Worlds of Blue and White

Part One: With Fingertips Touching

Chapter 8:  Pushing Limits

 

 

Van knew that his opponent was already inside.  He could feel his skin prickling with the familiar presence, and suppressed a wave of anger.  You can’t lose yourself in this fight, he told himself firmly.  Allen and Celena are depending on you.  Focus on that.  He took a deep breath and unsheathed his sword before entering the shrine.

 

Allen, Merle, and several guards followed. No one spoke, caught up in the tension of the upcoming battle.  The interior of the shrine was dark except for streams of dull blue moonlight from the glass ceiling.  And standing calmly in the center of that light, sword drawn and eyes gleaming was Dilandau Albatou.

 

“You certainly took your time,” the white-haired youth declared, tapping the blade against his calm.  “But I suppose as royalty you’re entitled to that.”

 

Van shed the outermost layers of his garb, leaving only the green trousers and short-sleeved cotton shirt.  He stepped boldly into the circle of light.  “I will fight you,” he said evenly.  “And win.  Then you’ll be able to find yourself.”

 

He snorted.  “Sure, whatever.  Just come on already.”  Dilandau slid into a readied stance.  “I’ve been looking forward to a good match.”

 

Van hesitated uncertainly.  That’s one of Dilandau’s old stances--there’s a diagonal line across his body left open.  He recalled what Allen had told him earlier.  But I’ll have to assume that he’s as good as Allen now.  I can’t underestimate him.

 

The guards shifted nervously behind him.  Van didn’t risk a glance.  “Don’t try to interfere,” he instructed.  “Even if I’m killed, I’m sure Allen Schezar will avenge me.”

 

Dilandau grinned widely in approval of such an outcome.  “Well said, Van Fanel.”  Suddenly he charged, striking vertically.  Van shifted his weight and blocked.  Their blades clashed and slid until they were struggling hilt to hilt.

 

He’s strong.  Van allowed his sight to flicker to his opponent’s eyes--a mistake.  In those crimson orbs he discovered a deep, violent hunger; a hatred so pure that it was joy.  They reminded him of the flashing, ancient eyes of the Dragons he’d fought in the past.

 

They broke apart.  Immediately Dilandau attacked again, with even more force than in their last exchange.  Van was pushed back a step before regaining his position.  They fought back and forth, broke, then met once more.  By then Dilandau had begun to laugh.  It was a harsh, mad sound, like the screeching of melef gears.  The king’s skin prickled as he listened--it was making him nervous.

 

They broke once more, and Dilandau spun, clearly intending a counter attack.  But something happened then that Van didn’t expect.  As his enemy came back around, his sword was gone from his right hand.  The king faltered, and leapt backwards as a left-handed stab came at him.  When did he…?  The jump wasn’t enough, and the tip of the sword bit into the base of his right shoulder.  Dilandau laughed menacingly as Van stumbled and retreated.

 

“Lord Van!”

 

Van ignored Merle’s distressed cry.  He pressed his hand gingerly to the wound--it was only an inch deep, thanks to his quick movement, but it made his right arm sluggish.  He adjusted his grip and stance.  Damn; he’s nearly as good with his left hand as his right.

 

“Van!”  This time it was Allen.  The tone in his voice was all Van needed to comprehend: that move had been taught to Dilandau by Celena’s memories.  Which means he might have more tricks up his sleeve.  Come on; concentrate.  He looked back to Dilandau, expecting to need a defense prepare, and was startled to see the youth fastidiously licking the kings blood from his sword tip.

 

Has…has he lost his mind?  Dilandau lowered himself into a new stance and cackled.  He’s not even taunting anymore.  He’s gone mad.  Van shivered beneath the youth’s dangerous glare.  He’s going to kill you, his brain whispered.  He won’t stop until he has.  Isn’t there any way to save Celena now?

 

“Celena!  Stop this!” Allen shouted abruptly from behind.  Dilandau didn’t even flinch.  “You don’t have any reason to kill Van--he’s your friend!  Don’t let Dilandau fool you!”

 

Dilandau was in motion before Allen had even stopped speaking.  The fight resume din a flurry of flashing steel.  Though Van managed to score a hit down his opponent’s left thigh, the wound didn’t seem to hamper his movements at all, as if he didn’t feel the pain.  The king felt himself being pushed slowly back.  What is this?  He’s strength is inhuman!

 

At last Allen dove into the fray.  He pushed Van aside and blocked Dilandau’s attack with one smooth motion, separating the two.  Dilandau stepped to the side, as if intending to ignore him and continue the duel.  But the knight wouldn’t allow it; he kept his body positioned between the pair and defended against every blow.

 

“Allen, this won’t work,” Van said breathlessly.  “I have to finish this.  She’s too far gone to reason with now.”

 

“No.  You don’t know her like I do.”  Allen forced the king back several steps as their opponent took a moment to catch his breath.  He sheathed his sword.

 

“Allen, you can’t--“

 

“Celena.”  Despite Van’s warning, he stood tall and faced what had been his sister.  “I know you can hear me.  I won’t fight you--you’re my sister.”

 

Dilandau glared at him, grip shifting over his sword’s handle.  His eyes were glazed with incomprehension like those of a beast.

 

The knight closed his eyes and held his hands palm upward in a symbol of trust.  “I know you don’t want to fight me,” he continued softly.  “I won’t fight you.  No one will blame you, if only you’ll come back to us.”

 

The youth shifted, still glowering dangerously.  His lips pulled back in a snarl.  He charged, raising his sword for an attack that would end the man’s life.

 

Allen’s eyes snapped open as the blade came rushing forward.  Just before it hit his hand shot out, grasping the sword above its hilt.  He didn’t wince as it slit through his glove and the leathery skin of his palm.  Dilandau hadn’t expected the strategy; his weapon was torn from his grip and cast away. In the next instant he found himself bound in the knight’s arms; his own limbs were pinned to his sides, rendered immobile.  Enraged, the boy thrashed and screamed madly.

 

“Celena, I know you’re still in there,” Allen murmured, holding Dilandau’s pinned against his chest.  “Please, come back to me.”

 

Van watched, stunned, as Dilandau continued to rage and struggle.  He’s like a demon.  Not even Dilandau was ever this bad.  What happened?  The white-haired boy lurched forward, biting at the front of Allen’s shirt as if intending to tear into his heart.  Unconsciously Van raised a hand to his pendant and whispered a quiet prayer.

 

Nearly a full minute passed without signs of the insanity letting up.  Allen did not move or speak despite Dilandau’s screaming and clawing.  At long last, the shrieking became a wail, and then a weary, despairing moan.  The flailing body went slack in its captor’s arms.  And then, very slowly, the knight lowered them both to their knees.

 

Van signaled for the guards to step back, then came forward with Merle at his side.  He tried to get a better view while still maintaining some distance.  “Allen?”

 

“It’s all right now,” the man said quietly.  He motioned for Merle to assist him.  “Please, hold her a moment.”

 

Merle only moved once Van signaled that it was all right.  She approached cautiously, cradling the limp body as Allen removed his blue vest and then his white shirt.  “Hey,” the cat girl said abruptly.  “She’s a girl again.”  Van sighed in relief, though carefully averted his eyes.

 

“Yes, thank God.”  Allen dressed his sister in his shirt, and then replaced his blue vest.  Van pretended not to notice as he dried his eyes on the back of his clean glove.  “Let’s get her out of here right away.”

 

“Where do you want to go?” Van asked.

 

He didn’t answer for a moment.  “Balsm.  The Crusade’s already prepared, and I want to get help for her as soon as possible.”  He hefted the girl into his arms.

 

Van nodded in understanding. “Yes, that’s best.”  He sheathed his sword, and allowed Merle to begin bandaging his wounded shoulder.  “Thank you, Allen, for your help.”

 

“I should be thanking you.”  Allen nodded respectfully.  “Now please, excuse us.  I’ll trust you to take care of Jovey Garrelli.”  He turned and slowly exited the shrine, holding his sister tightly to him.

 

Van sighed, and glanced at his cat companion.  “Come one, Merle.  Let’s get back to the festival before we’re missed.”

 

---

 

So this was the place.  Jovey stood before the large stone monument, his fingers brushing its rough surface.  The grave of Goau Fanel, former king of Fanelia.  He took in the sight of it then turned, surveying the grassy clearing it overlooked.  And this place; the last place on Gaea touched by the girl from the Phantom Moon.  His thoughts wandered inward, calling out those deep memories.  Only a few short months after the Great War he’d come to this place, to challenge Van as he sat in prayer before his father’s tomb.

 

“All right.  But not here--this place is too sacred for me, and I don’t want blood spilled.”

 

Three years since that time.  Jovey dug his toe into the soil, remembering how it had felt when he’d first come here, ready to die.  He looked at the stone, recalling the different times he’d come here, to spit on the ground his enemy worshipped. Even if some of that bitterness had ended, he could never bring himself to forgive.  He regretted having not come soon enough to meet his fate--he’d wanted to meet the girl.

 

Kanzaki Hitomi.  The girl from the Phantom Moon.  Jovey swept the clearing, as if he could determine exactly which spot of earth had held her last.  Because he could still remember standing in the Emperor’s chamber, trembling on his knees with fear and fever.  The words left depressions in his brain like aged footprints.

 

“The girl from the Phantom Moon…the origin of the Dragon Clan of Atlantis…she is the key to reaching it.  The purpose of the Dragonslayers--your purpose--is to kill dragons.  If you so desperately wish to help your master, fulfill both your destinies.”

 

Jovey continued on toward the city.  I can’t do whatever it was that Emperor Dornkirk meant, he thought, being careful of his arm as he walked.  The girl is gone--I can’t get to her now.  But we can still kill dragons.

 

The festival had reached its peak--Jovey had no trouble avoiding the guards with so many people around to act as cover.  Where would they have gone?  I doubt Lord Dilandau would have simply attacked from stealth.  This is an important match for him--he would have chosen a suitable location.  The Yards, the Shrine, some room in the palace?  If have no idea where they might be.

 

Jovey ruled out the possibility of the palace--there were too many guards to interfere.  He decided to check the Yards, where the guymelef matches were held; after all, why risk the temple, where Van could call on Escaflowne?  He weaved his way through the crowds of people, avoiding those that might recognize him.  Already the noise was making him faint.  Some time later he reached the sports arena, only to find it filled with more celebration.

 

Damn, not here.  But…where?  When he started to leave his limbs trembled weakly, and he lowered himself onto a nearby bench.  His gaze began to swim; he closed his eyes until the dizziness had passed.  I’ve lost too much blood.  I can’t move so much.  Several deep breaths seemed to remedy his fatigue.  Damn.  Damnit.

 

“Excuse me, son.  Are you all right?”  A woman was seated beside him, her face one of thoughtful concern. “You look awfully pale.”

 

“Thanks for your concern,” he replied, covering his wounded arm so that she wouldn’t notice the few bloodstains that had leaked through Dilandau’s shirt.  “I…was just hoping to see the king.  I’ve been everywhere, and I’m a bit tired.”

 

“His majesty just returned to the square,” she told him pleasantly.  “I was there a moment ago.”

 

What?  Then…Lord Dilandau never found him?  He wouldn’t have taken this long.  “Thank you, Ma’am.  I’ll look there.”

 

“Take care.”

 

Jovey nodded, and managed to push himself up without the ill-ease returning.  I’ll have to be careful.  He traveled back to the center square, controlling his pace so that he would get there quickly without over-exerting himself.  They must have met by now.  But if Van has already rejoined the festival, that means--

 

He noticed then that several people had lifted their gazes upward, and were pointed.  He looked, squinting against the night’s full compliment of stars.  He could see only a dim outline moving slowly toward the bordering mountains.  Like an airship.

 

No.  No, he couldn’t have.

 

Jovey stood there, transfixed, trying not to comprehend.  If Van won, the first thing they’d do would be to take Lord Dilandau away, a still-functioning section of his brain reasoned.  To fix whatever it was you undid.  To keep you apart.  His working hand formed a fist.  To seal him away.  To deny him his--your--destiny.

 

Jovey began to move again, this time ignoring his body’s warnings.  I won’t let them.  I won’t.  Not this time.  He began to run, even as his head grew light and confused.  Not again.  Not this time.  He pushed people out of his way, seeing only the distant building that was his goal.  He was thankful to not be able to feel the pain in his injured arm.

 

By the time Jovey reached the guymelef hanger he could barely stand, and fresh blood leaked onto his stomach.  It’s opened again.  He took only a moment to tighten the bandages before continuing.  If I wait too long, I won’t be able to follow.

 

AS expected, the Alseides was chained to its bench and surrounded by guards.  Jovey ducked behind the foot of a builder melef as cover while he planned.  I can’t sneak past them, and they’d attack the chamber before I’d be able to break those chains.

 

I’m running out of time.

 

Jovey rose out of hiding and began to climb the scaffolding to the builder’s cockpit.  He wasn’t sure what he’d do, or if he’d even be able to pilot the unfamiliar model, but he had to act.  Moving as quickly as his one arm could function, he pulled himself into the cockpit and fit into the proper harness.

 

Good.  They’ve noticed me already.  He stood from the bench.  Though his movements were sluggish with fatigue, the melef obeyed him--with the exception of the left arm.  He started toward the Alseides, and the guards readier their weapons; one was even headed for his own melef.  Faster.  Jovey urged his vehicle forward, the pounding of his feet scattering most of the guards.

 

Just when he’ reached the Alseides’s bench, their weapons fired; iron claws latched onto the crevices in the armor and halted the melef.  Jovey growled in frustration, swinging his right arm forward.  The men holding those chains connected to it were dragged through the dust.  They can’t stop me.  I have to escape.

 

The hand of the builder melef closed around the Alseides’s bonds, and Jovey pulled, ripping through the metal.  He continued to tear chains off his guymelef, even as another machine was swiftly approaching on his left--his unguarded side.  He cursed, and opened the cockpit.

 

“Jovey Garrelli!” one of the guards shouted, holding his sword at ready.  “You’re surrounded, and immobilized!  Surrender or we’ll take you by force!”

 

No one takes a Dragonslayer.  With a deep breath Jovey leapt out of the cockpit.  He landed with a thud and a clang on the Alseides’s thigh; his head spun crazily at the sudden impact.  Stubbornly he climbed to his feet and dashed for the melef chamber.

 

“Follow him!  Hurry!”

 

“Get those chains on the Alseides!”

 

Jovey was just fast enough.  He clamored ungracefully into the Alseides’s chamber before the guards could reach him, and checked his pressure gauges.  It’s a good thing I’ve kept it so well, he thought with a grim smile as liquid metal poured from the Alseides’s hands and formed three sharpened claws.  He made short work of the rest of the chains and scattered the guards with minimal effort.  Because their melef-capturing devices had already been wasted on the builder, all that was left was the approaching melef itself--the soldier inside attacked.  Jovey struggled beneath the man’s staff; the muscles in his arm were going sore with the constant strain.  He managed to parry the weapon aside long enough to engage the Alseides’s flight mechanism.

 

I’m coming.  I’m coming.

 

The guymelef sprang into the air, locking its legs together in preparation.  The engines bellowed and propelled the iron beast upward, over the heads of its pursuers, carrying it to and through the wooden-beam ceiling.

 

All right.  Now, after him.  Jovey swung the armor about, trying to locate any sign of the departing vessel.  After a moment his sights targeted a blurred shadow that was moving steadily southward.  There.  That’s it.  He gritted his teeth and began the chase.

 

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*To those of you that care, the move Dilandau used in fighting Van I stole from Jin’e in Ruroken.  =^-^=