold sweat, droplets running down between her breasts like lightly caressing fingers. Her dress, treated not to stain, refused to absorb them, but channeled them down the contours of her body, to pool wetly between her thighs. I'll have him, she thought, staring at the gently pulsing rod she grasped, young Endymion will be mine yet.
Since showing such emotions -- let alone on the throne -- would be deemed a sign of weakness, she quickly drew herself up and called for the next candidate to come forward. She felt irrationally happy that there was more to do, since it gave her something else to focus on.
In another moment, she was even more focused -- the latest figure was a stark contrast to those who had come before. Where she had questioned the youth of those others, this one was old. Stringy grey receding hair topped an average body, slightly stooped with accumulated years. He wore baggy red trimmed ceremonial robes -- attendant to the Great Fire of Mars, naturally -- the only inner world of the Millennium not yet represented among Metallia's chosen agents. Across the room, she could almost feel his gaze crawling up her body until their eyes locked. Slowly he grinned, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue. In that moment she was glad the shadow's recipients were physically elsewhere.
«I dislike this one; I assume his position in the scheme is equally critical?»
«Indeed. Few could be in a more useful position -- he is the consort of the Hierophant, Mistress of the Flame.»
«This? This slimy old...»
«Once, his body matched his passions, and her passions were a match for his -- before she turned them so completely to the Guardianship she inherited. Now she has her devotions, and his unquenchable desires have been left to smoulder unattended, until we may fan them hot once more.»
Given the look of him "fester" seemed a better word, and given that the power and ability to give uncontrolled shape to those urges would certainly be part of the package, Mars seemed almost too close to home. Which was, of course, precisely the point. A pox on the house of Mars then, let their own ills overtake them -- and the sooner it was done, the sooner this one was gone. Her gesture to start the transfer was almost casual.
Before her, the oldster's body puffed up like fast rising dough, the eyes bulged, and the mouth split the face in a slobbering grin. She considered herself fortunate that the ceremonial robes had been loose and flowing...
"Go now! Have your way, but elsewhere."
For a moment the shadow-blackened horror leered at her evilly, fixing her with one eye while the other scanned the room for victims, then with a snort it turned with surprising agility, bound into the gloom and was gone.
After a moment, Beryl's breath returned and she savoured the calm -- the absence -- that it left behind. The ceremony was nearly complete now; Metallia's agents were to number seven, and six were done -- though what the last could represent she wasn't certain; Earth and the five major worlds of the Millennium were now covered, and Metallia wasn't one for needless redundancy. The major asteroids had some burgeoning colonies of course, that were petitioning for greater status, but the Belt housed mostly pirates and could hardly be more distracting than it was already. The Outer worlds were an issue of course, especially with recent developments, but their inhabitants had little interest in the inner worlds, and given the power now concentrated there, it would hardly be profitable to draw their concern inward.
«This last is perhaps the most potentially dangerous of all. You must be quite cautious with him. I am uncertain how he will receive this gift.»
"Oh, quite well, I assure you."
The voice startled Beryl enough to have made her jump if her altered skeleton would have allowed it. Her gaze swept the chamber in a near panic, but no one was there. Then she noticed the cat. It was huge -- its fur a sickly, almost greenish, off-white hue -- and lounged casually, close in front of her throne.
"A Mooncat," she stammered, hardly knowing what to say--equally shocking was that its location away from the room's centre indicated that it was physically present as well.
"As you say," he purred, and the small crescent mark on his head glowing faintly in time to it, barely visible through long, thick fur, "as you say... You can call me Bakene, though -- no need for formalities among fiends."
"How?" she fumbled for words, "WHY? How are your kind involved?"
"On your behalf you mean? Perhaps I felt YOU needed an advisor too ... or perhaps you should ask our dear ... friend. Metallia! Why don't you tell her all about it," he grinned.
A long pause then, «It isss not for now...»
"Indeed, I would think not. But enough of this unproductive banter -- let's get this done and over, and we can all be happy," his luminous eyes seemed to bore into her for moment, a cheshire grin playing across the surprisingly expressive face as Beryl stirred restlessly, "Ah, don't trouble yourself my dear, I'll just help myself."
With that, he leapt to the top of the orb in front of her. With a crackle of dark power, he was transformed -- from a mammoth cat, to a huge verdant man-tiger, its fangs only inches from her face. Hot breath brushed her cheek, the carnivore odour and presence strangely exciting. He bent closer.
«Don't worry little mouse, you remind me too much of another for me to wish you harm.» Slowly, his tongue caressed her throat, as huge taloned hands held her steady, «And for now, I think your work is done -- your audience has had it's show, and Metallia's work begun. But first I have some plans of my own...»
The ape-like thing that was once the consort of the effective ruler of Mars hopped from shadow to shadow as it moved down the winding corridors beyond the main wing of the temple, heading towards the fringe of the Hierophant's complex of quarters. It ached to confront her directly, but she would have felt its presence (and his) on too many levels from a distance -- it wouldn't have had a chance even in human semblance -- and so it contented itself with her guards and handmaidens.
Beryl had thought it a Pox on the house of Mars, and it accepted the designation -- a festering sore, determined to become an open wound in the Martian psyche. And like a true disease, it could also infect those it savaged -- even if they survived.
In the distance, it could hear the approaching sound of an acolyte hurrying from the eastern atrium toward the apprentices' living quarters. Short, swift steps -- female, it was sure. Its mouth watered in anticipation as it quickly slid into the darkness to await its latest toy.
After a moment the pace of the footfalls slackened, then stopped. This one was wary -- perhaps extra cautious after the discovery of the remains of previous playthings, or possibly gifted somewhat from long proximity to the Great Fire -- then the footsteps resumed, traveling down a side corridor and away.
Slowly it slithered forward again. For a moment it considered an active pursuit, but dismissed the notion almost at once. There were more important tasks, and easier prey.
In a few days a vessel would be departing for Earth's moon to petition for a conference on the situation on Earth. The Inner Circle of the Attendants of the Flame could see Metallia's dark hand in the spreading corruption that had begun to grip the daily lives of those around them -- that was to be expected, though they did not yet grasp the reality that the vagueness of their sight was due in part to corruption even closer to them.
As the human side of the beast, he had used his position as former Consort to arrange an influential position in the delegation, so the beast would have to sate itself thoroughly to be able to make the trip in human form... and leave enough victims infected to avoid the suspicion that a sudden end to the slaughter might cause.
But the night was young; there was a young retainer it was sure it could catch alone, and the tantalizingly near brush with the girl (he had her scent now) had pulled its passion to an agonizing pitch. The squeals of the young women were so much sweeter (hadn't they once squealed with pleasure? he wasn't sure anymore), but for now it would try to make do with the youngster -- if only for a short while...
Bonbu casually called up a medical index volume and scanned down the entries -- one he deleted, another he cross-linked to erroneous information. Both would be needed during the next week -- the changes would go unnoticed, but result in delays and inappropriate choices. Ultimately enmity and recriminations would divide the inner council.
Quickly he stepped over to the reading table where a book lay open next to two data crystals. He calmly flipped it forward five pages and removed one crystal, replacing it with one selected seemingly at random from a nearby shelf -- taking the original to the history racks where it would not be found for months.
As he moved out of the open area, the main doors opened and two Researchers returned to their work. Neither would notice him. Carefully, he balanced a partially open book on a shelf edge, and swapped two data crystals before heading between the shelves to the main doors himself. As he moved into the open, the balanced book finally crashed to the floor, drawing the eyes of the new arrivals to that end of the room.
With a quiet, unhurried gait he exited the chamber and reached a bend in the corridor, rounding it seconds before another figure appeared from the opposite direction. At the corner, he paused a moment then turned and walked back to his quarters, past the newcomer and the door that he had so recently left.
In two weeks a delegation would depart for the Moon Kingdom, and Bonbu would be present as a gofer for the mission's assistant head. As yet no one else was aware that the trainee who would have made the trip in that capacity would soon become ill with an undiagnosed problem and have to be replaced, and only Bonbu's duties could now be easily rearranged to allow him to be that replacement...
The outcome of the mission that he was secretly committed to was no more in doubt than any of the details along its path -- but that outcome troubled him considerably. As a creature of Metallia, he had to see her will served, but Metallia was a creature of evil in the purest sense, and the dark energy of her corruption brought that to the surface of all her creatures, and so the blackness that gripped his soul demanded that its own interests too should be served as best they could. Knowing the future, and how it would be resolved, made that conflict of interests no less disturbing.
L'ne Leni walked slowly through Lunar City's harbour district, stopping occasionally to bring up her sketchpad and take note of some special circumstance that caught her eye. The native population of Dayelana Muila was sparse -- more than half the inhabitants were foreign diplomats and their staff, merchants or naval officials -- so the streets were never crowded and she had whatever time she needed. Recording bits of daily life was something she'd always done, and always loved. These days were different though -- these days she didn't merely record.
As she walked along the wharf where the sky galleons came to rest in the embrace of the shallow artificial bay, she drew not what her eyes saw, but what the darkness that gripped her soul wished to see. Cracks appeared, seams began to split, nails loosened, rot set in ... and as she drew it, it became so ... Some damage was mere annoyance -- a brief and frustrating delay on a vital mission. Some would be disastrous -- catastrophic failure in the depths of space.
As she walked past a warehouse, a swift sketch appeared to exchange the positions of air-stones with those that maintained proper temperature -- the illusion would fade of course, when the ships that loaded them were days or weeks from port. Slight fractures in the near perfect marble of the cities buildings formed as she passed -- in a day, or a month, a corner would crumble and fall -- most often when the rumble of traffic peaked below -- devastating whatever lay there, along with the morale of the citizenry.
With each turn of the Earth above she passed through a different area of the city -- delighting in the sights as she never had before -- seeing with new eyes, and crying in the hidden depths of her self as she watched what she recorded slowly decay as her pen touched its essence.
Today she came from the harbourmaster's offices with the stain of even more corruption on her hands. As a Lady of the Court she had free and unquestioned access to much that was out of the public's view -- though she certainly knew the limits that she could, as a very minor functionary, be expected to respect -- and now she pushed those limits to their farthest extent. At the back of her pad she had the scheduled arrival dates of several ships.
The dates that had been listed in the official records were gone now -- and others changed -- and supplies for them re-routed and hard to replace. Shipping through the Moon's port was about to become a much more difficult and frustrating process, but more importantly the confusion would mask the arrival of her shadow-mates.
As she passed back up from the harbour along the wide expanse of the Via Tranquilis to the Royal palace, her eyes glazed over and her mind digested the information she had acquired. Deep in her subconscious the oneness of the Shadow that she was a part of absorbed what it needed and coordinated its desires with the reality it found.
As she approached the broad stairs fronting the palace she was pulled suddenly from her reverie. "Oh Lonnee!" The thick Nemesian accent betrayed her caller's identity.
"Life and Peace, Lady Valorie, how may I aid you this phase of the world?"
The Princess' lady-in-waiting hurried up, "Lonnee, Serena wants t'know if ya can do her portrait any sooner? The King and Queen have decided t'throw a Grand Ball t'mark her comin' of age, and everything's gone t'chaos!"
"Indeed ... a Grand Ball? Chaos certainly -- why, that would be hardly a cycle away. There'll barely be time to properly invite all the dignitaries with the travel times involved." Deep down in the darkness within her something smug and calculating gloated evilly.
"Yeah. Can ya help?"
Such a ball would draw a wholly different class of dignitary for the official recognition of the Solar System's future leader. Combined with a call to arms against the Earth, it would place the entire infrastructure of the Silver Millennium within striking distance -- for a single blow.
"Certainly ... I can be free from anytime after Mu-rise. Let me know when she can see me." She smiled encouragingly. Traditionally the Martian Senshi handled security, and the Martian delegation would be pressing for immediate action. Travel arrangements being as difficult as they were, it would be simple to suggest the Ball be used as cover for the movement of ranking officials, thereby ensuring a combined event. She could imagine the consternation of the Queen in particular at the overtones that would be added to her daughter's event.
She hardly heard Valorie's thanks as Serena's friend departed. For several long moments she stood and digested the implications and possibilities, then hurried on to her small studio in the archives' wing of the Palace.
Atlantis had barely reached zenith when L'ne completed her initial preparations. The palace records now showed the soon-to-arrive Martian delegation to be assigned to an isolated section of the guest wing of the palace -- with rooms reserved for other, as yet unspecified, travelers -- and quite close to her own studio.
Her mind churned, but there was nothing to be done for at least an hour, when Serena might call upon her services. Her work from the archives lay forgotten to one side of the room. Several half-finished works sat on easels or leaned against the walls -- including the portrait of the Princess that was now so important, for it would have to be placed in the main Gallery of the ballroom as part of the official ceremony preceding the ball. If there had been no Ball in honour of the event it could have been placed at any time over the following cycle.
Next to the table, another portrait caught her eye. This was Serenity herself -- L'ne's own re-interpretation of the Queen's image from the Gallery -- done as a special request for one of the Queen's advisers who had been a patron of hers since her arrival at court. Of its own volition, her hand reached out and picked the picture up ... studying it closely. For a terrible moment she felt she would tear the canvas from it's frame, but then realized that there was much worse in store. Calmly she placed the work under her arm and set out to deliver it.
Two stairwells and a thousand metres of twisting corridor brought her to the upper residential suites of the palace. Here the minor nobility and high ranking functionaries had elaborate private quarters.
At a set of tall panels recessed into a small alcove she paused and placed her hand on the carved marble scene of clouds and birds covering the walls. With a soft click the panels swung in, allowing her access to a circular room that lay beyond. Skirting the small pool in the center of the room she stood at the foot of the stairs directly across from the entrance.
Four steps further a painting hung on the wall. A painting she'd made herself -- her first for the royal court. The background was the same audience chamber that Serenity had posed in for her Gallery image, but the woman was different.
Memories stirred unbidden ... her warmth and openness shared as she posed ... being drawn to her as she lay in the dark just out of reach shielded by a protective circle ... friendship and support ... the sweet taste of her blood ...
From above voices muffled by doors and distance brought her suddenly back to the present. After a moment her shadow-enhanced hearing made sense of the speech.
"... risked their lives to imprison the demon-queen in the Abyss forever -- are we going to allow this twisted abomination of a harlot to free her? To destroy everything we know?"
"Frankly, I agree with you old friend and I'll speak on your behalf to our College, but Posidin still holds a decisive say as head of the Order and he's not thrilled with the idea. Too many see your grief as blinding you -- colouring your judgment in this unreasonably."
"It's been many years now ... what I feel is hard and cold and deeply buried in my soul, Wavecaller. Let us deal with the true menace and then perhaps some truth will out -- and I'll be able to lay it to rest once and for all."
"Perhaps -- and perhaps not. Still, you'll need the support of all the Colleges ... And the Flameweavers and Darifin Earthbreaker are both leaning toward accepting the status quo. You'd need a lot of evidence to convince them otherwise."
"What I need is to speak to the heads of the Colleges together -- shame them with their inaction in front of each other."
A burst of laughter echo down the stairs. "That just might work. The leaders of the Colleges are nothing if not prideful."
"Myself included, I'm sure." More laughter and the sound of movement.
"Of course. Very well, I'll see what I can arrange. Though I doubt they'll come to you."
"My pride will survive whatever journey I need to make -- just get them to meet."
"As you wish ... It's been good to see you again. For a while I feared you'd not recover."
"For a while I didn't wish to ... but I still have my duty."
As she heard the men approach the stairs, L'ne retreated to the entranceway. Better to be seen entering than caught eavesdropping ... In the meantime her dark side had much to ponder.
The Toclase of Aprosë crouched on a hillside overlooking a shallow valley. Below a number of ornate buildings burned with a dull orange light. In the Venusian climate such a pyre was unnatural, and would certainly be short-lived, but it fit his purposes perfectly. A sudden updraft shifting in the heat brought him the sulfurous stench of charring vegetation mixed with the tart odour of burnt flesh. Slowly he spread his wings -- fashioned of darkness, in the likeness of his namesake -- to counterbalance his weight as he peered into the flickering shadows. The last of the screams had stopped now, but time was growing short.
The toclase was a majestic creature -- birdlike, huge and powerful, but for all that a scavenger by nature -- more vulture than eagle, and "Vultures" was now what his troops were being called. Something in the comparison disturbed some deep buried part of him. As he watched, a band of his followers appeared and began to move up the hill. Several carried packs containing obvious plunder.
Slowly he stirred as the men approached. A part of him ached to admonish them -- have them leave the ill-gotten profit to the flames -- but somehow he couldn't. The ranks of the faithful were growing, and these were needed for the Holy War against the massed armies of the Infidel. It was small enough price for his faithful, that they kept a few such hard won trinkets, or enjoyed the dispatch of some unbelievers -- indeed it helped to strike terror in his enemies hearts, and that was all to the greater good (wasn't it?) ...
As the men gathered about him his wings unfurled fully, enfolding them in darkness. With a single leap they were airborne -- flying swiftly and unseen past approaching foes, back to his hidden base camp.
Leaving that team, he flew swiftly to his next raiding party and gathered them in as well, and then on to another. In all, six teams were collected -- each with loot and provisions.
Since dense vegetation covered most of the Venerian surface with a close approximation of a rain forest -- much of it foul smelling or even toxic -- anyone traveling much beyond the densely populated polar regions traveled by large, slow sky-rafts. Between other settlements and the occasional villas on sandy river banks or rocky outcrops there only a few short, constantly maintained, paths -- off of those the jungle was practically impenetrable. Now however, the Toclase bypassed all that, attacking suddenly behind his enemies' defensive perimeter -- a concept foreign to most Venusians in any event.
The shadow's power allowed him to strike from a distance as he swooped down, disabling any initial witnesses; Then leaving his men to the slaughter, he would collect another team and attack elsewhere as well. The larger communities could not provide assistance fast enough. By using his power of flight to move his base camp every few days, he had managed to terrorize much of the Venerian frontier in a very short time and no central authority had any hope or plan to stop him.
As it was, several of the smaller communities were planning to send an independent and unofficial mission to the Moon Kingdom, begging for assistance. The chartered merchant vessel would be leaving at the end of the week, and the Toclase and three of his acolytes would be on it -- replacing the representatives of two remote villas that he had already destroyed, more quietly than most. Thus would he travel to the heart of the conflict, and strike directly at the heart of the Silver Millennium.
Ion McGannin lounged in the shadows of a second floor window overlooking a secondary commercial concourse. It was off-hours for much of the business in the area, so the traffic passing below was just a slow trickle. At the end of the street, Timoty McCloud appeared and looked around, taking in the confusion of shoppers and loiterers that were an indelible feature of the district.
Tim was third son to the Patriarch of Clan McCloud, and of no particular consequence to anyone -- until today. Today he was looking for an Earther named Maranus who had been making some progress integrating into Jovian business circles, and although he didn't know it, he was also looking for more trouble than he'd be able to handle.
From his vantage point Ion could see Maranus too, engrossed in discussion with a potential client. Smiling slightly, he waited for Tim to move down the street and spot his quarry -- that he would do so had been carefully prearranged, and there was plenty of time for it to happen with as natural an appearance as possible. Within moments the inevitable happened like clockwork, and with a loud oath Tim bore down on the unsuspecting merchant.
Tim was neither stupid nor a fool, but he was trusting -- and Ion was someone he happened to look up to and trust, unfortunately. Thus it happened that his immediate response on confronting Maranus was loud and angry, and drew a fair crowd -- he trusted the information Ion had given him, and had rushed to confront a supposed villain; it was complete rubbish of course, and the Earther would be able to show that quickly enough... except that as Tim paused for breath, a dagger leapt into Maranus' hand and drove straight into the Jovian's heart.
For a moment the tableau froze in shock, then as the young Jovian crumpled it dissolved into screams and chaos.
Above, Ion retreated into the room's shadows and left by a back door. As far as anyone -- but the late Tim -- knew, he was sleeping off a thirty-five hour work binge. Not even his own men knew that the dark energy that now sustained him did not require rest as others knew it... and to leave his quarters unseen would have been next to impossible for a normal human, so his alibi was -- as always -- assured.
In a way, he regretted the boy's death, but his trust lay with his idol rather than his mission; since Ion had to leave for the conference at the Moon Kingdom in two more days, that had sealed the lad's fate.
If he had succeeded in having his nephew married to Juno of the McCloud clan there would have been some other options, but that had been aborted by the pig-headed girl's meaningless liaison with the Earth Guardian -- a further insult, after their intervention during the famine had also derailed his hopes for a true test of trial by combat with the other worlds, and effectively led to his dismissal.
Now all the gambits of any worth lay through shadow; since Tim had seen and been involved -- even without recognizing it -- in too much to be left unsupervised his sacrifice became the best use of the resource. This way the anti-Earth-settler sentiments were brought to a head. And too, the funeral rites would delay The McCloud's departure for the conference, giving Ion a freer hand.
At least he'd made the stroke clean and painless.
Deep in the walls of the Imperial palace at Ton-Lo, between ancient slabs of quartz and granite, on the fringe of the royal quarters, there was a small but lavishly furnished space -- all silk and down -- from which miniature passages wove through the lattice of stone and crystal and mage-wrought iron the had grown up as the building itself grew ... Few living beings knew those secret ways -- indeed few could, for they were too small for even a toddler to squeeze through -- but at that time one such being lounged casually at the centre of it all and waited patiently ...
In the distance a second creature approached, sure-footed in the perpetual twilight of the make-shift corridors. For a moment the newcomer paused suddenly uncertain as he became aware of the other's presence -- then continued as though he'd known of it all along ...
"Welcome back Puck, I've been waiting quite a while now."
Briefly the crescent moon sigil glowed on Puck's forehead, casting a faint illumination across the room -- laying casually on the pillows that formed his favourite bed was an enormous cat with thick, pallid greenish fur. "It's been a while Red ... I thought you didn't want to see me again."
"Strange times Puck ... they make puppets of us all -- if we let them. I'll let our past differences sleep if you will."
"Never seen you willing to give up on an old grudge before ... what's up? The world coming to an end?"
The huge feline stirred slightly, examined the claws of one paw. "Perhaps ... the signs are all there aren't they? I'd say it's time to do some serious planning for the future."
"What future's that Red? You just said the world was ending." Puck seated himself casually near an entranceway.
"It needn't for us you know -- the humans fight their wars no matter what we do ... but it would be different for our kind."
"It would be a boring universe with just the few of us -- your problem is you've never tried to interact, you should get out, maybe help the asteroiders out a bit, see what it feels like, make a name ..."
"Be a good shepherd and herd some sheep? Sorry, I've already got a name -- and other things to do ... but feel free to keep yourself occupied," Eyes narrowed slightly, he stared at Puck more intently than before, "I'll bet you're just full of advice for the King aren't you."
"I guess that goes with the territory," Puck sighed, "I've got my opinions."
"Care to give an example -- show the 'new' kid what it's all about ... ?"
"There are things he should do ... things to watch out for ... you know," his head flicked involuntarily, "the usual stuff."
"Ah yes ... the Gate ... You think he should guard it more closely then?"
Puck stirred slightly and narrowed his gaze, "It's a vulnerability ... he might want to post some more effective wards ..."
"I think that wouldn't be good advice Puck ... quite counter-productive, I'd say."
"Counter-productive for whom Bakene? Not for Earth I think -- nor the other worlds as well," he sat up glaring intently at the other, "You should be careful whose interests you consider ..."
Again the yellow light of Puck's crescent sigil illuminated the den -- fluffed cushions and silken sheets spread across the floor, and in the centre the huge figure of the other cat, now standing, squinted slightly against the glow. Then Bakene's brow too began to glow -- with a pervasive darkness -- the crescent mark, black now and inverted, seemed to feed on the light, sucking it into itself like a greedy gaping maw...
"But I guess we both know that ..."
In an instant the light was gone and howling with rage Puck leapt at the intruder whose form suddenly expanded, becoming darker and more humanoid -- nearly filling the enclosed space. Ignoring the hurtling Mooncat, the giant thrust an arm into the hole next to where Puck had been seated. For a moment Puck seemed to claw and flail at the eyes of the monster, then with a yelp he faded into nothingness.
The great arm drew back from the passage clutching a small, furred form. Lips drew back in a rictus grin exposing inch-long fangs. "Fun-and-game time's over Puck. No more illusions from you -- time for us to settle our differences."
"I never thought you were such a fool Bakene ... to sell out to the Demon Queen. She'll be the end of all of us."
"You really don't know me at all Puck, do you? You think I'll kill you now -- squash you like the annoying flea you are -- but you're wrong. That's what Metallia would like, true, but I'm not so much a slave as you -- or she -- think. Not to her, nor even to my own desires or we both know you'd already be a bloody scrap on the floor here," he purred softly as massive talons squeezed tight on the smaller cat.
Puck gasped in pain, "So what do you want? To have me join you? Accept you? Give up? I can't do any of that -- you know it as well as I."
"Puck, Puck, Puck ... At least you should know me that well -- I'd never expect that from you. No, this is nothing personal at all -- I want nothing from you but your absence. The world is about to change, and I don't want you sticking your nose where it might get bitten off..."
"Thanks for nothing, Red. But I think I'll take my chances if you don't mind."
"Sorry Puck," he grinned again, "'fraid I do mind. But don't worry about it ... here, recognize this?" Kneeling, he reached under the the sheets and produced a large metallic silver object. "I recall Ferrite reacquainted you with one a bit ago..."
For a moment Puck's eyes widened in shock, then he thrashed about wildly, clawing and biting at any part of his antagonist he could reach. With an off-hand gesture, Bakene slammed him into the wall -- once, then again, until he lay still.
"I hope that hurt Puck. A lot. It's the least I could do." Grinning to himself he removed the top of the cylinder and stuffed the limp form unceremoniously inside. "And someday when you get out of there the pain will be as fresh as it is right now... and then you can thank me."
Quickly he snapped the lid back on, activating the seal. "This is nothing new for you anyway, is it? Last time you woke up like this you got to see Luna -- this time, well ... not so pleasant awakenings Puck."
Wrapping the cylinder in sheets from the floor he stuffed it deep into one of the smaller openings in the wall and filled the gaps with cushions. Then he resumed his normal shape. "That should keep you out of harm's way until I think of a better use for you, old tom. Now I have a date with some other commitments... and a lovely Lady. Something you won't see again for a good long while."
Jadeite was tired and thoroughly miserable by the time he reached the Imperial Palace. Much of his travel arrangements had been perversely frustrating for what seemed like months -- he'd planned to travel with Rei from Mars, but when he'd arrived, he had found that she'd secretly been called away weeks earlier. Instead he'd had to travel with her grandfather, whose presence had made Jadeite's skin crawl, and deliver news of a series of horrendous murders (or worse) that had left her homeworld in turmoil. She'd needed him desperately, but her grandfather's presence had complicated matters, and before he could calm her he'd been ordered to Earth at once.
Ton-Lo was in the grip of a major dysentery outbreak and already there had been recriminations, and comments about the hygiene and habits of foreigners that were alienating new (and even some old) allies. The king wanted him to take immediate charge of an army, and hold the situation together -- at least until more of his fellow Guardians had gathered.
His ship's arrival had been predawn local time (but early evening ship's time) and no one had been able (or willing) to authorize its landing anywhere near the capitol, which the epidemic had made subject to travel restrictions and random quarantines. After several hours they had set down miles from the palace, and he'd had to walk -- with numerous detours -- through the cold and damp of early morning fog, with much too little sleep.
The Guardians' official quarters in the Prince's wing of the palace were sparse in the extreme -- little more than a desk and cot -- but physical austerity was often a part of the Service, and they rarely spent any length of time there anyway. However, to Jadeite just then, any place to rest for a moment seemed like a piece of Heaven. Tossing his single sack of personal effects in a corner he collapsed on the bed with a sigh.
Jadeite was a historian and researcher by nature, not a warrior; he studied men of action, not commanded them. It was an exciting prospect and quite a challenge, but still a lot to bear. If any of them would actual enjoy dealing with it, it would be Kunzite. Unfortunately, he still wasn't due in for about a week. Nephrite or Ferrite would have done well enough, but their arrivals were even more remote -- the next in would be Zoicite, who would likely enjoy the duty, but whose practical experience was nil. His approval with the troops -- such as it was -- was based solely on his position as a Guardian, so special care needed to be exercised to avoid tarnishing that reputation, and diminishing the effectiveness of them all. Chances were that his appearance would bring more stress than relief, even if things went well.
Thoughts on the edge of consciousness drifted pleasantly by for what seemed like a long while -- though not nearly long enough. Despite dark, overcast skies, it was only early afternoon when he became aware of the gentle knocking at the door.
It stopped at once and he groaned silently. Duty called. Pulling himself to his feet, he quickly straighten his jacket and ran his fingers through his hair, then opened the door.
"General Jadeite, I hope I'm not intruding?" The tall cloaked woman was anything but what he'd expected. Her accent marked her as someone on the learned fringes of the nobility, but the hood of her cloak shadowed her features, and he wasn't sure he'd ever seen her before.
"At your service, milady ...?"
"Areita. Oh dear, you don't remember me do you? We only spoke briefly a few years ago at the University, and ..." she trailed off expectantly, perhaps waiting for him to make the connection.
Then he placed her -- a student of the Ancients and their devices. When they'd met he had still been a simple scholar, and she had been pressing for more and swifter research and experimentation than her elders felt was wise. They'd discussed some obscure historical details of mutual interest after a lecture by a colleague. Her career had been advancing quickly with a string of initial -- if minor -- successes, but later there had been an accident. The details eluded him but he recalled that she had been badly injured and banned by Royal Decree from further research of the sort...
"Of course I remember," he smiled, court manners cutting through the fog of tiredness, "and I was so sorry to hear about what happened. You seem to have recovered well though."
She grinned a bit lopsidedly, "I've done well enough... but I fear I may need some help now, and perhaps only another person of letters could really understand." She held her right hand forward demurely.
What's going on here? Jadeite thought as he took her hand. He wished he could remember more about the accident -- it had happened while he was off-world, and had been spectacular or he'd not have heard of it at all... Why come to me, really? We've barely met. And now? She must have come straight to the palace to see him -- her hand was still chilled and damp with the afternoon's drizzle. He tried to smile reassuringly as he pulled his thoughts together.
"Of course, I'll do what I can to be of assistance to a fellow scholar," he raised her hand automatically as she smiled her thanks, brushing her fingertips with his lips. "Though you must realize that in my present position, my first duties are to my King, so I'm not sure if I can really do much..."
"Oh, I'm sure you can -- it's such a little thing -- just your recommendation would be all I'd need, I'm sure."
"I'm not sure I follow you." The tiredness was overwhelming -- he really just wanted her to go. He hoped it would be simple, and he could be done with it quickly, but in his heart he knew it couldn't be.
"I really need to go to the Moon Kingdom. There's so much to study, and it's not old, or unknown -- people have lived with it for centuries now -- so it wouldn't violate the King's ban, now would it?" She leaned forward earnestly, "And I've learned my lesson, haven't I?" She pushed back her hood and looked him in the eye.
The left side of her face was immobile and oddly stretched -- her hair on that side was nearly gone too, the rest combed over it to almost hide the scarring. He stared in horrified fascination at the damage. A chill ran through his limbs and seemed to settle in the pit of his stomach. "I'm so sorry Areita."
"You have nothing to be sorry for," she laughed softly, "Just help me get on with my work. I'll be fine... You can help me get to the Moon Kingdom can't you?" Her cloak slid to the floor.
Of course he could -- as General-In-Situ he had more than enough authority to grant her passage wherever necessary. He really wished the pounding in his head would ease up a bit though, there was something important that he needed to say. Distantly, he noted that she hadn't been wearing much more than the cape.
"Of course I can."
"I knew you would, and now you shall have your reward." She pressed him back as her mouth locked to his. Her tongue was amazingly long -- amazingly cold; the world seemed to whirl around and dissolve in her arms. "And when Zoicite arrives in three days time, you'll know what to do."
"I'll know..."
Areita arranged her cloak casually. As she pulled it closed, the door to the room opened a crack admitting a large cat. Its head tilted questioningly to where Jadeite lay shivering on the cot.
"Has it taken hold?"
Areita held up a pass to the Moon. "Signed and sealed," she affirmed, and slid it safely into the lining of the cape.
"Good." The cat grinned, "The Guardians are supposedly immune to mind controls, so we couldn't be sure... How long until it's done."
"A day -- maybe two. The contagion is the most virulent I could produce -- and it's taken most of my strength -- but his resistance is phenomenal. Most men would have succumbed completely by now."
"Speaking of others -- I've contacted two more of the Water Elementalists. You should have time for them before we leave."
She gave him a pained expression, "I'm rather exhausted. Haven't we done enough of those?"
The cat glowered at her. "The Windwalker is close to forcing a gathering of the Elemental Wizards over Metallia's presence. I've spoken with the heads of the other Orders, and they've agreed to meet only on Avalon. He will have no choice but to bring his supporters into our reach, but we must be ready for them -- everyone we can bring to our side is essential."
"All right," she sighed, "but there'll be no subtlety ..."
"Subtlety has had its day -- we are fast approaching a point where only overt actions will make a difference. Come."
As she closed the door behind her, Jadeite cried out softly. She would have to spread some more airborne germs on her way out of the palace, so the General's indisposition would appear as a simple part of a wider outbreak. The organization of Arturo's forces would be stalled for the moment, and when the next General arrived the greater, darker infection would be fully incubated and ready to be passed on.
She really wished the King hadn't banned her research -- she would have gladly given her whole face for the knowledge that been just a handspan beyond her grasp. As it was, the cost was her soul.