Worlds of Blue and White
Part One: With Fingertips Touching
Chapter 7: Lying in Wait
When Jovey regained consciousness he was in an unfamiliar section of woods. He could hear running water nearby--a stream, coming off a small waterfall. He rubbed his eyes with his good hand, then gingerly raised himself to a sitting position. His gaze spun for a moment.
“You’re awake.”
He started, and glanced about in search of the source. “I was getting worried,” the voice came again. He looked right, and there discovered Dilandau, perched on a large protruding tree root. The boy’s hands were moving over the blade of Allen’s sword, polishing it with a piece of fabric ripped from his pants. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, so eat up,” he instructed.
Jovey discovered several ripe fruits--melons--set beside him. The husks had been cracked open already, so that he would be able to eat them one-handed. He nodded respectfully before indulging in their sweet flavor.
“I fixed your arm as best as I could,” the boy went on. “You’ll need stiches, probably, but it will hold well enough for now, as long as you don’t move much.”
“Thank you, sir.” His fingers were still numb, but he could see that his wound had been cleaned and dressed with pieces of fresh cloth. His shirt, he realized. Lord Dilandau…cared this much about me. The thought stirred a strange feeling inside him; like pride, and relief.
Dilanday finished polishing and sheathed the sword. “I’m going back into the city,” he declared. “To take care of something.”
Jovey immediately stopped eating. “But you can’t. The festival has probably started by now.” He gestured to the orange hues of sunset fading in the west. “Van will be heavily guarded--and Allen will be with him. They’ll be expecting you.”
Dilandau raised an eyebrow, as if pleased that his former underling had read his intentions so easily. “Don’t worry about me.” He stood, adjusting the weapon on his hip. “I can handle Van.” Something in his red eyes glinted; Jovey recognized it well. “By the way, is your Alseides operational?”
“It should be,” Jovey replied quietly. “But it will probably be guarded, too. It doesn’t have flamethrowers equipped, either, so it’ll probably be better to attack Van on foot.” He paused. “Sir, take me with you. Even though I’m injured, I can still be of some help.”
But Dilandau shook his head. “You’ll stay here. It’s up to you to find us a way out of here once I’m through. We’ll return to Zaibach, and have your arm fixed by real doctors.”
“Then at least wait a little while,” Jovey pleaded. “Until after the festival at least, and--“
“No.” His red eyes sparked, then became unfocused. Were it possible, his face appeared even more pale than usual. “I’ll end it. The Dragon will be mine, this time. You will do as I say.”
Jovey stared, bewildered. His voice…changed somehow. As if he can see something. And though he’s always been rash, he wouldn’t usually risk so much, going alone.
There was no choice, really. He bowed his head, trusting in his master’s decision. “Yes, Lord Dilandau. Good luck.”
There was a ruffle of movement, and Jovey glanced up to see Dilandau crouched beside him. He had gained back his clarity, as his gaze was serious and intense. “You’ll all I have left, Jovey Garrelli,” he said quietly. “the others are gone. I’lll take good care of you, if you trust me.”
“I trust you, Lord Dilandau,” he answered immediately. “I won’t let anything happen to you this time. Please, finish Van. For Chesta, and Gatti, and all the others.”
Dilandau’s eyes opened a little wider at the mentioning of those names. He nodded shortly. “I’m going now. When the time comes, you’ll know what to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
He stood, and moved away. He didn’t glance back as he slipped soundlessly into the forest.
--
Van’s hands curled around the balcony rail. His eyes only partially absorbed the crowd far below--the festival was in full swing now, and every inch of the streets were packed with the lively people. They danced, sang, and ate happily in blissful celebration. He watched them all, and sighed. “Three years,” he murmured. When he lowered his head, he felt the crown’s weight heavily upon his brow. “We came this far in three years.”
Standing beside him, Merle watched him with a worrisome expression. “He can’t take it away again, Lord Van,” she voiced his thoughts. “Not this time.”
“I know. But he will come.” Van’s gaze swept over the buildings and streets, as if expecting to see flames erupt at any moment. “He’s out there, waiting. He’ll come for me.”
“And you’ll beat him,” she assured. “You beat him before no problem, right? You’ll do it again.”
He nodded vaguely, then glanced over his shoulder. Allen was seated inside at a table, his elbows rest ing on the wood, head bowed and shoulders trembling. This has got to be so hard for him. I can’t kill Dilandau--there has to be a way to save Celena from him. But then…dealing with Jovey may be even more difficult.
Merle followed his gaze, and sighed. “Allen-san will be okay.”
“I know. That’s not what I’m worried about. If we’re going to defeat Dilandau, we’ll have to change him back to Celena.” The king sighed. “And even if we do, who knows if it’ll be permanent? How can we prevent this from happening again? Can Celena live a normal life without being reminded of what she was?”
“She had until now,” she pointed out. “If she goes home, she’ll be okay, won’t she?”
“I don’t know for sure.” Van lifted his head, gazing up at the glowing blue moon which shone above their valley. It’s light that evening was splendid, even with the distant sun still clinging to its ownership of the horizon. To him it appeared as an invitation. Hitomi, if only you were here. You would know, wouldn’t you? You were always there to help me.
Merle touched his shoulder to gain his attention. “She can’t help you now,” she told him gently. “She’s living her own lif with her own problems.”
“If she would only come back,” he murmured, eyes and voice distant with fatigue and emotion. “Just for a moment, so that I could see her once more. Just a moment.” His gaze dropped. “She could, if she really wanted to. Our feelings…surly they’re that strong. But she hasn’t tried, even once. She’s perfectly happy in her world.”
His companion winced sympathetically. “Lord Van….”
“Sometimes, I wonder exactly what happened back then,” he went on, somewhat subdued. “I heard her voice…she told me she loved me…but when it was all over, she left without regrets. As if she’d never considered staying her, with me.
“I know it was the right choice--she belongs in her world, and I here, but….” He closed his eyes, picturing the moment in his mind: her smile, her tears, her farewell. “But if only I knew that she felt some remorse they way I do…if she cared for me the way I care for her….”
Van trailed off, and remained silent for some time. Merle could offer him no assurance or consolations. Her tail swayed back and forth helplessly. At long last she began, “Lord Van--“
“It’s all right, Merle. I know. Even if I knew, things wouldn’t change. So I should be happy--our country has been revived.” He smiled at her. “Right?”
She sighed in exasperation. “Lord Van, what I was going to say way, why don’t you go see her?”
Van’s breath caught in his throat, and he turned to face her. “What do you mean?” he whispered.
“Go see her,” she repeated cheerfully. “Just for a short visit, after the festival. I’m sure no one would mind--royalty travels all the time.” She grinned with encouragement. “So why don’t you? To see her again.”
“I….” He looked away, as some part of him refused to believe that it could be that easy a solution. Before his mind could rearrange itself well enough to seriously consider her suggestion, a flash of movement in the crowd caught his eye. A moment later, it was gone.
“He’s here.” The king signaled to his guards; one scampered off to warn the others while the rest circled in close. “Merle, get Allen for me.”
Merle’s ears went limp, distressed that her suggestion had been so easily overturned. She nodded once and left the balcony. A moment later she returned with Allen in tow. “You say him?” the knight questioned anxiously.
“Just for a moment.” Van set a hand on his sword hilt as they scanned the crowd together. “He’ll either find a way up here or wait until we’re out in the open. Either way, my men have orders to capture, not kill.”
Allen nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Van. When he appears, I’ll take him myself.”
“All right. My men will help only if it’s necessary.”
Merle frowned thoughtfully. “He might not come if you’re in plain view like this. Maybe we should move somewhere, to draw him out.”
Van was somewhat surprised by her thinking; he would have thought she’d suggest that he hide in an iron safe. “You think so?” he tested.
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t attack somewhat surrounded by guards and nearly half his kingdom,” she declared. “If you want to catch him, you have to risk an opening.” She crossed her arms. “I’m not a knight of a king, but even I know that much.”
Allen regarded the cat girl with concern. “She’s got a point,” he murmured. “But it’s risky. If we misjudge Dilandau’s skill, we’ll be placing Van in danger.”
“I can beat Dilandau,” Van assured. “My skills haven’t diminished at all. I still remember his style. In fact,” he added confidently, “It may be best if I fight him. You don’t know his style of fighting like I do. I can beat him.”
The knight’s frown deepened. “But I’ve been training Celena all these years--her improvement is startling, even toi me. I’m not saying that Dilandau will remember any of that consciously, but his body should.” He face the king seriously. “I’m not exaggerating when I say she has the potential to be as good as I am--she’s nearly that skilled already. If you can force a melef match, you should be fine.”
Van shook his head. “He’d
definitely use the Alseides Jovey designed--it’s got full flight
capability. I don’t want to risk him
escaping.” He didn’t fight me at
all--letting me handle Dilandau. But I
suppose he wouldn’t want to fight his own sister outright.
“You may be right.”
The trio paused, considering their options as the guards looked on cautiously. Van absently fingered his pendant as if it could give him an answer. The smooth stone beneath his fingertips calmed him. How much are we willing to risk? That’s the real question. His gaze turned to the crowd. He’s probably out there, watching. Waiting for us to make a move.
Then he looked at Allen. There had been a time in his life when he’d very much envied the Heaven’s Knight: his skill, his confidence, even his looks. Allen had always seemed to be the perfect man, having friends, and loved once who would adore him forever, and the power and elegance to deserve that devotion. An unattainable ideal.
But in looking at the man now, Van saw lines of pain creasing the knight’s handsome face. He saw glove-covered fingers that were too tight with strain to be clenched, and trembling shoulders. And he saw his mouth--a pair of lips which held an experience he would be forever jealous of--pressed in a thin, strained line.
I wonder…did my face ever show that kind of despair so openly? Van could only stare, somewhat mystified, remembering how Allen had returned from the forest with his injured leg, tangled hair, and swelling bruises. Have I ever seen him this way? Why does it unnerve me so much?
Allen turned to look at him then, and something in his gaze startled him. He recognized those eyes: they were the same bright, pleading azure eyes that he’d seen in Celena the night before.
“…honestly believe in yourself…”
“I’ll take the risk,” Van said deftly. “I’ll stop Dilandau, certainly, and get your sister back.”
Allen stared back at him in bewilderment. “But how?”
He turned toward the crowd, letting his sight absorb everything he saw. My people…forgive me. This is for your sakes, too. Finally he spotted a tuft of white hair among the stands. Dilandau. The boy stood next to a small car that was selling bread. Even at that distance, Van could feel that he was being carefully studied. He focused all his mind and spirit into his posture and eyes.
I’m challenging you, Dilandau. Once more, to end it all.
Dilandau’s figure stood a little straighter, and the king turned away from the balcony. “Come with me,” he said loudly, moving inside.
“Wait--what’s gong on?” Merle demanded. “Lord Van, you never tell me--“
“A duel. I’m going to make it our last.” He strode quickly through his chambers, making his way to a hidden palace exit near the building’s rear. Allen, Merle, and the guards followed anxiously. The men exchanged worried gazes.
“But where are we going?” the cat girl insisted. “How will he know?”
“He’ know.”
“But….” She turned her questioning stare on Allen, but he didn’t notice. His eyes were set forward; his expression in stone.
--
Dilandau slid easily through the crowd, his palms itching. It would be easier to move if I killed a few people he thought. The rest would scatter. If they knew who I was, they’d have done so already. But he didn’t act. The voice that spoke to him, though of his own tone and an example of his feelings, seemed to echo from some deep cave in his mind. He was detached from it. He felt the hot bodies pressing against him, and smelled the sweat and wine and cooking pastries, but the sensations were sluggish in reaching his brain. His body and his mind had distanced from each other.
It doesn’t matter as long as I kill him.
He knew where Van was going--hero types like him always thought with sentiment. The site for their battle would be the shrine where Escaflowne slept. During the festival it would be empty, and large enough for a proper fight. Even if the place meant little to the leader of the Dragonslayers, he would go. To taste his enemy’s blood, to reduce him to ashes, hew would go.
Dilandau reached the shrine before his prey. Quickly he moved inside, checking their battleground for the most suitable location. His boots--stolen from a farm house near the city’s outskirts, as the shoes he’d had on previously were too small--clacked loudly in the open space. At last he positioned himself just to the west of the shrine’s skylight, in hopes of gaining the advantage of the rising moon. There, he waited. His sword he held out and ready, his eyes focused on the shrine’s only entrance.
--
Just after the sun had set Jovey grew restless. He began to pace, then stopped, as it was making him dizzy. Desperate for some activity he began fashioning his belt into a kind of sling for his arm. I still can’t feel my fingers, he thought with a concerned frown. The nerves may have been completely severed. I’ll probably regain some feeling eventually, but…. He sighed. Of course he left me behind. I’d just get in the way like this. But wouldn’t he have waited? He was vomiting blood earlier.
Jovey took to his feet once more. “There’s something wrong with him,” he murmured as he moved aimlessly about the clearing. “His body…I’m sure when he was Celena he had a woman’s body. But how?” Why would they do that to him, rather than simply kill him? It doesn’t make sense.
Unwillingly, visions of Celena entered Jovey’s mind. He remembered the first time he’d met her, her eyes gaping as she viewed the guymelefs. She had spoken to him innocently, like a child, but with passion and knowledge. In her eyes he’d seen the same spirit that was Dilandau’s most guarded secret: a love of living, and loyalty. And even fear.
Celena…is she gone now? Was she ever real? Or…was she part of Dilandau, the part of himself he always hid from us?
Jovey sat down on a nearby tree root to think. Again impatience overtook him, and he stood. I can’t just sit here. Whatever happened…it’s still Lord Dilandau. I won’t fail him again. Quickly, he started toward the city.
