Chapter 3: Sleeping Dog

Celena managed to wake, dress, and escape her room before Allen awoke. She held her breath the entire time. It was exhilarating, doing this against her brother’s instructions: he’d told her not to return to the Melef Hanger without him, as it was dangerous and she’d be in the way. She had not forgotten those warnings--they were still with her, repeating over and over as she scampered down the corridor. The sound of them made her giggle.

The morning air was so still that it felt as if it were rippling around her when she moved. She reveled in the sensations of early fog covering her skin, and the silence-breaking tap of her shoes on the road-stones. She ran to the hanger as if chased, all the while suppressing peals of excited, mischievous laughter.

She was disobeying her brother.

As soon as Celena could see the hanger, the clang of metal and buzz of machinery reached her. It gave her a chill and urged her faster, until she was sprinting. If I don’t go fast enough, he’ll catch me, her mind reasoned irrationally. He won’t let me see them. Run. Run faster.

She burst into the hanger with a flourish and slowed, her body bending as she gasped for breath. Slowly, she regained her composure. Her gaze soaked in the image of the slumbering metal giants that surrounded her; they lifted her, strengthened her. And she laughed.

"Celena?"

Celena bolted upright, and nearly toppled, as she still felt light-headed after her long run. A hand steadied her shoulder--a slender, callused hands that was familiar to her. The man revealed himself to be the mechanic from the day before. "Are you all right?" he asked, allowed her to balanced off of him.

"Yes," she huffed, pressing a hand against her chest. She stepped away once her equilibrium had been replaced. "I’m fine. I was just…running." She dusted off her soft leather pants and blue vest. "Isn’t it a little early to be working?"

"It’s early to be running," he pointed out quietly, taking a step back of his own.

Celena chuckled, then coughed. She waved off any assistance. "I wanted to see the melefs before Brother woke up," she explained. "He wouldn’t have let me."

"You like melefs?"

"Yes! But I’ve never ridden in one." She grinned suddenly. "Will you show me?"

Jovey looked her over carefully. She appeared genuinely interested, and excited. He wondered what it was in her blue eyes that caused Van to sense danger.

"Sure, I’ll show you." He led the way down the immense corridor, and Celena followed eagerly. "I suppose you want to see the battle melefs," he said vaguely, noting the healthy glow in her cheeks and eyes. "I can’t let you ride one, so don’t ask. But I can show you."

"Thank you."

The samurai’s battle melefs were located at the back of the compound, sitting royally on their benches like the preserved corpses of dead kings. Jovey stopped before them. "Here." He pointed to each as he listed off their names. "Calberan, Dragonsbane, Fyodor, and Alseides."

"Alseides?" Celena frowned at the last melef in the row: a blue-gray armor with broad, rounded shoulders. "I thought all the Alseides models had been destroyed during the war."

"They were." Jovey dropped his gaze as he explained. "This one I designed and had built myself, in honor of…an old comrade." He glanced at the young woman beside him, and licked his lips. It can’t be. You’re talking to a girl. Stop being foolish.

"Are you really Allen Schezar’s sister?" he asked abruptly, turning on her. She recoiled--not in fear, but only mild surprise. "My name is Jovey Garrelli--Van lied to you yesterday."

"What are you talking about?" Celena demanded in bewilderment. "Of course I’m Allen’s sister--Celena Schezar. And why would Van lie? You’re just a mechanic."

Jovey gulped; he could feel his pulse racing through his temples, and fought hard to keep himself calm. "I’m not," he said, his voice rising. "I was a Zaibach officer--a Dragonslayer."

He held his breath, waiting, but Celena didn’t react. She only stared at him inquisitively. He suddenly began to feel very foolish, expecting this woman--a Schezar--to remember him and the Dragonslayers. No matter how much she resembled his former leader, it was impossible. Dilandau Albatou was dead.

Jovey relaxed; he sighed, and lowered his shoulders. "I’m sorry," he said quietly, glancing away. "You’re…you’re no the person I’m talking to."

Celena cocked her head to the side with innocent curiosity. "Who were you talking to?"

"It’s not important now. Come on." Jovey started toward the guymelef bench. "I’ll give you a better look."

Celena readily complied, allowing him to help her limb the scaffolding. Soon they were resting on the armor’s thick round shoulders. Jovey began to explain the designs he’d created, and was pleasantly surprised when his company interjected with sensible comments. She claimed to have been studying guymelefs for the past three years--her knowledge was testimony to that boast. She spoke like an expert.

As the morning lengthened, several more mechanics appeared to service the different melefs. Celena didn’t seem to notice; she saw only the metal beast upon which they sat. Several times she expressed her wish to pilot it, and each time Jovey refused with a smile brighter than the last. He appreciated the childlike wonder in her face and tone, remembering days past when he had obsessed over the iron giants. She had a rare gleam that attracted him; sincere, deep respect for the vessel. He hadn’t seen such homage for a long time.

"Do you think I’ll pilot one someday?" Celena asked idly, her fingers sliding over the metal."

"Of course. You look like you were born in one."

She laughed at that, which raised an old feeling inside him. "Maybe," she conceded. "Brother’s the same way--he loves it, and he’s an expert." She sighed wistfully. "I wish I could have my own."

"Someday, I’ll build you one," he replied.

"Really?"

"Certainly." Jovey grinned--genuinely, which was somewhat unusual for him. Listening to her talk like this made him feel oddly calm, as if things had suddenly become as they were meant to be. "What kind would you like?"

"An Alseides," Celena replied immediately. "Like this one." She patted it affectionately. "So I can prove to brother that I’m good enough."

"He really bothers you, doesn’t he?"

She shook her head emphatically. "It’s not that I don’t appreciate him. I’m doing this for him--I don’t want him to feel like I’ll always need his protection." She averted her eyes guiltily. "I’ve always caused him pain. I’m a burden to him, and I don’t want to be."

Jovey flinched, his lips parting to draw a sharp breath. Her words echoed in him through a different voice. "I don’t ever want to be a liability to him. I’ll work hard, so that he’ll never have to worry about me again."

He started to speak, but just then they were interrupted by a call from below. He scowled when he saw the source--Allen Schezar. The blond knight was glaring at him; his gaze softened when it transferred to Celena. "Celena, come down."

Celena ducked her head sheepishly. "Thanks for everything, Jovey," she whispered. "I gotta go."

"I understand," he replied with a nod. "Go on. He’s your brother."

She smiled gratefully and began to descend from the Alseides. Jovey watched her all the way down, and as Allen chided her for sneaking away without telling him. He also scolded her for things he couldn’t hear. He doesn’t understand her feelings, he thought to himself, frowning deeply. Below, Allen led his sister away with a hand on her shoulder. He can’t see. He’s only making her suffer more. If he really loves her, he should see that.

Jovey slipped off of the melefs shoulder and onto the wooden scaffolding. "Time to work," he murmured to himself.

It wasn’t until late that evening that Celena managed to escape her brother’s watchful eye once more. The sun had just begun to set, melting as it met the burning red horizon. She breathed in the scent of it through the breeze. It reminded her of the sparks in the melef hanger, healing the iron gods. And before long she was there, running past the feet of the harvesters and builders, on her way to meet royalty.

A pleasant surprise awaited her: Jovey Garrelli was perched on the kneecap of his Alseides, polishing the metal. He glanced over his shoulder as she approached. "I knew you’d come," he said matter-of-factly.

Celena pressed her hand to the armor’s leg. "Really? How?"

"Because I think I understand you." He looked her straight in the eye when he spoke--she liked that, because it meant he respected her. "I knew you wouldn’t let your brother stop you."

"You make it sound like he’s a slaver," she complained.

"Isn’t he?"

Celena began to climb the scaffolding to reach him. "No," she protested sharply. "He’s the best older brother I could have. He’s just…protective."

Jovey chuckled, which sounded odd to her. She hadn’t said anything amusing. "What’s so funny?"

"They way you’re defending him," he explained, pausing in his work. "Making excuses for him as if it doesn’t matter to you."

She frowned. "It doesn’t. Really."

This only widened his grin. "You can’t fool me; I used to do the same thing." For the first time in their short conversation he escaped meeting her eyes. "When you care about someone deeply, you’ll defend them even when you know they’re wrong. There’s nothing the matter with it, really."

Celena watched him very closely; she pressed a hand to her stomach, where a strange feeling had begun to grow. It was almost pain. She wondered if anyone had ever defended her by lying--if anyone cared or her that much. Allen had never made excuses for her. He kept her so protected that there was never a need to.

"Tell me," she instructed, snatching his arm. He flinched at the sudden touch, and almost recoiled. "Tell me about that person--the person you care about."

Jovey regarded her as if she were some dangerous animal that had suddenly pounced on him. His breath was held and his eyes wide--his reaction only increased her desire to know. She wanted to understand the person who had inspired so much devotion, perhaps even love, in this man. But more than that, she wanted to know if it was something she could have.

"Alright," Jovey said hoarsely. "I’ll tell you.. Come on." He began to climb higher up the guymelef, and she followed, holding her breath. They stopped once they reached the Alseides’s thick shoulders. From that height they could see the entire hanger stretched out before them like a valley.

Jovey situated himself comfortably on the machine. "I told you I was from Zaibach, right?" he began hesitantly. She could tell that this was a story he hadn’t shared in some time. "I was member of a special group called the Dragonslayers, and it was our job to hunt Escaflowne."

Celena hummed thoughtfully. "Brother mentioned that Zaibach was after Escaflowne," she said. "But he never mentioned ‘Dragonslayers.’" He told you to stay away from this man, her brain added. He told you Jovey couldn’t be trusted, because he’s from Zaibach. But Jovey doesn’t seem like that at all. How many things has Brother kept secret from me--or lied about?

"There were only fifteen of us," Jovey continued. His intense eyes never left her face, as if awaiting some reaction. "Including our leader, Dilandau Albatou."

He paused. Celena waited for him to go on, but he didn’t. Does he think I know that name? It sounds familiar, a little. But from where? She wracked her memories, and ground her teeth in frustration when she came up with nothing. "That’s the one you meant, right?" she said, hoping he’d continue and give some clue. "You really respected him."

He nodded in a rueful, haunted way. "He was expert guymelef pilot--maybe the best in Zaibach. No, surely." His expression hardened. "Van was the only one who ever beat him; not even your brother, Allen Schezar, ever bested him in combat. He was ruthless, commanding the fear and respect of every officer and opponent beneath him. Not even General Aldephos would dare cross him."

Celena’s hand tightened around the fabric of her dress, as it had begun to tremble. "What did he look like?" she asked breathlessly, as her brain scrambled to form an image.

Jovey hesitated again. "He was pretty young when I knew him--pale and slightly built, but he knew how to throw his weight around when he had to. Actually…." He licked his lips. "He had silver-blond hair, like yours, and red eyes. You reminded me of him the first time I saw you."

She laughed nervously, relieving some of the tension in her gut. "I could never be someone like that," she said brightly. "He sounds amazing."

"He was." The youth’s eyes gleamed with an emotion she didn’t recognize; it might have been fear. Her pulse began to rise once more. "He was vicious and obsessive--terrifying, really. He enjoyed the pain of others. It got him into trouble--he wasn’t perfect, and he made many obvious errors, but--"

Celena felt the impact resonate down the bones in her arm, and the skin on he palm began to tingle. She watched, dumbfounded, as Jovey’s head turned sharply to the side; only his quick reflexes kept him from tumbling off the Alseides’s broad shoulder. She stared at him in shock, then looked to her hand.

She’s struck him. Now that the even had passed she no longer remembered, but the evidence was clear. Quickly she confined both hands to her lap. "I--I’m sorry," she stammered, appalled at her own actions. "I didn’t mean--forgive me."

Jovey didn’t face her. He sat with one hand steadying him on their metal perch, the other cradling his head. His soft black hair hid whatever expression there might have been. She could barely bear him breathing. Slowly, dreadfully, he turned to face her.

Celena’s heart leapt into her throat and there held, suspended by the look in his eyes. Within him she saw shock, recognition, and even hope, like swirls of violent color etched into his skin. She could feel him reaching for her, not with flesh but a longing. Even more terrifying was that something insider her desired to respond--to scream, to laugh, to curse and cry like a mad child. Because he was reaching into her more deeply than anyone every had, even deeper than the awesome presence of the guymelefs. He was tugging at her heart.

Celena jerked away as Jovey touched her arm. "Don’t," she pleaded in a hoarse, desperate whisper. "Don’t touch me."

Jovey recoiled. By now his brain was overflowing--he knew those sensations. He remembered the punishment that came without warning, the sting of flesh on flesh, and the shame that followed. He knew that pain as a scar that rested inside of him. "Celena," he said just as breathlessly. "You…you can’t be--"

"Shut up!" She withdrew once more, wrapping her trembling self in her arms. If he touched her--if he even tried--she could feel her body waiting to retaliate. "Please, just…" She leapt to her feet and escaped toward the scaffolding.

"Wait! Celena!" He reached, but by then she had already moved out of range. She clamored down the crude ladders and he followed, faint from shock.

Celena hit the ground running. Her pursuer landed a moment later and gave chase. The dust rose in spumes around his feet as they pounded the earth. Already his legs ached, having worked all day in the hanger, but still he pushed his speed to its limits. He saw only the silver-haired, slightly-built figure slowly falling away from him.

Someone had left a tool out. Jovey yelped in surprise as his boot was snagged and yanked out from underneath him. His stomach lurched into his throat as he began to fall, and the world tilted crazily. The impact came next, stabbing nails of pain into his hands and arms. His breath was suspended, and he lay there in the dirt, gasping and coughing. Blood seeped down his palms and elbows. His skull was pounding.

Jovey groaned as he pushed himself slowly into a sitting position. And then in a flash of realization he scanned the interior of the hanger, searching for the form he’d been chasing.

The hanger was empty--she had gone, leaving only a few particles of swirling dust in her wake. They glittered like tiny golden fireflies reflecting the last ray of sunset light.

Celena sprinted all the way back to her room in the castle. Voices chased her. They whispered in her ears, their ghost-lips so real to her that she could feel their breath against her lobes. Her hands struck out in a wild attempt to drive them away. They would not be so easily deterred, however; the hoarse tones tore at her skin and hair, and she shrieked, trying to block out the awful sound.

They heavy oak door to her room yielded to her pounding fists, smacking with a percussion that frightened her into a sob. She covered her mouth and bolted inside. Once the door was slammed shut she threw herself onto the bed, shaking like a small child with the pillow to catch her tears.

Something’s wrong with me. Celena bit into the cotton-filled fabric to ease her sobs, even as her shoulders crept up and her insides throbbed. What’s happening to me?

A firm, comforting hand stroked her back. She jumped, startled, but wouldn’t lift herself to face the man it belonged to. She knew who it was by the scent of his cologne. That morning she was willing to do anything to disobey him; now she felt only shame.

Several quiet minutes passed that way; she cried softly into her sheets, as Allen gently massaged her shoulders and back. He did not shun or admonish, or eve question, even if he desperately wanted to know. She felt foolish for having ever doubted him.

"Brother." With gradually returning strength she pushed herself up, swinging her legs over the de of the bed. Allen, free of his knightly uniform, sat patiently beside her. For the first time in her memory she couldn’t bare to look him in the face. "I’m sorry," she told him quietly. "I think you were right. I should have stayed away from Jovey."

He didn’t speak for some time; when he did, his tone was stern but concerned. "What happened?"

"He didn’t do anything," Celena quickly defended him. "We were just talking, and I got a funny feeling in my stomach." Her hand covered her abdomen, as that feeling had returned with the memory. "And I hit him! I didn’t want to--it just happened. And his eyes…." She shuddered. "The frightened me, so I ran away."

Allen’s hand rested on her shoulder. "You’re all right now," he assured, despite the stiffness in his fingers. "I’m sure he wouldn’t have hurt you."

She nodded gloomily. "No, he wouldn’t. But the way he looks at me…like he’s expecting something…" She turned and flung her arms around him suddenly; she had always depended on him this way, to give her strength when she had none. "Don’t go anywhere," she begged, clutching his shirt. "Don’t leave me alone, brother. I was so scared."

Allen held her tenderly, his fingers sliding through her hair. "Don’t worry, Celena," he whispered. "I won’t let anything hurt you." There was a pause. "Now, I’m not going to tell you--"

"I know." Celena closed her eyes and leaned her head against his chest. And even though the words caught in her throat, she pushed them through. "I won’t go see Jovey again."

He didn’t reply, which she was grateful for. Instead he laid her down on the bed, pulling the covers over her. She held them to her tightly. "Go to sleep," he said gently. "You’ll feel better in the morning, and we can talk some more."

"Thank you, Brother." She smiled faintly with gratitude. "Good night."

Allen patted her head affectionately. "Goodnight, Celena. I’ll be here, so don’t worry."

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