Worlds of Blue and White

Part One: With Fingertips Touching

Chapter 9:  The Pillar

 

 

 

She was aware that she had regained consciousness.  This realization had not come easily; for hours it seemed her mind had been drifting, and she was slow to determine whether these sensations were real or fantasy.  She saw herself, twisting through the air, without balance or destination.  She was flowing through a stream of images--memories, she realized, returning to her.  They washed over and through her, awakening senses and visions she had never thought possible.  It was if she had discovered a part of herself she’d never known existed: it brushed against her fingertips, just out of reach, soft but desperately hot.  It burned, even, but she didn’t recoil.  These things were too precious to her.

 

Slowly, the phantoms faded into veracity.  Her thoughts, once turbulent and confused, ordered themselves without effort.  She was lying in bed on her back, her wrists and ankles securely tied.  Simply rope.  The sheets covering her were damp with her sweat--had the heat from her dreams affected her body even now?--and they reeked.  Her left thigh also stung, bound in cloth.

 

There was someone else in the room.  He also smelled of sweat and blood, and of something else--something softer.  It was a man seated beside her, and she was calmed by the fact that his presence was not a hostile one.  He would not hurt her, and therefore would not interfere.

 

She tested the bindings on her wrists--the knots were tight but not too constricting.  She would be able to undo them with time, if needed.  Her leg would be the more potent problem.

 

“Celena?  Can you hear me?”

 

It was the sweet-smelling man that had spoken.  She didn’t move or react as her brain attempted to generate a definition to the unfamiliar word “Celena.”  Carefully, she opened her eyes.

 

The man was watching her; she recognized his blonde hair and slender face, somehow.  He was indeed no threat.  He even appeared concerned.  “Celena?” he questioned once more.

 

Celena?  Oh, yes, my name.  I’d forgotten.  Celena returned his inquisitive, hopeful gaze with blank seriousness.  And this is my brother.  Her faint memory provided her with his name.  “Allen?”

 

Allen sighed with relief and rubbed his eyes.  “Oh God, Celena, are you all right?  What do you remember?”

 

“I was fighting the Dragon,” she replied, gazing about to map her surroundings.  It was her room on the Crusade, she recognized finally.  When she realized that Allen probably didn’t know what she meant, she added, “King Van.  And you stopped me, and I fell unconscious.”

 

Allen was staring at her with a dreadful expression.  She couldn’t be sure what that meant, so she kept her tone neutral, unobtrusive.  “By the way, where is he?”

 

The knight stood out of his chair, with movements that were hesitant, as if he faced a beast.  “No, it can’t be,” he murmured distantly.  “You can’t still be Dilandau.”

 

Dilandau?  No, that’s not my true name.  It was called that once.  But I’ve always been Celena.  “No, Allen, it’s Celena,” she told him softly.  “Calm down--you’re not making sense.”

 

“Why?” he asked abruptly.  “Do you remember why you were fighting Van?”

 

“Of course.  He’s a Dragon.”  His face paled another shade, and she considered changing her tactics.  It wouldn’t help to upset him.  “Allen, please don’t get worked up.  No one wants to see you like that.  I’m all right, so you don’t need to worry.  Would you please untie my legs?  They’re beginning to throb.”

 

Allen started.  He glanced at the bindings indecisively.  “Celena, do you remember?” he barely spoke.  “What you were?  Dilandau…?”

 

Dilandau Albatou.  That was a name I was once called.  It was a good name, but I’m Celena.  I have always been Celena.  “I remember my life as Dilandau Albatou, the leader of the Zaibach Dragonslayers.  You shouldn’t have hid it from me, Allen.  I feel much better now.”  She spoke only truth.  “Now please untie me--it hurts.”

 

“Celena….”  The man hesitated a moment more, then gave in.  He began to untie the knots around her ankles.  “I’m sorry--I didn’t want to do this, but Gaddess and Van agreed it was best.  We didn’t want…you to hurt yourself.”

 

“That’s fine.  I understand.”  Celena stretched her legs once they were free, and winced only a bit at the pain.  Soon her hands were also released.  She rubbed her sore wrists.  “Thank you, Allen.  That’s much better.”

 

Allen sunk heavily into the chair at her bedside.  He wet his lips and asked, “So, you remember it all now?”

 

“Yes.  Everything.”  She cast the sheets aside to check how her body was faring.  Her injured thigh had been cleaned and bandaged, and she was dressed in her blue pants and one of Allen’s white shirts.  It was an acceptable condition.  The gentle hum of airship engines confirmed her location.  “We’re leaving Fanelia.”

 

Her brother stumbled over a response. “Yes.  We thought it best, as being here was…unhealthy for you.”  His expression grew increasingly more grim.  “But you remember now.  I…I’m sorry I never told you.  I was afraid that it would hurt you--Dilandau’s past is so awful--or worse, that you’d….”  He trailed off with a grimace.

 

“That I’d become him,” she finished for him.

 

“Well--yes.”  Allen gazed at her then, in such a way that made her feel a very profound sense of pity for him.  He looked like a lost, confused little boy; he wanted to understand what was happening to the most important person in his life.  And somehow, that only made her despise him, for hiding her memories from her.  She remembered them now--those that had loved and honored her, with blind, obedient devotion.  They understood her better than he ever would.

 

“Allen, I’m not going to ‘turn into’ Dilandau Albatou,” Celena told him gently, as if she were speaking to a child.  “Just because I remember that life doesn’t mean I prefer it.  Everything that he once had is gone now.  I have always been, and will stay as, Celena.”

 

As she’d expected, the knight moved to the bed and embraced her fiercely.  She accepted his affection silently, allowing his arms to tremble around her.  She found it both flattering and frightening that he depended so fully on her well-being.  A few misplaced words could have destroyed him.

 

“Allen, calm down.  I’m all right, see?”  Celena urged him back and smiled in a way that she hoped was encouraging.  It seemed to comfort him.  “But would you mind leaving me alone for a while?  I’d like to get changed and think things through by myself.”

 

Allen nodded slightly.  “Are you sure you’ll be all right?  Your leg….”

 

“It’s fine.”  She stretched and bent the limb as proof.  “See?  I’m fine, so why don’t you check on the others, and get some rest?  You look exhausted.”

 

“Yes, I suppose.”  He stood wearily and gaze down at her fondly.  “My room is next to yours, so call me if you need anything.”

 

“Of course.  Don’t worry--I’ll be just fine.”

 

Finally, the knight kissed her briefly on the cheek and departed.  Celena released a sigh.  As she’d said, she changed into a new, clean outfit: dark trousers and a white vest, with a loose-fitting, short cut coat to cover her bare arms.  She then selected a sword off her closet rack and hooked it to her belt.  As an afterthought she also retrieved two small daggers that fit into her boots.

 

As soon as we’ve landed, I’ll steal a ship and go back.  Celena paced the room once, testing how much weight could be placed on the limb.  I can still fight like this, she mused.  It was close, last time, before Allen interfered.  Next time I’ll have to take care of him before we start.  I can’t have him ruining things.  She wouldn’t kill him--he was her brother, after all--but he would be a nuisance if he couldn’t be dealt with.

 

Celena flopped back onto the bed and folded her hands on her stomach.  She pictured Van, and motions of his body as he fought.  Now that her body was female she wouldn’t be able to use her weight as an advantage--speed would be a better tactic.  Speed, and fire.

 

Yes.  Burn the Dragons, as he burned yours.

 

When Celena closed her eyes shed could picture the scene in her mind: blue fire, and blood, and voices screaming.  She saw Chesta, even if she couldn’t possibly have seen him through the guymelef’s armor, his face twisted in horrified agony.  Little Chesta with the kind, restless heart hadn’t deserved such a fate.  He had always taken care of her.

 

She saw shy Guimel with the hair he was teased for; Miguel, impulsive and rash; Dallet, arrogant and careless; and Viole, quiet but resourceful.  And she saw Gatti, older brother to all of them despite his young age.  She had depended on his level, clear head more times than pride would allow a person to admit.  All of them were in her eyes and ears now with a clarity that startled and grieved her.  They were no longer in her world.  She did not regret her actions toward them; only that she had led them to death too soon.  She had no doubts that, had it not been for that day, they would all be at her side now.

 

If only I had gotten that girl.  I would show the Dragon that suffering, and burn him as he wept.  All Dragons must burn for their evil.

 

Celena sat up and gazed about the room once more.  Could she escape without Allen and the others realizing?  The Crusade had no spare ships to escape from; she would have to steal Sherazarde.  But then, that would require someone to launch it first.  She would have to wait until they landed after all.

 

I’ll escape, and go back.  Jovey will find me.  We’ll drink the Dragon’s blood together.

 

Her eye caught something then--her mirror on the far side of the room.  She stood and crossed to it slowly.  Her reflection stared back at her: a beautiful, healthy face with shining sapphire eyes and thick silver hair.  She had once taken great pride in her looks--as a child it had meant everything.  Her mother had stressed it to her every day during their most difficult times: beauty was the trait of a Schezar.  Her mother Enchia had wanted to use that beauty to cover the shame her husband’s departure had left, to make them appear confident and strong once more.  The world would never see them grieve.  What it saw was to be only a family of flawless elegance; a trio of perfect porcelain dolls.

 

Even as Dilandau she had been proud of her looks, as they were the only part of her not tainted by the sorcerers.  She remembered those last days before the operation: sobbing as her hair was cut, begging and praying that she would still be her mother’s beautiful child once the torture had ended.  They granted her that much, to preserve her sanity.

 

Van had ruined that.  He would most likely never realize how deeply his blade had scarred her.  With one slight action he’d taken the bit of Celena that kept Dilandau routed in place, slowly transforming her into something obsessive and mad.  The true identity Dilandau never knew he had had been thrown into chaos and uncertainty, and Celena’s original form had risen to comfort and reassure the battered psyche.  But the scars were already laid deep, and her descent continued.  At last an element had been introduced that both Dilandau and Celena trusted--Jajuka--to reconnect the broken bond between them.  Allen had completed that task.  He gave her something to run to.  He made her a Schezar once more. 

 

Celena banished those thoughts with a wave of her hand, but her reflection was still there, staring back at her with quiet, unobtrusive eyes.  She laughed at it softly.  This wasn’t the face of a Schezar anymore--these lips had smiled at the thought of blood; these eyes had witnessed the death of hundreds; these ears had listen with glee to the sounds of her throat’s own curses and mockery.  She despised that sickening, worthless beauty.  The Schezar name had been a curse to keep her from this, her true destiny.

 

To kill Dragons was her destiny.  She hadn’t inherited it; it wasn’t passed down by a god she didn’t believe in; it was given to her, specifically, and she’d accepted it.  This fate belonged to her, more so than the life of blind heroism forced upon her brother.  Now was her time to face it.

 

Celena removed one of the daggers from her boots, while the other hand began to father her locks of thick silver hair into a bundle.  A quick movement sheared what she’d once adored.  Then she looked to her face.  I was still a Schezar face.  She raised the blade slowly, deliberately, and pressed its tip into her cheek, just below her eye.  The muscles twitched as blood dribbled from them.  With careful precision she drew the weapon down, opening the wound along the side of her face.  She barely felt any pain.  Then she cleaned and replaced the dagger, and surveyed her work.  The scar would be a bit longer than its predecessor, stretching all the way to her chin, but it didn’t bleed too much.  She washed the incision and applied some medicine--after all, she didn’t want an infection.

 

There.  Celena would have smiled but the movement would only aggravate the wound.  So she only snorted in approval, admiring the hideous blemish.

 

There was a knock on the door, and she strode swiftly to twist the lock.  “Celena?”  A moment later the knob was tried.  “Celena, it’s Allen.  Are you all right?”

 

“I’m fine, Allen,” she assured as she backed away from the door.  She didn’t want him to see her yet, as he would be shocked.

 

“Why is the door locked?”

 

“I was cleaning up.  I didn’t want any of the men disturbing me.”  She’d heard the strain in his voice, and she asked, “What’s the matter?”

 

Allen hesitated.  “There’s a guymelef chasing us,” he admitted at last.  “I want you to come up to the bridge where you’ll be safe.”

 

A guymelef?  Only an Alseides can follow airships.  A mysterious feeling of pride mixed with relief spread through her chest, and she ran to her room’s only window--it was more of a porthole.  She could see only dark sky, however, as her window faced starboard.

 

“Celena?  Open the door.”

 

“Just a minute, Allen; I’m not fully dressed.”  Celena pulled the sheets off her bed and returned to the window.  She twisted the window open and began to shove the sheet out.  I’m here, Jovey.  She twisted the last corner around her hand to keep the sheet from being pulled out by the wind.  Find me.

 

Jovey struggled to adjust his course once more.  Piloting the Alseides in flight mode with only one arm had proved to be a trying challenge.  Several times he’d been forced to lose altitude in correcting his path.  After the long pursuit he was ready to collapse from exhaustion; his body ached beneath a layer of sweat.  The salt stung his far-focused eyes.  His lift side and part of his thigh were also colored dark with bloodstains; the loss of so much fluid continued to stain his sight with blurring fatigue.  He fought against his body’s weaknesses.  His goal lay ahead--the Crusade, floating lazily on the southbound breeze.  He had almost caught it.

 

But he was also aware of another in this race: behind him, Escaflowne was gaining.  He wasn’t sure how or for how long Van had taken up the pursuit, but that didn’t matter anyway.  If Van caught him, it would be over.  This thought spurred him on.

 

Finally Jovey had positioned himself just below the Crusade’s slender belly--he dared not attempt to land on its top for fear of battling whatever guymelef may be on board.  Spotting Dilandau’s room was--thankfully--a simple task, as a white sheet had been hung out of the window.  Thank God; he must be all right.  “Lord Dilandau!” he called though the Alseides’s amplifier.  “Get away from the window!”

 

Jovey flipped the Alseides onto its back and formed a single cylindrical claw.  He bit his lip in concentration as he maneuvered it toward the glass circle, piercing it and ripping out several wooden planks.  When an opening had been enlarged enough for Dilandau’s slight form, he retracted the claw and instead formed--with some difficulty--a rounded coup shape that he held up against the hull.

 

The Crusade began to turn away, lengthening a gap between it and the guymelef.  Jovey cursed and carefully followed the retreat.  There’s no time for this--Van’s almost here.  If only I could use my left arm!  He positioned the bowl once more.  “Lord Dilandau, hurry!”

 

At last Jovey spotted the youth clamoring out of the splintered opening.  He sighed openly in relief at his apparent well-being.  Dilandau leapt gracefully into the cup-shaped metal; a pair of arms tried to follow him without success.  Once settled, he signaled that all was well.

 

Yes.  Thank God--thank God.  Jovey began to steer carefully away from the Crusade.  We’ll land--Lord Dilandau can pilot the Alseides, and I…

 

Jovey’s sight began to fade, and he gasped, trying to regain his senses.  I…I can’t keep this up.  But if I pass out now, the Alseides….

 

“Jovey!”  Van’s voice echoed from above, where Escaflowne in its dragon form hovered at ready.  “You have to land!  If you don’t willingly, I’ll force you!  And you know I won’t be as careful about Dilandau’s safety as Allen is!”

 

“I won’t give him up to you!” he hollered back even as he felt his right arm trembling with fatigue.  How can we escape?  If Lord Dilandau and I traded, he would be able to think of something.  But…oh God, how can we get out of here? 

 

“Jovey, pull me in!”  This was Dilandau, calling from the metal bowl.  He quickly obeyed, bending his arm so that his leader would be directly beside the pilot chamber.  “You have to land!” Dilandau shouted over the shrieking wind.  “I’ll take your place--do it quickly!”

 

Jovey could barely hear the youth’s voice; it sounded distant and strange to his failing ears.  No--no, please.  He looked left and saw Escaflowne descending to his level.  The Crusade had lost altitude as well, preparing for when they would land.  He could just barely see the outline of what must have been Allen’s guymelef waiting to be launched.  How could they escape Van Fanel and Allen Schezar, the two greatest guymelef pilots in Gaea?  The thought caused his weariness to rise even higher, dragging him down.

 

“Jovey!”  He could hear Dilandau calling his name desperately--they were falling.  Escaflowne was following, and the Crusade.  They didn’t seem to realize that he’d lost control.  The melef controls sounded a frightful warning that only barely registered in his dulling brain.

 

I want Lord Dilandau to fulfill his destiny.  Even if I die, that’s all that matters.  Someone, please, take us away from here.  To our destiny.

 

Somewhere above, Escaflowne’s jeweled heart began to glow.  Jovey closed his eyes as he felt his body consumed in flaring white heat.  The last thing he remembered was a feeling of strange weightlessness, and his eyelids flashed red as some bright light echoed through them.

 

 

End Part 1

 

On to part two….?

 

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